Demon King (57 page)

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“It’s not good to let things bother you that can’t be changed, is it?”

She turned to me. “Thank you. I do love you.”

“And I do love you.” Hand in hand, we went up to the bedroom we’d chosen for that night.

Alegria’s declaration of inner fealty hadn’t bothered me. But one thing had: What
was
to come next? We couldn’t abandon Jarrah and pursue Bairan farther into the wastelands, especially not with the country alive behind us. We couldn’t winter here in Jarrah, not unless we found a magical source of foodstuffs. I could see but one option. And I’d have to go to the emperor with it.

• • •

“Damastes, are you exhausted?”

“No, sir. Nor am I mad, dispirited, traitorous, or foolish.”

“I’ll accept all but the last,” the emperor said. Surprisingly, he hadn’t raged at me. “It’s absurd to suggest we’ve got to retreat when we’ve done nothing but win battles since we entered Numantia.”

“I can see nothing else,” I replied. “The army’s being drained of its strength every day we’re in Jarrah. Sooner or later the Maisirians will recognize that, and then — ”

“Then we’ll smash them for good,” Tenedos said. “Consider this, my friend. How could I go to the army and say we’re falling back? How could they continue to hold me in the regard they do? And something else that might not have occurred to you,” he went on. “The Numantian Army has never known defeat. Never. Do you realize how few of us even know how to retreat? You … me … some of those thugs you keep around who were with us when we were driven out of Kait, and that’s all. And I don’t see any way to rehearse things, either, do you?

“No, no, my friend,” he said, grasping my shoulder firmly. “Retreat is not a word that exists for Numantians. Sooner or later King Bairan will come to his senses, and then the war will be over. Leave me to take care of the grand strategy, and you do what you do best — making sure what I order comes to happen.”

• • •

So I said, and did, nothing. But as the days grew shorter and the nights colder, the army recognized its peril. Valuables were still traded, but now the most desirable were the most portable, as were imperishable foodstuffs, winter clothes, and heavy footwear. I was part of this black market, using my rank shamelessly. I acquired two sturdy closed carriages abandoned by the Maisirians, and eight horses for each. If we left Jarrah, they’d carry not only Alegria, but the baggage we’d need for a winter march.

I asked Svalbard and Curti if they’d mind new duties. They laughed uproariously and said it was a terrible thing I was asking, but they’d find a way to live with the disgrace. I wanted preserved meats, twice-baked bread, stimulant teas, hard candies for provender, and brandy, and bagged oats for the horses. I further asked my rogues to look for gold curios to be stuffed in a pocket or bottom of a pack, things peasants might think valuable enough to cooperate with the giver for.

I wanted furs and good heavy boots for me and for Alegria and my two men as well. Finally, I told them to prepare four packs that, if we lost the carriages, we could still carry or sling on our horses.

I ordered Captain Balkh to search for the same items for my Red Lancers. If I couldn’t help everyone, I would help those closest to me.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. The next step would be taken by the emperor. Or the Maisirians.

• • •

Domina Othman sent a messenger, saying that, with the emperor’s compliments, I might wish to ride to the Octagon, speak to the person who’d been found there, and possibly provide the emperor with an explanation.

At the prison was a captain I vaguely remembered from the emperor’s intelligence staff, and half a dozen Guardsmen. A scouting party had discovered that the prison still had one resident, cowering in a distant cell. He was a bearded man, perhaps thirty, perhaps sixty, quite mad.

“Alone … yes … now alone,” he said, unquestioned, “for I wouldn’t go with the others … even though the cage was open … Knew, I knew it was a trap … outside was death … my death, and I could be safey-safe as long as I stayed within … safe in my womb … I crept out, mousey mousey … There was bread, there was wine … the guards’ wine … I saw Shaoki’s body … spat on the bastard … He put me to the torture once … laughed, laughed …”

“Old man,” the captain said, “tell this man what you told me.”

“Oh no, no no no, for he’s too fine, too pretty.”

“No he’s not. He’s a friend of yours.”

“A friend?” the loon said skeptically.

“You have my word.”

“Word … word … There weren’t any words … no one … just wonderful silence when they were gone.”

“The other prisoners?”

The man nodded.

“Where did they go?”

“Ah …” The man’s eyes gleamed like a rat’s. “Gone out … gone below.”

“Did they leave the city?”

“Oh no, no, no. They had a task, they were told. They were to wait, then do what they were told.”

“Why?”

The man’s expression changed, became almost normal.

“Because,” he whispered, “they were given a promise. A promise from” — he looked about to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard — “from the
azaz.
One task, one job, and they’d be forgiven all. They’d be free men when the king comes back to Jarrah.”

“What were they to do?”

“Not yet, not yet, not yet,” and the man cackled.

“What
are
they to do?”

“Ah, but that’s the secret, and if I give you the secret, then the
azaz
will know, and he will strike at me.”

“No, he won’t. You’re safe now. You’re in Numantian hands,” I said.

The madman laughed long and hard, as if I’d told him the best jest ever. “No, no, no, no. Not safe, not from him, not ever.”

“Tell me what these prisoners are to do. Are they still here in the city? Where are they hiding?” the captain demanded. “Sir,” he added, turning to me, “we’ve had bits and pieces from him, and there’s something going on, or about to happen, but he won’t tell us. I’d question him with … other means, but I don’t know if that would be successful.”

“No, no, no, no,” the man cackled. “Torture doesn’t work. It didn’t work for the king’s bastards, didn’t work for the
azaz
’s nail-pullers, won’t work for you.”

He sounded momentarily sane, and I seized the moment. “Tell us what the captain wants to know, and you’ll be free. Free and rich.”

“And then dead. Oh no, no, no. But I’ll tell you this. They’re there. They’re here. And you’ll see them soon.

“Very, very soon.”

The man slumped to the stone floor of the prison, and his eyes gazed far out, far beyond the walls.

I shook my head. “I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s talking about. Send my apologies to the emperor.”

I pulled my greatcoat and helmet on and adjusted my sword belt. The movement caught the prisoner’s eyes.

“Oh yes. You’ll see them,” he said once more. “See them, see them, see them. Soon. Very, very soon.”

I came groggily awake, puzzling why the world was orange, orange flaring red, and it was hard to breathe. Fire! I ran to a window, naked, and opened the sash, heedless of the cold wind. The fire came from the still-sealed, never-investigated palace of the
azaz.
Flames shot up to touch the bottoms of the lowering storm clouds, and choking smoke boiled toward us.

Alegria was awake, and I told her to dress warmly and for travel, for nothing happens by accident around a magician. I pulled on thick pants and tunic, knee-high boots, and a heavy jacket. I armed myself with my straight sword and, on the other side belt, Yonge’s silver-mounted dagger. I took gauntleted gloves and a close-fitting helmet, and ran down the stairs, shouting for the Red Lancers. They were already up, buckling on their weapons as they clattered toward the stables.

The fire was the signal, and throughout Jarrah, men and women scurried out of their hiding places. Each had a bundle of oil-soaked clothes for tinder, and steel and flint. Tiny fires flickered in basements, in stores, in magazines, then built and built. Other fires came from inhuman sources, as a horde of the fire flecks the War Magicians had created spurted into life and caressed old dry wood, baled cloth, brandy-soaked warehouses. Jarrah, mostly wood, embraced the fire like a lover.

The clamor of the spreading flames grew louder, so I had to shout. “Captain Balkh!”

“Sir?”

“Take Svalbard, Curti, two others. Make sure my lady is taken to a place of safety. I’ll take command of the Lancers.”

“Sir,” he said, but his lips were pursed, little liking what he’d been ordered. But I paid no mind.

“The emperor! To the emperor!” Horses, neighing, whinnying in fear, were brought out, and we swung into our saddles and galloped for King Bairan’s palace. But the fire had gotten there first, and some of the towers, wood with metal covering, were smoking, and flames flickered.

The halls were madness as courtiers and staff ran here and there, shouting orders and obeying none. I grabbed one oaf and shook him into a measure of calmness.

“The emperor! Where is he?”

“He left his quarters … He’s in that big study.”

I ran for it, Lancers behind me, and crashed into the room. There was fire here — a small, comfortable fire behind a grate. The emperor wore seer’s robes and had the huge map tables pushed back. Two acolytes were drawing symbols on the red-purple porphyry floor. Tenedos was quite placid. “Good morning, Damastes. The Maisirians have finally woken up.”

“Yes, sir. And you’re to leave now. You must get to a place of safety.”

“In good time,” he said. “If I can’t manage to force out this fire spirit that’s seized Jarrah.”

“Sir?!”

“Be silent, Tribune! I’ve given you my orders.”

So I paced and fumed, trying to stay silent and not disturb the imperial magic. He chanted, muttered, and his attendants and half a dozen Chare Brethren tried spells. But the light through the great windows grew brighter and brighter. “It would seem,” the emperor said, still calm, “that the
azaz
’s magic, which I’m guessing is primal, has taken strong root. The fire shall have to burn for a time.”

I shouted to Othman to get the imperial carriage ready, the emperor’s chests into it, and chivvied Tenedos into dressing. His staff members needed no encouragement, and by the time we ran out of the palace, most had vanished. I half-shoved the emperor into his carriage, and told the driver to take it directly toward the azaz’s palace, open the nearby gate in the wall, and get outside the city.

“But … there’s likely enemy soldiers waitin'.”

“Soldiers are maybe — the fire’s for certain! Move, man!” Reluctantly, he obeyed, and the carriage lurched away. I sent all my Lancers with the emperor. I wouldn’t need to be there to command them if there were Maisirians outside.

I swung into Brigstock’s saddle and rode for the nearest Guard Corps headquarters. I passed a mansion Alegria and I had visited three nights earlier to see a most amusing dance put on by the Varan Guards, in which the younger legates, undismayed by the absence of suitable partners, had shown us native dances, so wild and abandoned the Negaret in the wilderness would’ve been jealous. Now the mansion’s windows were yellow and red eyes, the walls bulging. The house exploded, and the metal roof spun high, reflecting the flames. It pinwheeled, and slammed into the ground a few yards away. Cinders, sparks, flames cascaded, and Brigstock pranced in fear — but we were safely past.

I found Aguin Guil and told him where the emperor was, and that he’d best send several regiments out to make sure of Tenedos’s safety. For once, he didn’t hesitate, or ask for further orders. I forgot about him, about the emperor, and tried to think of a way to fight the fire. I could find none. No one knew where the Maisirians hid their fire-fighting mechanisms. I didn’t even know if they had them, and remembered what I’d heard of thrice-burned Jarrah. Even if we could’ve found such devices, we wouldn’t have been skilled in their use. Soldiers are meant to kill people and break things, not save them.

I ordered guard patrols to stop the incendiaries by any means necessary. The soldiers, grim-faced and afraid, seeing their sole refuge against the Maisirian winter vanishing, needed no specifics. At first, anyone with fire-making materials or close to a fresh fire was hanged. But that took too long, and a sword or spear thrust was all that was necessary. But the fires still grew, and so anyone who moved in the fire-dancing streets and wasn’t wearing Numantian uniform might be cut down.

I remembered, from when I was a boy in Cimabue, that we used to set counter-fires when we burned the rice fields after harvest, and I tried that. But the winds were wrong, or else the azaz’s spells very strong, for the fires intended to create safety zones merely added to the catastrophe.

Dawn came eventually, black clouds swirling over the city so it was no more than dim twilight, and the fires grew. I rode into a square with a huge fountain in its center. Fire had taken all the buildings around, and the soldiers quartered in them had fled to what they thought must be safety, immersing themselves like so many terrified frogs in the fountain. But the fire had been too hot, and the soldiers were boiled alive. I saw other corpses on other streets, black like potatoes left too long in the fire, so charred they bore no resemblance to men or women.

The dead were the fortunate ones. The others, seared beyond recognition, were lucky if they were so shocked as to be beyond pain, but all too many could still scream. I’d never known a man could howl, in dying, more loudly than a horse. Yonge’s silver dagger saw dark work that morning, and helped many with the only blessing I could give: quick return to the Wheel.

I saw Alegria once — she’d convinced Balkh to let her back into the city, then found one of our chirurgeons and become a nurse.

Jarrah burned on. The only buildings that were safe, that wouldn’t burn, were the stone temples, and so we seized them for hospitals, for billets, for headquarters. I knew this would be termed desecration by the pious Maisirians, but there was no other choice.