by Bunch, Chris
“My army will fight, though, and fight hard, if we give them a target. That’s what we’re giving them, right in front of them, something to smash at, smash at hard, and once they break through, break into open country, then the river’s in front of them — the river, home, and the end of the war!”
Tenedos’s eyes were searing, willing me to believe. But the map was there, too, with its hundred miles of scrubland before the Latane.
“What magic will you use?”
“Once the battle is joined, there will be awesome spells, dreadful demons sent against the Maisirians. But I want to make sure their War Magicians are fully involved before we cast our spells.”
I realized I didn’t believe a word he’d said. Yes, there’d be magic. But only after a great deal of blood was shed. And the army, like a sickly man, had little to give before complete collapse. “Sir, I think — ”
Tenedos’s face colored. “That’s enough, Tribune! Perhaps you’ve been on your own too long, and forget you must obey orders like any other soldier! I’ve given my instructions, and my plans are well under way.
“Now, I have other matters to attend to. My staff will brief you thoroughly as to your role.”
He gave me a harsh look, didn’t wait for a response, but hurried from the tent. My temper flashed. I certainly didn’t need him to remind me I was a soldier, and that soldiers obeyed orders. Hadn’t I brought nearly four hundred men through impassable terrain, and — I forced my mind and anger back under control. There wasn’t time for infighting. The emperor had made his plan, and it was not a good one. But it was the one which must be followed.
“Domina Othman,” I said. “You heard the emperor.”
• • •
The attack was even more disastrous than I’d feared. The Guard units had barely left our positions when Maisirian infantry struck, twin-pronged like snake fangs, and stopped them cold. Solid waves of Maisirians counterattacked and sent the assault formations reeling back. The Maisirians didn’t stop at our front lines, but attacked all along our front line.
We fell back and back, out of our positions, and in two days of brutal fighting, most confused and hand-to-hand, we were driven almost into the desert. But we stopped with that nameless rock formation at our backs, counterattacked, and stopped the Maisirians. Before, we would have hit them again — before they recovered — broken them in half, and had a great victory.
But all we’d done was buy a bit of time, and lost twenty thousand men and our positions.
As for the emperor’s magic — nothing happened, except the usual minor spells of confusion and fear, which only the rankest private would let affect him.
• • •
“Very well,” the emperor said grimly, “we are in disastrous straits.”
The tribunes in his tent were silent. There was nothing to be said.
“But we are not, I repeat not, doomed. In fact, now we are able to utterly destroy the Maisirians. There is a Great Spell I used once before. Some of you older soldiers may know it, for it was the one I used against Chardin Sher to destroy his rebels and win Numantia.”
I started. Yonge’s prediction would come true, and the monstrous demon would rise from this desert to wreak havoc once more.
“This spell is costly,” he went on. “But we paid its price once — and we must be willing to pay it again.”
His next words were lost in my shock. It had taken all this blood, all this slaughter, the loss of an entire generation of Numantia’s finest youth, for that one moment of destruction? What would be the demon’s price now?
“It will take three days, perhaps more, to assemble the … forces for this spell. Tell your units we’re getting ready for battle. Do not mention what I told you.
“Our battle plan will be very simple. Once the … force has been unleashed, after it’s wreaked its destruction, then we shall attack. All that will be necessary is to mop up the few remnants of their army, so there’s no need for elaborate tactics.
“General of the Armies á Cimabue will command the physical attack, for I shall be unable, for various reasons, to lead you myself for a time. I’ll caution you on one matter, and this you should pass along to your troops. Until their War Magicians have been silenced, the Maisirians may try all sorts of deceptions. Therefore, obey only Tribune á Cimabue or myself, and obey us absolutely, no matter what we order. I have wards around myself, and will cast equal ones for the tribune, so no false image may be summoned. Remember this well.
“Be of good heart, of good cheer, gentlemen. This is our greatest hour, this is when we are almost gods. We hold the fate of millions in our hands — those already born, and those who’ve not yet come from the Wheel.
“This shall be the deciding moment, and only one great nation shall go forward into the bright future.
“Numantia!” His voice rose into a shout: “Now and forever! Numantia and Tenedos!”
The tribunes, wounded, battle-weary, cheered wildly, and it seemed the entire army cheered with them.
• • •
If I’d been in command of the Maisirian Army, I would have attacked us immediately, giving no chance to recover. Perhaps King Bairan was afraid of the casualties he’d take, storming the heights we held, or perhaps he needed time to regroup — he was fighting a long way from his homeland, with long supply lines and in a desolate country. But his troops were more used to hardship than ours.
Regardless of the reasons, the Maisirians, vastly outnumbering us, only half-surrounded our rocky citadel, leaving the dry plains behind us free of their forces. It seemed as if they were preparing a siege, planning to starve us out.
I made sure our positions were properly outposted, so we’d have warning if the Maisirians struck first, then made endless rounds, cheering some, cursing others, reminding them what they fought for and that this would be the greatest battle of history, secretly dreading the day.
But what else could Tenedos have done? Surrender? I saw no other way. Numantia would have another horrible debt with demons, one far greater than the last. And that was if we won. What would happen if the azaz and his War Magicians cast a spell greater than the emperor’s? What would happen then?
I caught myself. That was impossible. The emperor was the most powerful magician in the world. His mistakes in Maisir happened because he underestimated the enemy, as did the army. I was certain no such arrogance existed any more.
The emperor’s headquarters was a bustle of Chare Brethren, and tribunes and generals concerned with temporal matters were snapped at and sent to me. I hoped the wizards were successful in camouflaging our plan, and that the azaz was as complacent as we’d been long ago.
On the morning of the third day, I was about to make another set of rounds, then caught myself. I was like a young legate, so worried about his first command he spends endless hours harrying them, and, instead of turning them into better soldiers, makes them into twitching wrecks.
I ordered my own plans for the day of battle. I’d ride at the head of the cavalry once again. My handful of Red Lancers, augmented with the rest of the Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers, would have the honor of riding at the fore.
Late that afternoon Domina Othman came, and said the attack would begin two hours after dawn the next day. By dusk, Numantia’s fate would be settled.
• • •
I forced myself to sleep from two hours before midnight until perhaps an hour afterward, then woke. I lay there, feeling the army stir around me, flexing its thews.
I remembered a little prayer I’d said as a child, a prayer to Tanis, our family’s godling. It was like the prayers most babes are taught by their mothers, to give them strength in the loneliness of the night and to make them think of the welfare of others instead of themselves.
I whispered the words, although what good a small jungle deity like Tanis could bring on this battlefield, when gods as mighty as Saionji and Isa, her manifestation, would stalk the land, and demons carry out wizards’ terrible commands, was
beyond me.
I got up and dressed. I’d washed and shaved before I lay down, and put on clean, almost dry underclothing I’d scrubbed out myself the afternoon before. I remembered the vast wardrobes I’d once had, and ruefully looked at my possessions. I donned the cleaner of my two shirts, this one as red as my Lancers’ tunics, laced on a boiled leather vest battle-stained almost black, and tucked that into tight black breeches that matched the boots someone had polished until they almost glowed, as if they were new, and the worn-through soles wouldn’t be seen. For armor I wore only a breastplate and my helmet, whose roached plume was beginning to shed.
I buckled on my sword belt, a straight blade on one side and Yonge’s silver dagger on the other.
I went to my command tent and once more went over the map. I studied the latest patrol reports on the enemy dispositions. There were no changes, so the Maisirians had not been alerted. I hoped.
It was close to dawn when Domina Othman rushed into the tent, and for the first time since I’d known the always-calm, always-prescient aide, he was clearly rattled. He stammered that the emperor wanted me, must see me immediately! I must come at once!
What could have happened? Had the Maisirians learned of his spell? Or perhaps, magic being what it was, would he be unable to summon that dreadful thing from wherever it laired?
A terrified captain of the Lower Half, his uniform torn and travel-stained, stumbled out of the emperor’s tent as I approached.
As I came in, Tenedos sent a brazier spinning, its smoldering incenses scattering unheeded. Another brazier, a single broad flame rising motionless from its center, sat in the middle of an elaborately inscribed figure drawn in blood-red chalk. I remembered that figure — I’d drawn a simpler version of it again and again before I climbed the walls of Chardin Sher’s stronghold, chalked it one final time on the stone inside, then poured a potion and fled for my life as the demon came into our world.
The emperor’s field desk and chair were overturned, and ancient scrolls and musty books thrown about, hurled in blind rage.
I clapped my boot heels, snapped as perfect a salute as I’d ever managed as a prospective legate at the lycée. “Sir! First Tribune Damastes á Cimabue.”
“Those bastards! Shitheels! Traitors! Back-stabbers!” he raved.
I held my silence, and looked at Othman, who was as broken as the emperor. Tenedos went to a sideboard and picked up a crystal decanter of brandy. He found a glass, unstoppered the decanter, then, rage boiling once more, hurled it against a map cabinet. The crystal shattered, brandy sprayed into the brazier, and perfumed flames shot up.
He fought for control, found it, and turned to me. “That man who left,” he said, quite calmly, “is a brave officer. He’s ridden all the way from Amur, from the Guard’s depot. Killed three horses on the way. How he managed to snake through the Maisirian positions I don’t know. But thank Saionji he did. We’ve been betrayed, Damastes, betrayed by those we’re fighting for!”
Scopas and Barthou had learned from their first failure. Somewhere outside Nicias, they’d made careful plans that included real soldiery. They’d used any and all troops they could rally, units evidently terrified they’d be sent south to be torn apart in the grinder.
They’d marched on Nicias, and there wasn’t a Guard Corps at hand to save the day. Trusted units garrisoning the capital mutinied and joined the revolt. The final blow, Tenedos said, was that this time the commoners had listened to the simple message Scopas and Barthou were preaching: Peace now, peace at any price. Surrender to the Maisirians, give them what they want so they’ll leave Numantia. Bring down the usurper Tenedos and his people, for they’ve ruined Numantia with their insane war against a former good neighbor. Peace now, peace forever!
This had happened a week ago. Somehow the traitors had sealed off the river, and no word of the catastrophe came south. In that time they’d sent heliographs to other province capitals.
“Who knows what else they promised, what they threatened, what they said,” Tenedos said. “By the time the news reached Amur, half my provinces were in open revolt. I suppose more have joined by now.”
I was appalled. To be so betrayed was inconceivable. Without asking permission, I picked up Tenedos’s chair and slumped into it.
“What now?” I finally managed.
The emperor and I stared at each other. Again I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “I know what to do,” he said, his voice a bit shaky. Then it firmed. “In fact, what just happened makes the decision even easier.
“Othman!”
“Sir!”
“Make sure my Brethren are aroused and ready! I shall be needing their services within the hour. Now leave us. There are still some secrets I can’t share even with you.” Othman saluted, and hurried out.
Tenedos smiled, a smile that was purely evil. “I have all of the devices, spells, herbs assembled to summon the demon that brought doom to Chardin Sher. All I need do is call the Chare Brethren, give them certain parts of the spell that’ll prepare the ground, and I’ll perform the rest of the ceremony.
“This day we’ll destroy not one, but two of Numantia’s enemies — one who attacks from without, the other who bores from within. The demon shall be called, and given permission to savage the Maisirians, as I’d planned. Then I’ll grant him greater pleasure, and give him Nicias.
“I mentioned the cost of this summoning. What Scopas and Barthou have done is make it far cheaper, at least cheaper for honest Numantians.
“I shall give the demon Nicias,” he repeated. “Let him do to that great city what he did to Chardin Sher’s rocky citadel. Tear stone from stone until the City of Light explodes! Let him take everyone — men, women, babes — for his own, and let the raging fire consume anyone or anything he scorns. Let him tear the land so no one can live there again and it becomes a swamp darker than any in the Maisirian wilderness.
“Let Nicias become an example for future generations, who’ll pass by the wasteland, home only to monsters and decay, and know what the price is to stand against the Seer Tenedos, the Emperor Tenedos!”
The emperor’s voice had risen and gone shrill, and his eyes glazed as he raved. He calmed himself. “Yes. That is what we’ll do. I know how to keep the demon from returning to his own plane. Before, I was worried about losing control, and so arranged that blue lightning that sent him back to his home of dark flames.
“Not now. Not this time. This time, I’ll keep him here, and woe to anyone who stands against me, for they’ll meet the same fate as the Maisirians, as the scum traitors of Nicias!
“After he destroys Nicias, we’ll reach out once more. We’ll retake Numantia, Maisir, then on, seizing lands no Numantian has known. We’ll let the demon, and others I’ll learn about, become our assault divisions, and few Numantian lives will be spent. The creature’s pay will be the souls of those conquered, and when the land is empty, we’ll resettle it with our own!
“Then, Damastes, we’ll have real power. There’ll be no need for altars, for prayers to fickle goddesses who betray you when they wish. I promised once, my friend, you and I would bestride the world.
“Thanks to Bairan, thanks to the azaz, full thanks to those bastards in Nicias, for they’ve opened a new way for me — for us — a way it perhaps would have taken us years to see, more years to have the courage to grasp.
“Desperate times breed desperate measures, don’t they? They also breed greatness.
“They breed gods!”
His face was glowing, and the years had dropped away, and he looked as he had the day we met, long ago, in Sulem Pass, surrounded by bodies.
But now his eyes carried the fires of madness, not power.
He held out his hands, to seal the bargain. I rose, held out mine, and he came forward.
I hit him once, very hard, just below the chin. He dropped without a sound.
I made sure he was unconscious, then rummaged through his magical chests until I found strong cord. I tied the emperor’s han
ds and feet, gagged and blindfolded him, then hid his body in the rear of the tent, in his private sleeping area, pulling sleeping furs over him. I was crying soundlessly all the while, nearly blinded by my tears.
I fed the books piled near the symbol into the flaming brazier, and it ate without a flare the dark knowledge Tenedos had worked so hard to obtain. Then the set out herbs and materials were cast into the fire. I scrubbed at the red chalked symbol until it was gone.
I saw a flagon, uncorked it, and the stench of that same potion I’d poured out in Chardin Sher’s castle came back. I put the flagon in my sabertache and left the tent.
I ran to my horse, pulled myself into the saddle, and kicked my mount into a hard gallop. Somewhere in the gray dawn, I uncorked the flagon and hurled it as far away from me as I could.
Captain Balkh was waiting outside my tent.
“Alert the buglers,” I ordered. “Sound the attack!”
• • •
We rode out from our lines at the trot, bugles singing bright songs of death. Drums thundered, and the infantry, crouched in their positions, came to their feet and charged into the open, cheering.
I signaled, and the bugles called again, and we went to the gallop, Red Lancers in the fore, behind me all that was left of the proud host that had ridden across the border so long ago, a steel-tipped lance now aimed for the heart of Maisir.
Our banners, all the colors of Numantia, rippled in the morning breeze as we rode, and the thunder of our horses’ hooves was louder than drums.
I looked back, and my vision blurred, seeing the great army of Numantia I’d spent my life serving, building, and commanding go forward — never hesitating, terrible under its banners — into its last battle.
I felt blood rage, let it build.
We smashed through the Maisirian lines as if there were no one against us, going hard for the center of their army. Men rose in front of me and were cut down screaming, and we smashed on, killing everything in our way.
I felt a flicker of foolish hope that there was a chance we might carry the day, that the Maisirians might break and run. We crushed their second and third lines, and before us was their headquarters.
