The Warrior King: Book Three of the Seer King Trilogy

by Chris Bunch

  Again I noted the turning of a wheel …

  I was escorted to my quarters on the top floor of the outer tower — the same ones the emperor had used. I was told there were three hundred Peace Guardians assigned to this tower, their sole duty to keep me imprisoned.

  Here I was to wait until summoned.

  • • •

  Of course, Barthou and Scopas being who they were, I waited for two full weeks on this matter of “grave import.” But this was all to the good, for I was able to suborn one of my jailers, a pompous fool named Dubats, one of those who knows everything and must prove it constantly, and got a rough idea of events in Numantia.

  The emperor, after rising from the dead, still unexplained as mummery or horrid fact, had left Palmeras for Hermonassa State, which cast off the Grand Council’s rule and vowed fealty to him. The two corps of Peace Guardians sent to deal with him changed sides and became the nucleus, such as it was, of his new army.

  Tenedos, the warder told me, had moved south along the western coast of Numantia, gathering strength as he did. Ticao had been the second state to declare for him. Unsure of what I myself felt in a world of bad choices, I didn’t know if I was proud or ashamed that my home state of Cimabue remained loyal to the puppet government, as had its coastal neighbor of Darkot. But Bala Hissar, Khoh, and Gyantse had gone for Tenedos, as had, on our eastern borders, Bonvalet and Varan.

  The government still held the center of Numantia, as well as the vital Latane River, the primary navigational route north and south.

  Only Isfahan, directly south of the main province of Dara, wavered, and it’d been quickly pacified by Peace Guardians. Kallio, the other great state, which had risen first against the Rule of Ten, then continued its subversion against the emperor, naturally stood firm against him, as did Urey, which had been razed by first our own army in its retreat from Numantia, then, more savagely, by the oncoming Maisirians. The Ureyans wanted no more of war, on any side, in any shape.

  The City of Lights had always been the first to overreact to any emergency, and so, the warder went on, they were planning barricades to hold back the emperor, plus which they worried that King Bairan would once more invade and this time destroy Numantia as he’d threatened, and of course demons would soon be sent by the arch-wizard Tenedos to turn Nicias into a wasteland.

  This last was not unlikely, for Tenedos had planned on doing just that until I’d struck him down and destroyed the spell he was casting, before leading the last of the army’s cavalry in a mad charge against Bairan’s army as if I were a manifestation of Saionji herself.

  But as yet, Dubats said, nothing much had really happened, other than rumors.

  I asked about the Tovieti, the cult Tenedos and I had brought down once, only to see it arise in a different form, then vanish with our destruction. He’d heard nothing of the stranglers with the yellow cord, which was one bit of good news.

  Knowing as much as anyone, there was nothing for me to do but wait … and spend hour after hour in muscle-wrenching exercise; for whatever was to come, I must be ready.

  One other thing occupied my time. I’d originally found this tower for the emperor and made certain it was impossible for a Tovieti assassin to enter. Now I considered it from a very different perspective — how to get out. I’m afraid that I now thought little of my previous abilities, for I found three possible escape routes, two of which could also be used to enter the building. I’d gained new talents in Maisirian and Numantian prisons. It also helped that the Guardians’ commander was an orderly, scheduled man, so the guards were fed, marched, trained, and checked with the regularity of a metronome.

  But my scheming was purely to keep my mind occupied, for where would I go once I got beyond the tower’s walls and guards? No one would shelter me, and I thought most would see my unfortunately quite memorable face and scream for the warders … or attack me with whatever weapons were at hand. If I had to die, I’d rather die by the clean ax blade or noose than be ripped apart by a mob.

  Guards came early one morning, and once more I entered one of the ambulances and was taken to the Grand Palace, once the Rule of Ten’s, then, massively refurbished, made modern and luxurious, the emperor’s.

  The carriage rattled across the moat into the central courtyard, then went to a rear entrance, and I was hustled inside to a small chamber, where once more I waited, four guards watching me nervously.

  After a while, the door opened, and half a dozen other guards made sure I hadn’t massacred my captors. Scopas came in next, even fatter than he’d been the last time I’d seen him, which was … and it took some thinking back … more than ten years earlier. Scopas had been one of the first members of the Rule of Ten to support Tenedos and was considered the shrewdest of those incompetents. After the emperor’s coronation, he’d tried to weasel his way back into Tenedos’s graces, but without success.

  Later, when we were fighting in Maisir, he’d led a revolt that failed, but managed to escape and hide before mounting a second, successful rising just before the defeat at Cambiaso.

  Behind him came Barthou, formerly the Rule of Ten’s Speaker, in spite of his position, never considered terribly astute.

  I bowed courteously. Scopas did the same, while Barthou, puzzling on what the proper response should be, made none.

  “Damaste á Cimabue,” Scopas said, “we have brought you here to offer you life and a chance to rejoin Numantian society as a nobleman, with estates we shall grant you for a gracious living.”

  “All we want,” Barthou put in, and I wondered if they’d rehearsed the put-and-take of their lines beforehand, “is for you to perform a task.”

  “I wish I could say I was at your service,” I replied. “Technically, as your prisoner, I am. What do you wish me to do?”

  “First,” Scopas said, “I have a question. Have you been approached by the traitor named Tenedos?”

  “How could he do that?” I asked, amused. “Remember, you’ve had me imprisoned, sealed off from the world.”

  “Magicians,” Barthou said, looking from side to side as if for ears to magically protrude from the walls, “have ways of doing things mortals like us cannot know of.”

  “I’ll answer your question with the obvious: No one has approached me to do anything,” I said.

  “We’re aware you swore an oath to the one who was once our emperor,” Scopas said. “And I’m also aware of your family motto, We Hold True.”

  I was slightly impressed — I didn’t think the fat man was that aware. I nodded.

  “Do you consider your oath still stands, considering the man called Tenedos still lives?”

  I thought of various subtleties, decided I wasn’t capable of them.

  “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I was the one who struck Tenedos down, at Cambiaso, and possibly permitted the Maisirian victory. Doesn’t that render the continuance of my oath rather meaningless?”

  Both Barthou and Scopas reacted in some amazement. There were but two mortals who knew what’d happened in his tent before Cambiaso. I’d said nothing, out of shame, and evidently Tenedos had done the same.

  “That’s as may be,” Barthou said. “The question stands — are you still willing to serve the emperor?”

  I shook my head. “I serve no one now,” I said. “As a prisoner, not even myself.”

  “Would you wish to change that?” Scopas asked.

  “We must stop the interloper Tenedos,” Barthou said, “and quickly. Or else the worst will happen.”

  “What’s the worst?” I asked. “That Tenedos takes the throne once more … or that King Bairan comes back with his army, which I assume he would if the emperor returns?”

  “You’ve answered your own question,” Scopas said. “As to how we wish you to serve us, specifically: we are getting permission from King Bairan to increase the size of the Peace Guardians, to make the force large enough to stand against Tenedos.”

  “What’s the matter with the traitor Herne, who now
leads them? I understand everyone loves him for his political realism,” I said harshly.

  Both Grand Councilors looked unhappy.

  “Guardian of the Peace Herne is not exactly a leader the populace warms to,” Scopas said. “We need someone better known, better thought of, both to gain the recruits we need so desperately and to serve as a beacon in battle.”

  This stopped me. I thought the people of Numantia thought me the worst of villains for having led them into slaughter. But if I assumed these two knew what they were talking about — quite an assumption from their past record — things might be different.

  “You mean I’d be a figurehead,” I said, “with Herne still in command.”

  “Of course,” Barthou said. “What else could there be?”

  “Since Herne is little more than raw ambition in the flesh, and completely unqualified to be a general of the armies … even a pissant one like the Peace Guardians … I’d be several species of a fool to serve under him. Particularly if his mistakes would be blamed on me, as you’ve indicated.”

  Barthou started to snap a retort, but Scopas held up his hand. “Let me try another approach, since you haven’t rejected me completely,” he said quietly. “Would you agree to take over the army … I mean the Peace Guardians … if Herne were set aside, in some sort of honorary position but out of the real line of command? You wouldn’t be able to hold the rank of tribune, of course — there are political considerations that prevent that title from ever being revived. Perhaps we might use the rank of supreme jedaz, which should lessen any problems King Bairan might have with your return to the military.”

  “I know it’s hardly civil to answer a question with another question, and I’m not doing that,” I said. “But I need more information. An army … no matter what you call it … isn’t led by one general, one tribune, or whatever Maisirian rank you like. Who else can you call on?”

  “The liaison between us and the Guardians is Timgad,” Scopas said.

  I remembered him vaguely — a toady who’d been appointed to the Rule of Ten after the Tovieti riots began, a toady of Barthou’s. He … and his position … didn’t matter, for if I accepted their offer I’d no more listen to the Council than I would Herne.

  “Lord Drumceat, even though he lacks experience, has a great deal of fire and enthusiasm,” Scopas went on. “We plan to name him Rast.”

  Drumceat was the reactionary rural baron who’d taken over the death patrols created by my brother-in-law Praen, after the Tovieti slaughtered him. I’d once ordered him from my house.

  “A man with great experience,” Barthou put in, “is General, now Rast, Indore.”

  Experience … at being totally political. The Rule of Ten had tried to foist him on the army as supreme commander, and Tenedos had refused him. Hardly a plus.

  “Another is Rast Taitu.”

  A decent man, relieved by Tenedos for refusing Tenedos’s orders to attack at Dabormida. Something of a plus.

  “Someone without experience, but, like Drumceat, with fire,” Barthou said, “is Baron Lany.”

  He was the ex-head of warders in Nicias who’d replaced me as head of the provisional government in Kallio, after the emperor had sent me home in disgrace, who evidently did an excellent job. A plus.

  “Probably our best officer,” Scopas said, “is Guardian of the Peace Herne’s adjutant, a real firebrand named Trerice. He never served in the army during the war but organized supply caravans to the borders. He prided himself on never losing a man or a bale of goods to bandits or anything else. Properly, he was rewarded. I guess he found peacetime boring, for he joined the Guardians and quickly rose in its ranks. Herne’s been using him in the countryside, where he’s been most effective in suppressing dissent. He’s considered totally ruthless in following his orders, doing much the same task you performed for the emperor. I suppose you had the same reputation.”

  No, ruthless was not a distinction that I’d ever heard connected to my name, and I hoped it had never fit. I guessed this Trerice might be competent, since Herne wouldn’t let him near Nicias and power.

  “There are others, of course,” Scopas went on. “Middle-rankers from the war, who’ve risen to the occasion. We’re quite confident.”

  I refrained from sneering. If they were so confident, why’d they drag me out of jail? I could have given them the answer right then, but still liked the fact my neck ran directly from my body to my head.

  “I see,” I said. “Naturally, I’d like a day, perhaps two, to consider this.”

  Barthou looked unhappy, but Scopas nodded hastily. “Of course, of course. Take all the time you need. You’ll forgive us if we don’t herald your return for a while, nor permit you to reenter public life.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want to become an embarrassment.” I started for the door. “So if you’ll let me return to my … secluded quarters …”

  Scopas oiled me out, and I went down the hall, surrounded by guards. I glanced back at the corridor’s end and saw Scopas looking thoughtfully after me. Barthou came up beside him and said something. Scopas, still looking at me, answered, shaking his head.

  I guessed my thinking wasn’t as impervious as I’d hoped but wasn’t that disappointed. Scopas had years and years of determining meaning from a flinch or a glance.

  I’d already decided I wouldn’t become a Peace Guardian under any circumstances. Not only was it morally abhorrent, but with lackluster buffoons for officers, my chances of defeating a brilliant sorcerer and sometimes-prescient general like Tenedos were nonexistent.

  The question was, how could I turn them down and continue living?

  The next question became — if I managed to survive this crisis, what came next?

  I had no answers for either question.

  • • •

  I startled awake into a dream. The Emperor Laish Tenedos stood, arms crossed, in the center of my room. On either side of him were braziers, sending out scented smoke in many colors.

  The emperor smiled, and I knew I was not dreaming at all.

  I came out of bed, began to bow, naked as I was, then caught myself, confused.

  Tenedos guffawed. “In spite of the oath you took,” he said, “you do not have to make obeisance. I have not regained the throne.” His smile vanished. “Not yet, but soon.”

  “How did you do this?” I managed.

  “That perplexes me a bit,” he said, reaching into invisibility and pulling up a camp chair. He reached once more to the side, came back with a crystal decanter and glass, and poured brandy. He replaced the carafe and sipped.

  “This is a spell I devised,” he said, “that began with the Seeing Bowl you and I used once, when you were in Kallio.

  “With it, I’ve sent … messages … to certain men who served me in the past and whose service I now require. The few times I was able to connect with them, it was all very hazy, unclear, not like this.

  “Perhaps it’s because I worked great magic in the tower you’re now in, and there’s a … perhaps residue is the word.

  “Or perhaps it’s because you and I were closer than any of my other officers and officials.

  “You see, Damastes? I am back, it was not a myth, not a double, and my powers are stronger than ever.”

  I managed to hide a shudder. The seer king’s great secret was that he gathered his sorcerous strength from blood, from death, which was why he worshiped the death-goddess Saionji, when almost all other Numantians trembled at her name. I’d only realized this secret near the end, before Cambiaso; it was something I should’ve sensed years earlier.

  So his powers were back, and more powerful? I wasn’t sure if that meant he’d learned greater spells or, more frightening, if he’d made another pact with another demon, promising blood for power.

  An even worse thought came: had Tenedos in fact died, rather than faking a death? Had he struck a bargain with Saionji herself and been able to return to this world in the same form, rather than being thrown onto th
e Wheel to be reborn in some other body in some distant land, perhaps an animal instead of a human?

  Tenedos was looking at me closely.

  “Might I ask your thoughts?” he inquired in a mocking tone.

  I shook my head. “I’m not altogether awake, so they don’t bear repeating.”

  Again, Tenedos laughed. “Damastes, my friend, you were always a terrible liar. But it matters not. Were you thinking about the past? About what you did to me at Cambiaso?”

  I made no reply.

  “You need not let it dwell on you,” he said. “For that was in the past, and now is the time I call you to return to your duty as first tribune, commander of my armies, and assist me in regaining my rightful throne, my rightful possession of Numantia.”

  “In spite of what happened?” I said.

  “I cannot say I love you for what you did. I was blind in my rage at being betrayed by Scopas, Barthou, the cowardly lice who populate Nicias, and was about to send them doom.” He drank. “I was not thinking clearly at that time, for I never should have allowed myself to worry about them until I’d destroyed the Maisirians.

  “You should have restrained me, but not in the manner you did. For Numantia’s sake, as well as mine … and, considering your present situation, your own as well.”

  I thought for an instant of asking how one subdues a wizard in a terrible rage, a wizard who can call up demons able to destroy fortresses and armies.

  “But, as I said,” Tenedos continued, “that is in the past. During my exile, I had a chance to think of what I did, both right and wrong, and how I would change matters given the chance.

  “I was given the chance, or, more correctly, I seized the moment. Now I am on the path of recovery, of return.

  “I’ve amassed a great force of men, nearly one hundred thousand. But I lack officers to lead them into battle, men of experience, even though I have many with the desire, and blood that races to the sound of drums. King Bairan killed too many of our best.