The Warrior King: Book Three of the Seer King Trilogy

by Chris Bunch

  He nodded jerkily.

  “All right,” I said, and I was breathing heavily. “I swore an oath to Tenedos, and I swore an oath before that to Numantia. And my family’s motto is We Hold True.” I laughed bitterly. “Maybe I haven’t done things all that well. Maybe Irisu is sitting up there somewhere laughing his ass off at my pretensions. So be it.

  “I am not part of this great game anymore. Put one oath on one side, the other on the other. Let them balance each other out, and leave me the hell alone.

  “There’re three armies in Numantia about to strike at one another, to rip the country apart again to see who sits the throne in Nicias, which’ll most likely bring the Maisirians back to further rend and tear.

  “I can’t stop that from happening, and maybe I don’t want to.

  “But understand one thing most clearly. I am not playing. I am not going with you. Nor am I going to serve Tenedos again.

  “Let all of you burn and tear and rip the country until it’s nothing but ashes and corpses for all of me.

  “I am not going to take part.

  “I’ve killed enough, more than enough, sent how many million men to their deaths, been the cause of how many women, children being torn back to the Wheel?

  “No more. I’m through.”

  I slammed out the door, pushing past Elfric. I heard Kutulu start to say something, then stop.

  I burst out of the house into the waning moonlight, went blindly to my cottage, barred the door, and slumped on my bed.

  Perhaps I wanted someone to come to me, argue with me, change my mind, give me a rudder. But no one did.

  In late morning, when I went again to the main house, Kutulu, Sinait, and their soldiers had gone.

  SEVEN

  DEATH FROM THE SHADOWS

  The more I thought, the more firm my resolve became. The world could go spinning into whatever sewer it wished. I was done with great events and wished to be left alone.

  But it might not be that simple. If two could find me, one, a far greater wizard, most likely could as well. I’d certainly talked enough about Cimabue to the emperor over the years.

  Why he hadn’t sought me thus far, I had no idea. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, he’d realized I would certainly never support his enemies. But I still spent some time, preparing for future troubles.

  A few days after Kutulu and Sinait had left, a runner panted up to the main house. A district overseer, in Belya, which is a finger of Cimabue bordered by the state of Hermonassa on the north and east, and Ticao on the west, had somehow heard of the man-eater that’d been slain in Atikim by a nameless great hunter and sent a messenger to Atikim after that hunter. The witch there had used scrapings from the mat I’d slept on and certain other residues I delicately didn’t inquire into and had divined I could be found within four days travel of Atikim.

  This also gave me pause — first Sinait, then this witch had been able to scent me out, which suggested I was, in fact, trying to hide in an open plain.

  The message was brief: Belya was cursed with a man-eating leopard, perhaps not even an animal but a demon. It had killed a dozen within two weeks, leaving the bodies uneaten as often as not, and the peasants had panicked, abandoning homes and farms to huddle in Belya’s few towns. Could I, whoever I was, help?

  I hadn’t heard of this leopard, nor had Mangasha, but Daryal had, and what he’d heard made me wonder if this beast was, indeed, a demon. Over eight years, it had killed at least 850 people, and Daryal said most likely more, since Belya was a deeply jungled district, and records weren’t carefully kept. That was about all he knew of Belya, other than it was studded with ancient stone temples built by the primitive tribesmen, which were still used by the hill people for worship. I’d never encountered these primitives, nor had anyone I knew, so naturally there were the wildest tales of their fierceness or gentleness, their ugliness or beauty, their friendliness or hostility. Supposedly, by worshiping these eldritch gods of nature, some of their more skilled magicians had learned how to change themselves into animals.

  “Perhaps this leopard is one such were-creature,” Daryal suggested.

  “Perhaps,” I said. I remembered the wedding dagger with hilt and pommel of silver that Yonge of the Hills had given me for a wedding present, how it had slain men and monsters, and how I could possibly use it now. But it was buried in the forgotten, rotting bones of the azaz I’d slain at Cambiaso.

  This quest would give me a way to absent myself for a while, and perhaps the deep jungles would hide me from wizards.

  I found the two men who’d gone hunting with me to Atikim and asked if they wished further sport. One turned pale and said his rice fields were particularly weed hung, and he was afraid to trust the work to his worthless wife and equally worthless sons, and … and I sent him away.

  The other, a young man barely out of his teens named Perche, grinned and said why not. He’d as soon be devoured by a leopard as die of boredom or a broken back, pushing a plow.

  I told him what we wanted to take and for him to assemble the items along with two good horses and better mules.

  I then sought Mangasha and finally told him exactly what’d happened since I was taken from my island prison and what I’d been thinking. The seer Tenedos was a vindictive man, fully capable of obliterating an entire state like Cimabue if it displeased him, as he’d wanted to do to Nicias. If he came seeking me, either magically or in the flesh, he’d be most likely seeking vengeance for my having betrayed him.

  Mangasha shivered.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have returned here,” I said wryly.

  “No,” he said somberly. “A family must stand together, even more than a nation must. If you hadn’t come back home and if we’d learned you didn’t, that would have shamed us for all time.

  “So stand by you we must, now and in the future. Maybe there’s people in other parts of Numantia who can ignore the plight of a kin, but I don’t think many in Cimabue could.”

  I turned aside for a moment, not wanting him to see me fight for control.

  “Thank you.”

  “Buffalo shit,” he said. “There’s nothing to thank or remark on when someone’s merely doing as he should. The question now, I’d guess, is what should we do to prepare ourselves for a visit from that gods-damned magician.”

  Mangasha was ever the sergeant, pragmatic, letting his superiors get him into the pig wallow, and then he’d find a way out for everyone, including the bastards who got him into it in the first place.

  “I’ll be leaving within a few hours,” I said. “I want you to quietly assemble the family and tell them what we’ve decided.” I took a deep breath. “All of them except Traptain … and Jeritza.”

  Mangasha eyed me. “You trust him as little as I do.”

  “Say, rather, I’m not sure of him, and these aren’t times to put trust in anyone you’re unsure of.”

  “Jeritza as well, because she’s his wife,” Mangasha said wryly.

  I nodded. “A wife who doesn’t stand with her husband isn’t much.”

  “That’ll be hard for me to do.”

  “Do the best you can,” I said, then gave further instructions to put together a work crew of the most reliable men and women he knew. Have them find a spot, deep in the jungle, one that could be defended. Build platforms there, and put hard stores on them. Get one of the village witches to put a spell on it, so animals wouldn’t raid the foodstuffs. If attacked, don’t try to fight either soldiers or demons, but flee. The attack, if it came, would probably be magical and shouldn’t last long, particularly once Tenedos realized I was absent. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be much damage.

  “I assume,” Mangasha said, “if this happens, we can take Traptain and Jeritza with us.”

  “Of course. No one tries to negotiate with a demon when he’s ripping at your throat.”

  “No,” Mangasha agreed. “Not even someone like Traptain.”

  Further, I went on, I wanted him to post sentries on all the roads
and tracks, so there’d be no surprise. If Tenedos attacked by magic, it’d likely be at night, so each hamlet must have watchmen out.

  “Especially here, at the main compound.”

  “I’d already thought of that,” Mangasha said. “There’s been sentries posted every night since you’ve been back. And there’s some other things I can do … not to fight back, for I’m not enough of a sloth-brain to think I can outfight or outthink our emperor that was, but to keep the worst from happening.”

  He sighed heavily. “These are not good times, are they, Damastes?”

  “No,” I said slowly. “No, they’re not. But perhaps, if we do like the rabbits, and hide deep in our burrows, we’ll be overlooked.”

  “Perhaps,” Mangasha said, and there was doubt in his voice.

  Two hours later, Perche and I rode away with the messenger after the Man-eater of Belya.

  • • •

  Belya’s district supervisor, a harried man named Hokon, met me in the refugee-crowded village of Megiddo to give me what information he had about the leopard.

  He showed me on the vague maps, the best he had, where the creature had last struck, or, rather, where he’d marked his new territory, and terrorized three villages so badly that their inhabitants had fled here, where they clamored for food, shelter, and most of all, a wizard to kill the demon.

  “What do you believe the creature is?” he asked.

  “I have no beliefs,” I said. “I haven’t seen this leopard yet, so don’t know if it’s mortal or not.”

  “And you’re not worried if it is a demon?”

  “Of course I’m worried,” I said. “Do I look that much of a dunce?”

  “No, no, of course not,” he said, pulling at his wispy hair. “Forgive me, but these are not easy days. I don’t know if you’re political, but Hermonassa and Ticao have both declared for the Emperor Tenedos, Cimabue hasn’t, and I’m being pressured from the governors of those other states to stand with them. I simply don’t know what to do, what to do at all.” He peered at me closely. “You look like someone I should recognize. Are you sure you’ve never had anything to do with the government?”

  “Very sure,” I lied. I’d not bothered to dye my hair again but had kept it short, since the easiest disguise is the best.

  “Good, good,” he said. “I wish to Irisu I’d chosen a simpler life. Now … forgive me, but I have other matters I must attend to. If you wish to speak to anyone who saw the leopard’s attacks, my assistants can locate several.”

  I did, but the interviews produced little of value, for by now the villagers’ stories had grown, the more they were repeated from inn to bazaar to teahouse, and the leopard was about the size of an elephant, with several sets of fangs, the ability to leap over banyan trees, tear huts apart to get at their shrieking occupants, and so forth.

  I thought of purchasing another bullock or some such animal for bait, but we were several days’ journey from the leopard’s territory, and I didn’t think much of dragging some terrified animal that distance. From what I’d been told, there were many animals that’d just been abandoned that I could use.

  Early the next morning, we followed the narrow jungle trail that led into the jungle’s heart. The track was easy to follow, littered with clothes, furniture, things the villagers had thought vital for their existence that had grown heavier as the miles and fear increased.

  One day, on the trail, five small men came out of the brush and watched me approach. They were armed with very long spears and very light crossbows and wore loincloths and caps fashioned from the capeskins of monkeys.

  We could barely be understood, but I managed to tell them I sought the great man-eater. They looked frightened and chattered amongst themselves. The best linguist managed to say that they were sorry I was so cursed, for I seemed to be a cheerful sort, and they would speak well of me to their gods after I’d been slain. One wanted me to give him my sword now, for I’d have no use for it when I met the leopard-demon, but I reluctantly had to tell him no, I might need it in the encounter, for it’d belonged to my father, and besides, not even the gods knew everything to be for certain. I thanked them for their uplifting sentiments and support, distributed presents of salt and charms I’d bought in Megiddo, and bade them farewell.

  The three villages the leopard had desolated formed a rough triangle on the slopes of a jungled valley. Through the center of the valley ran a river, and on its banks were the ruins of an ancient temple. One villager had said the leopard lived in these ruins, which proved he was a demon, for no honest creature would chance the wrath of the old gods.

  First was to establish a safe shelter. The first village I went to had burnt after the villagers had left, and there were only two huts standing. I considered using the temple as my shelter, but my arrogance didn’t run that deep. If there were any of the old gods hanging about, it’d be unlikely they’d be pleased by having their home profaned.

  The second, and farther, village was intact, and its inhabitants had built a stockade around it. The gates were closed, and I wondered if some brave, or stubborn, sorts were still living there. There was no answer to my halloos, but the gate was barred when we tried it. Perche shinnied up the wall as deftly as he went up a coconut palm, peered over, and almost fell back.

  He came down quickly, his face pale.

  “They’re … in there … dead …” he managed, then turned aside and threw up, shoulders convulsing.

  I drew my sword, peered through a gap between gate and wall, saw nothing terrible. But I smelt rotting corpses. There was room enough to slide my sword through the gap and lever the bar out of the way. It thudded to the dusty ground within, and I pushed the gate open.

  I’d seen more ghastly things than Perche had, but still my stomach recoiled. Sprawled inside the gate was a man, his guts ripped out and half-eaten, his face torn away. Next to him was the rusty scythe he’d tried to defend himself with. Ten feet away was a woman’s body. She was unscarred except for clawmarks across her throat. Closer to the scatter of huts inside the palisades were the bodies of two children, at least one of whom had been partially eaten, and a donkey, whose neck jutted away at an unnatural angle from the leopard’s smashing blow.

  “How … how did … what …” Perche managed.

  My skin crawled. The answer was horrible, and I began to believe this leopard wasn’t a natural being. The family must’ve lived distant from this village and hadn’t known of the evacuation. Perhaps they’d heard the leopard at night, as he growled around their hut, and fled to the village. They found its gates open and the huts empty, but the crude fort promised safety, and so they hurried inside, and hastily barred the gate.

  Then they heard the leopard’s snarl …

  Inside the stockade with them.

  Perche fumbled a short spear from one of our mules’ packs, peered about, expecting the leopard to appear from the dust, from nowhere.

  I examined the bodies, ignoring the stench and my revolted stomach. The blood was black, clotted not long before. I pinched flesh, found it pliable. The death stiffness had passed, so, in this heat, it probably meant they’d been dead less than a full day.

  “We must give them death ceremonies,” Perche managed.

  I was about to agree, then a rather disgusting notion came. I pondered it, and it made a deal of sense.

  “No,” I said.

  “But …”

  “We’ll use them for bait. Instead of hunting the leopard, we’ll let it come to us.”

  A ghastly thought, but if this monster had grown fond of the taste of human flesh and was so complacent he hadn’t even bothered to carry the carcasses away to a hiding place, unlike most leopards, that seemed my best tactic. And leopards, man-eating or no, prefer their meat somewhat on the gamy side.

  What was really worrisome, which I didn’t tell Perche for fear of further terrifying him, is that the leopard must’ve slain the family in broad daylight, once more against the creature’s normal habits. So t
he man-eater was beyond fear and stalked these hills as their master.

  Perche swallowed hard, nodded jerkily. “If that’s what you think best.”

  “First, though,” I said, “we find something to put our backs against.”

  We turned the largest hut into a stable, so the leopard wouldn’t be distracted from his nicely ripening meal. I made sure no real beast could smash in the door, and we blocked the windows with hay bales.

  It was only a bit after midday, and so we ate. Or rather, I ate. Perche kept looking at the bodies, wrinkling his nose against the growing reek of their corruption.

  I chose a hut close to the village’s entrance and laid bow, arrow, javelin, and stabbing spear next to its doorway, unrolled a sleeping mat and positioned it near my weapons, keeping my sword close at hand.

  There was nothing to do but wait for nightfall.

  I passed the time looking through the abandoned huts, wondering at what people had chosen to leave behind. There were preserved foodstuffs I doubted anyone would grudge me for the evening meal. But even though I saw hand-carved chests that would’ve held the people’s treasures, I refrained from looting any further.

  With one exception. Hanging on the wall of a large hut whose well-kept furniture indicated it belonged to one of the village’s more prosperous residents was a sword. It was very old-fashioned, such as I’d seen in museums, probably as much intended for ceremony as use. It had a curved, single-edged blade that was still fairly sharp and an ivory handle inset with gold. It was perfectly balanced, and the smith who’d forged it had known as much about fighting weapons as craftsmanship. But I took it because its hilt and pommel were of silver, and silver had been worked into the blade for its full length. I studied the engravings, warriors and demons fighting, the soldiers dressed as they would’ve in my grandfather’s grandfather’s time.

  The shadows were growing long as the sun sank below the valley walls. I heard birdsongs, then the outraged squabble of monkeys, disturbed at their meal. I went to the gate, listened closely. Suddenly, there was complete silence.