I’d been in the field with one of my justice patrols, and been well satisfied at how the young legate handled matters, even though he was quite nervous with me in attendance. It was a long and dusty ride back to Polycittara, and I was more than ready for a very hot bath, about three pounds of barely cooked beef, and six hours of uninterrupted sleep. The bath and the steak I could have, but there was paperwork waiting that would keep me awake until past midnight, so I wasn’t in the best of tempers.
There were two surprises waiting. The first was Landgrave Amboina, sitting at ease in our reception room with a glass of wine, chatting amicably with my wife, and the other was a huge painting leaning against the wall. Amboina stood and bowed, while Marán gave me a quick and formal kiss on the lips.
“The landgrave has a present for us,” Marán said, “and was kind enough to keep me company while I was waiting for you.” She turned and indicated the painting. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
I don’t know if beautiful was the word for it. Awesome certainly was. It was about ten feet long by eight feet high, in an ornately carved wooden frame that was stained black and a very dark scarlet. I guessed I was grateful I was now rich enough, courtesy of the Seer Tenedos and my wife, to have several palaces with walls large — and sturdy — enough to hang the piece.
In the foreground was a moil of humanity, from peasants to lords, in marvelously tiny depictions of the life of Numantia and many of our provinces, from the jungles of the west to the high deserts of the east. Behind this landscape was the Wheel, turning, ever turning. To one side was Irisu, judging; to the other was Saionji, sweeping her taloned fingers across the landscape, bringing fresh deaths — and then rebirth — to the Wheel.
Behind all was a brooding, bearded figure that could only be Umar the Creator. Perhaps he was considering the splendor of what he’d created, perhaps about to destroy all and begin once more. Around these gods flocked many of their manifestations: the Guardians, with Aharhel the God Who Speaks to Kings in front, then the gods and goddesses of fire, earth, air, water, and many more.
I had to admire the hours, perhaps years, of work the artist had put into his work. But it, like other paintings and carvings, did little for me. If I am to love art, it should show something I am familiar with, perhaps a scene of a jungle farm in Cimabue or, better, a map from one of my campaigns. Such an admission no doubt brands me as a peasant, and so I am. Only music, of all the arts, has ever had power to move me.
I stared at this painting while dark thoughts grew within me. I turned back.
“It is very impressive, Landgrave. What made you choose to give it to us?”
Before Amboina could say anything, Marán spoke, and her voice was nervous.
“It’s called The Judging, and it’s by one of Kallio’s most famous artists, a man named Mulugueta, who died over a hundred years ago. There are already two of his paintings at Irrigon. Damastes, isn’t it wonderful? Won’t it look nice with the others at Irrigon … or maybe at the Water Palace?”
I took a deep breath. “Excuse me, my dear. But I still don’t understand. Landgrave, where did this come from?”
“From the estate of Lord Tasfai Birru,” the landgrave said.
“I know him not,” I said. “When did he die, and why did he choose to leave such a work to me? Has he no family or heirs?”
Amboina laughed tentatively, as if I’d told a poor jest. His laughter died when he saw I wasn’t joking. I decided I didn’t like him.
“He is still alive, Count Agramónte.”
“You may refer to me as Tribune rather than Count, since that title has precedence over all, especially in Kallio at this time.”
“My apologies, Tribune. As I was saying, Lord Birru is alive, although I predict he’ll return to the Wheel within the next two weeks. At present he’s held in this fortress’s dungeon, charged with treason. There’s only one verdict imaginable.”
“I see. And this belongs to him?” I asked.
“Belonged. It, along with the rest of his estate, will become the property of the state. After a percentage is sent to the emperor, the remainder will be disposed of by an official chosen by Prince Reufern. Of late, he has been delegating this rather exacting task to me.”
“Forgive me,” I said, “for appearing a bit thick. But isn’t it Numantian law that no man’s property may be seized, whether land, slaves, or a painting, until he has been convicted?”
Amboina smiled, and there was more than a bit of gloating in his expression. “Such is the law, but the verdict is foreordained, as I said; Lord Birru was a close adviser of Chardin Sher. After Chardin Sher’s death, he withdrew to one of his estates and refused several requests by Prince Reufern to attend him here in Polycittara.”
“That makes a man foolish,” I said. “And perhaps suicidal. But it does not make him a traitor. Is there any hard evidence to convict him?”
“May I speak honestly?”
“I wish you would.”
“Lord Birru has — had — vast estates. These estates, Prince Reufern decided, would provide greater benefits for Numantia if they were in the proper hands.”
“The hands of Prince Reufern?”
“I believe he plans on acquiring some of them. Others will be given to certain loyal members of his court.”
“Such as yourself?”
Amboina colored slightly, but didn’t respond.
“Very well,” I said, and I heard harshness in my tone. “Thank you for the gift. But I must decline it. Would you please arrange to have it withdrawn from my quarters?”
“But I’ve already accepted it,” Marán said in surprise.
I began to blurt something, but stopped myself. “My apologies, Landgrave,” I said. “I don’t think my wife understood the circumstances. We cannot accept this.”
“Prince Reufern will not be pleased,” the landgrave said.
“Since I doubt this gift was his idea, but rather your own, I would suggest, in the interests of your health, you not mention this incident. You should know two things, Landgrave, and know them well.” I could feel anger building, and let it. I had been controlling myself for too long around these prancing fools. “Neither my wife nor myself are looters. Also, I was appointed to this post by the emperor himself. Does that not suggest perhaps this entire scene should be forgotten, at least by you?”
Amboina nodded jerkily, turned, made a sketchy bow to my wife, and hastened away. I went to a window and took six deep breaths.
“How dare you,” Marán hissed from behind me.
That was all I could stand. I spun. “How dare I what, my lady?”
“How dare you embarrass me? First you deny the name of Agramónte, which was old when your family was cutting trees for sustenance in your jungles, then you shame me personally by telling a nobleman like the landgrave you think he’s some sort of grave robber!”
I could have responded sensibly, and explained that the landgrave had called upon me in my official position, then attempted to curry favor by calling me Agramónte. But I was tired, and I’d had enough of this nonsense.
“Countess Agramónte,” I said, in my coldest tone. “You are the one who’s overstepping her bounds. Let me remind you of something. You have no place or duties in Kallio. You are here as my wife. No more, no less.
“Therefore, when something like this occurs, you will have the decency to defer to the authority the emperor’s placed in me.
“I’ll add two more things, both personal.
“The first is how dare you decide something such as you did, which you aren’t stupid enough to think was done because Amboina thinks we’re the nicest people he’s ever met, but rather to draw us into the prince’s tidy little circle of bribed toadies?
“The second is that, yes, my family may have been cutting trees in the jungle and, probably, living in them sometimes. I admit I come from soldiery not much removed from a peasant farmer.
“But by the gods, Countess Agramónte, we are honest! Which appears to be more than can be said about some far older families, who perhaps achieved their prestige and riches as vultures!”
Marán’s eyes blazed. “You … bastard!” She half-ran from the room.
I started to go after her, then realized I’d said more than enough. But I was still too hot to apologize, if an apology was, indeed, called for. I stamped out and went to the battlements. I’m afraid I snarled at the sentries, no doubt making them wonder if I’d have them brought up on charges for some imagined offense.
It took me a long time to calm down. I now guess it was because I was secretly angry at many things, from the incompetent prince I had been ordered to support, to nest-featherers like Amboina, to being assigned these murky diplomatic duties when I longed for the simplicity of the barracks or, better, the harsh realities of the constant border fights in the Disputed Lands.
Eventually I calmed down. It was late. One thing that Marán and I had been proudest of was that our fights were not only few, but they were always settled at the time. We’d never let anger work at us.
I went back to our apartments, to our bedroom door, and tapped. There was no answer. I tried the door. It was locked. I knocked more loudly. Again, no response came. I could feel anger build once more. But there was nothing sensible to do.
So I went to my office and worked until nearly dawn, then lay on the field cot I kept there. I had sense enough to put this night’s paperwork in a separate place, knowing I’d best review it when calm. I managed to doze for perhaps an hour, then bugles woke me up. I went out on a balcony and watched guard mount in the courtyard below. The measured, never-changing routine of the army calmed me, knowing the same ceremony was being done at every barracks and post in Numantia. There was something larger than myself, than my petty problems, something I’d dedicated my life to.
I decided I’d spend the day with the troops, and hang paperwork and diplomacy. But not in the unshaven, rather disheveled state I was in. I had a spare field uniform in my campaign roll that always sat beside the door of whatever quarters I occupied, and I went to get it. I’d use the troop baths and have one of the men shave me. I didn’t worry about what the soldiers knew or thought — what had happened between my wife and myself would have gone through the regiment the instant the sentries I’d snapped at were relieved.
As I passed the door to our bedroom, I tried it and shook my head at my foolishness. But to my surprise the handle turned. I opened the door and went in. Marán sat at a window, her back to me. She wore a black silk wrap.
“May I enter?” I said formally.
“Please do.”
I closed the door behind me and stood in silence, not sure what I should say or do.
“Damastes,” she said. “I love you.”
“I love you as well.”
“We shouldn’t fight.”
“No.”
“Not over a stupid painting that probably’d get broken going back to Nicias.”
I didn’t answer for an instant. Marán knew that wasn’t at all why we’d snarled. I considered correcting her, but thought better.
“No. That’s not something to fight over,” I agreed. “I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry, too. I didn’t sleep at all.”
“I didn’t, either,” I said, lying but little.
She stood, and let the wrap fall.
“Damastes, would you make love to me? Maybe that’d make me feel better about … about things.”
Without waiting for an answer, she came to me, and slowly began undressing me. When I was naked, I picked her up in my arms, and carried her to the bed.
Her passion was far greater than mine. Even when I was in her, part of my mind wondered if I should have said something else, if I should have insisted we talk about the real cause of our fight. A thought came and went that there was this wall called the Agramóntes between us, and sometimes I felt it was growing larger and thicker year by year. But I put the thought aside as foolishness and let the lovemaking take me.
• • •
Two days later, Kutulu and his staff arrived. They were surrounded by the soldiery of the Tenth Hussars, hard-bitten brawn from the frontiers. It was curious, and amusing, to see how carefully they guarded their charges.
Kutulu was as I’d last seen him: a small man, whose hair was now no more than a fringe around his polished pate, even though he was younger than I. But he still had the penetrating eyes of a police warden who never forgets a criminal’s face, or anyone else he’s had business with. Other than that, he was completely unremarkable, and would never be noticed in a crowd, which I’d learned is a prime virtue of a secret agent.
He was the emperor’s spymaster now and wielded great power. Those who spoke ill of the emperor, his programs, or his intentions were visited by police agents and warned. Generally that sufficed, but a few were unwise enough to persist in their criticisms and were hauled into court, actually a secret tribunal. The charge would be “conduct inimical to the interests of the empire,” and sentences ranged from a few days to a few years in prison. There already were two prisons especially built for these offenders, both located in the heart of the Latane River’s delta, and there were dark rumors about what happened in them.
Kutulu had a staff nearly as large as the entire Nician police force, although no one knew how many agents there actually were, since they never wore uniforms or stood for the counting. Some were commoners, some were criminals, some nobility.
Kutulu was now known as “The Serpent Who Never Sleeps,” and while I thought calling the quiet little man with the wary eyes a serpent rather romantic, the hours he spent serving his emperor suggested that possibly he did, in fact, never go to bed. If he did, it must have been alone, for as far as I knew he had no private life whatsoever.
He’d brought more than seventy-five men and women with him. Some looked like wardens, but most like average citizens or ruffians and whores. Many wore cloaks, hoods pulled up in spite of the heat, not wishing their faces to become familiar. Some were mounted, more rode in wagons. Most, city-bred, looked relieved to be in the safety of a city, behind stone walls, and no longer exposed to the unknown terrors of the open country.
I’d had quarters prepared for Kutulu and his force in my wing, across from the barracks the Lancers occupied.
“Good,” he said. “There’ll be few Kallians pass your sentries, so my agents can maintain their anonymity. But I’ll also need chambers close to the dungeons that no one will be permitted to enter except my people. Other rooms will be necessary for my records, rooms that will always be guarded, where my reports can be filed.
“Finally, are there any secret ways in and out of this castle?”
I knew of none, and if I’d found any I’d certainly have had them bricked up.
“A pity,” he said and sighed. “It would be nice to have some sort of rat hole my terriers — and the rats we collect, both of their own free will and by our pressures — to enter and leave from at any hour without notice being taken.”
He asked if I had a Square of Silence. Seer Sinait had cast such a spell in my office as soon as we arrived, to make sure no sorcerer could eavesdrop on my conferences.
“Good,” Kutulu said. “Let us go there, then. I have certain questions I need to ask.”
We went up the wide stairs toward the floor my offices were on. Halfway, he put a hand on my arm.
“Oh,” he said, rather shyly. “I sometimes forget my graces. It is nice to see you, my friend.”
I looked at him with a bit of astonishment. He’d told me, equally soberly, after I’d saved his life in an encounter with a demon guardian of the Tovieti, that I was his friend, but he had never used the word again. I became as embarrassed as he was, since I wasn’t sure just what the word meant to the small man. I muttered thanks and tried to make light of things, telling him once he saw what a mess Kallio was in he’d probably change his opinion.
“No,” he said. “I meant what I said. I know I am around one of the two people I trust absolutely.” The other was the man he’d taken for his god — the emperor.
“I am glad to be away from the capital,” he continued. “I’m afraid I like Nicias but little these days.”
“Why?”
“The emperor is like honey,” he said, “and there are too many flies buzzing around, trying to suck in as much as they can, and dirtying everything they touch. Sometimes I’m afraid the emperor pays far too much mind to these people, and not enough to those who supported him when it was a risk.”
I managed to cover my surprise — I’d never thought Kutulu would have the slightest criticism of the Emperor Tenedos, even one as mild as he’d voiced.
“I’m sure the emperor knows them for what they are,” I said. “Don’t forget that, like you, he’s got to use some fairly questionable tools to do what he must.”
Kutulu looked at me for a long time, then nodded jerkily. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “Of course. You must be right. I should never have doubted.” He attempted a smile, which his face found unfamiliar. “As I said, you are a friend. Come, let us dispose of our business.”
In my office I set two chairs at the table the Square of Silence had been cast around and told him he could talk freely.
“Some of what I’m going to say comes from the emperor,” he began. “But I’ll have other questions as well.”
“To which I must respond correctly, or face possible prosecution.”
“What?” Kutulu was completely puzzled.
“Sorry. I was trying a small joke. You asked that question as if you were investigating me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I concentrate too much on the task at hand.”
“Never mind.” Joking with Kutulu was like pissing into the wind — nothing much would get accomplished and the splatter was a bit embarrassing. Nevertheless, for some unknown reason, I sort of liked the little man, as much as it’s ever possible to like someone whose passion and life’s work is finding out yours, and everyone else’s, business.
“I’ll start with my own question. Are the Tovieti active in Kallio? I’ve seen nothing of them in your reports.”
I gaped. The Tovieti had been a terror cult first organized in Kait, one of the Disputed Lands. They had been established by an unknown, probably dead sorcerer and given the crystal demon Thak to worship and obey. They spread across Numantia, murdering as they went. Their goal was to bring all society to an end, so their own rule could triumph. Their believers would be given not only the lives of the nobility and rich, but their gold, land, and women as well. But Tenedos had slain Thak, and Kutulu and I and the army had wiped out the Tovieti with drum patrols and the noose more than nine years ago.
Some must have survived our purging and fled. But we’d obliterated all their leaders, as far as I knew, and I thought the order no more than a bad dream of the past.
“I’m not mad,” Kutulu said. “The Tovieti have risen again. Remember their emblem?”
I did — it had been chalked or scrawled on every wall in Sayana, Kait’s capital — a red circle, representing the Tovieti, red for their slain leaders, whom they considered martyrs, with a nest of hissing serpents rising from it. Kutulu nodded.
“We cut off many of the vipers’ heads. But there are still others.”
“But who do they serve? Thak is dead, or at least I thought he was.”
“No sorcerer, including the emperor himself, has been able to find the slightest trace of the demon,” Kutulu agreed. “But the Tovieti have changed.
“I’ve arrested a dozen or more in Nicias. When questioned, right until death, they insist they have no master. Thak’s death, and the deaths of those who were the organization’s high council, proved they were following the wrong star.
“Now all members hold the same rank and are organized in small cells. They are to kill the mighty when they can, still with the yellow silken cord if possible, and are permitted to steal what they can to share with the others of the brotherhood.
“They say perhaps one day a new leader will manifest himself, but he won’t be a demon, but a man, a man who’ll lead them well, and they’ll give up their bloody ways for peace, and all men and women shall be equal.” He grimaced. “There’s only a few, as far as I can tell. But they’re troublesome. They’ve strangled at least a dozen people I know of, and I’ll wager three times that number of killings have been done in other ways. I’ve been unable to find any central leadership to exterminate. Perhaps they’re telling the truth, although I’ve never known a pack of dogs to not have a leader.”
“This is all completely new,” I said. “You know what sort of wardens we have here in Kallio, and that they’re little better than door rattlers. As secret agents they make excellent chicken farmers. But I’ve heard no whisper of the Tovieti. Should I ask my seer to cast spells to see if she can find any evidence?”
“No. I doubt if she’d be successful,” Kutulu said. “I had the best sorcerers in Nicias attempt such castings with no result, including the Chare Brethren, which the emperor has turned into a real force instead of a bunch of fossils creaking on about the theory of magic.”
He glanced about, as if looking for eavesdroppers, then said, almost whispering, “Have you any evidence, or even suspicions, of any Maisirian activity?”
“None,” I said, shocked — until I remembered Tenedos’s words.
“The emperor wants to know if any of these vanished Kallian officials might have fled through the Disputed Lands and found shelter with King Bairan.”
“No. Maybe a few tried,” I said. “But I would find it hard to believe any official or magician who had more than a rag to wrap about his loins would have been able to convince the Men of the Hills to give him safe conduct to the Maisirian border.”
“As would I. I believe that those who survived the war have gone to ground or fled into other provinces of Numantia. But that is not what the emperor believes.” He shook his head. “Great men proclaim the truth, and we lesser beings can do little but try to make what we see fit into that vision.
“Very well. Let me see what I can discover.”
• • •
The Time of Heat ended, and the Time of Rains began, at first with drizzles, then the full gush of the monsoon. It was still hot, but the gray, dank days matched the dirty business that had begun.
Without fanfare, Kutulu and his agents went to work. Strange people came and went at all hours, sometimes singly, sometimes in groups. Where they went, what they did, I didn’t know, nor did I ask.
Others on Kutulu’s staff were equally busy. I had to have the dungeon guard room moved up a level and thick carpeting installed on the floors. The screams from his torture chambers carried far.
I liked all this but little, but this is the way my country performs its investigations and enforces its laws. Prince Reufern seemed delighted and importuned Kutulu to visit the interrogation rooms. Kutulu refused, saying any interference from outsiders might destroy the pattern he was trying to create and reduce the flow of information his clerks were recording.
I had the comfort that my duties involved no such evil and that my magistrate’s patrols were abroad, doing their best to provide justice in the broken land.
• • •
The man stumbled through the city’s gates at midday, through the rain that blew in sheets across the sky. He still wore tatters of his uniform and to the sentries appeared quite mad. He was a horseman of Two Column, Leopard Troop, Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers.
He was rushed to the castle infirmary, and identified as Horseman Gabran. He’d ridden out with Legate Ili’s justice patrol that morning, and his hysterical babblings made the watch officer send for me at once. He raved about snakes, huge snakes, people that became snakes, and they’d tried to kill him, but he’d run, run. Suddenly he became quiet, his eyes owl-like.
“They killed all of us,” he said calmly. “All of the horses, all of the men. They tried to kill me, too. But I was too quick for them. I went into the fields, and then across a river. They couldn’t track me.
“Now they’ll come here. Now they’ll come after me. But I’m safe now, aren’t I? Aren’t I? Aren’t I!” and his voice rose to a scream. Two men held him, and a third forced a potion through his clenched lips. Again he quieted.
“That’s to make me sleep, isn’t it? That’s all right. I can sleep. They’ll not find me, when I’m asleep. Or if they do, I won’t care. No. I won’t care. I won’t …” He collapsed, as much fainting as from the draft.
I ran out of the infirmary, shouting for the alert troop, for Domina Bikaner to attend me in the Lancers’ ready room, and for a runner to summon Kutulu and Seer Sinait and tell them to make ready to travel. Sorcery would be needed if there was anything to Gabran’s tale, and I planned to move fast, far faster than the Kallians believed possible.
Bikaner came at a run, buckling on his saber. His adjutant, Captain Restenneth, had told him about Gabran, and he’d served long enough with me to be able to tell what I planned.
“Legate Ili and his column went out at dawn with orders to hold court here,” he said, tapping a spot on the ready room map. The village was called Nevern, and it sat in the foothills two hours ride from Polycittara.
“Very well,” I said. “I’ll have the ready troop …”
“Tiger, sir.”
“Tiger Troop, and turn out my Red Lancers. I’ll also have one company of the Hussars ready to ride in ten, no fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take personal command — ”
“No,” I said flatly. “This one’s mine. But you can ride along if you wish.”
“Yessir. Thank you, sir.”
Kutulu hurried into the room as Bikaner ran out. I briefly explained what I thought had happened. “We lack information,” he said.
“We do,” I agreed. “And if we wait for details there’ll be nobody left to deal with. Are you riding with me or no?”
“I’ll come.”
“Good. I’ll get you a mount.” Karjan was waiting. My combat harness was beside him, and he wore helmet, breastplate, and greaves.
“Lucan’s bein’ saddled, sir.”
“Very well. Take this man to the stables and get him mounted on a fast, dependable horse. Have another horse saddled for Seer Sinait. Go!”
Karjan ran out, followed by the warden. Captain Lasta clattered in, buckling on his gear. I gave him instructions as I fastened on my own weaponry.
“Sir? One question?”
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“Supposing it’s a trap? Supposing they’ve laid an ambush?”
I considered. No. They wouldn’t be expecting a response this quickly. They’d think we’d wait until the morrow, when we’d have a full day, for no one chanced traveling the roads of Kallio near dark.
“Isa have mercy on them if they do. For we won’t.”
• • •
Seer Sinait was waiting in the courtyard, her robes rucked up so she could mount, holding a canvas roll with her magical implements. The troops formed up as I outlined what little I knew, their warrants shouting orders and instructions.
“Possibly,” she said calmly, “possibly, Tribune, we should have found the time to discover further details, but I see you are intent on trapping whoever — or whatever — attacked your men.”
“I am.” Her words caught me, made me think. Whatever?
“Suppose it is a demon?” I said.
She shrugged. “I’ve never confronted one fresh from a kill. If so, it should make an interesting conflict.”
I grinned tightly. One reason I’d chosen the Seer was her complete lack of fear. She was as much a warrior as any of us.
“Sir!” It was Bikaner. “Troops mounted and ready.”
Karjan trotted up, leading Lucan. Beside him was Kutulu, astride a bay I knew to be a racer, but a horse I’d trust a babe on. I swung into the saddle.
“Lancers!” I shouted. “Ride out!”
The gates of the courtyard swung wide, and we trotted out, into the castle’s main yard. The gates stood open, and the lamps of Polycittara were already glowing in the dankness beyond.
I saw Marán on an inside balcony. For just a moment battle anger left me, and I wondered what it was like to love someone who’d chosen a life as I had, when each leave-taking might be the last. But there was no time for anything behind. At a gallop we went into the driving rain and out of the city, with blood on our minds.
• • •
The rain stopped for a moment, and dying sunlight outlined the village of Nevern. It sat atop a hill and, even though it was unwalled, would be easy to defend, with only half a dozen streets, which wound past ancient stone houses. I heard the wail of a babe, quickly silenced, from one. But we had little attention for the village.
Twenty-five naked corpses hung on butcher’s cutting tripods along the road, impaled on hooks through their rib cages. They were the missing Lancers. I looked at Legate Ili’s body. Beyond the ghastly wound in its chest, it bore no signs of violence. But he had not died easily — his face, like the others, was twisted in a grimace of fear.
I remembered Horseman Gabran’s babblings about men becoming snakes, and imagined Legate Ili’s column a few hours ago, drawn up in the village square, about to begin the hearings, seeing the crowd pressed about them change, writhe, become serpents and slither toward them.
Very well. Those who dealt terror would experience it themselves. I shouted for the commander of the Tenth Hussars’ troop, Captain Pelym, and ordered him to surround the village with the hundred men of his company. Kill anyone attempting to leave — man, woman, child. He saluted, and his company rode away.
“Your intentions, Tribune?” Kutulu was being formal.
“This village was responsible for the murder of twenty-five of their fellow Numantians. Under martial law, I intend to put it to the sword.”
I saw Seer Sinait’s eyes widen. For a moment, I remembered that police sergeant about to slay three elderly innocents, but shoved the memory away.
“Good,” Kutulu said. “The emperor’s rule can be just — but it can also be harsh to miscreants.”
“Tribune,” the seer said. “Will you give me a moment before you issue your orders?”
She dismounted, took the canvas roll from behind her, opened it, and took out a very slender dagger, the blade of which shone of silver, and the haft of gold.
“I would like to try something I’ve never attempted.”
She touched the blade to her forehead, then to her heart. She walked to Legate Ili’s body, touched the tip of the dagger to the gory wound in his chest, then went back to her roll. She took out a coil of string that shimmered in the light of the dying sun. Murmuring words I couldn’t distinguish, she wrapped a figure-eight loop around the dagger’s haft, then held it suspended in air. The perfectly balanced weapon hung level. Sinait chanted:
“There is blood
There was blood
Seek the Slayer
Find the man
Find the woman
Find the child
Blood seek blood
Point true
Point it well
Blood seek blood.”
The dagger didn’t move; then it swung, pointed toward the village.
“That’s as I thought,” I began, and then the dagger swung to the side. It moved back and forth, like a hound questing for a scent, then steadied. It pointed a dozen degrees away from Nevern.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“Wait,” the seer said. “Let me be certain.” Again she chanted, and again the dagger behaved exactly as before. “These soldiers weren’t slain by the people of this village. The dagger points to where the real murderers now are.
“I’d guess the villagers knew what was about to happen, but were afraid of giving a warning. The knife shows they carry some guilt. I felt this,” she went on. “I sensed no threat, no enemies ahead. That’s not a trustworthy feeling, all too often. But it’s still worth considering.”
“You said the villagers share guilt,” Kutulu said. “That’s enough.”
Sinait didn’t answer, but looked at me, waiting. That bloodthirsty warden came back, and a bit of my anger died.
“Tribune,” Kutulu said, seeing my hesitation, “these people are admittedly guilty and must be punished. Should we ignore them, and chase wisps that will disappear in the hills?”
“Seer,” I said, “the emperor’s warden has a point. Can the ones who actually did it be brought down?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Is there a map of this area?”
“Domina Bikaner. A map, if you please!”
“Sir!” Captain Lasta pulled one from a saddlebag and handed it to Bikaner, who brought it to me.
“If you could … align it, I think is the word?” Sinait asked.
I dismounted and laid the map on the ground, using the village and a readily identifiable hillcrest not far away to orient it.
“We are where, exactly?”
I knelt and pointed. Sinait got down beside me, picked up a bit of muddy earth, and touched it to the map where I’d pointed.
“You are what you picture
You are what you show
Tell me true
Tell me firm
Jacini of the Earth
Limax of this land
One other who must not be named
But she knows, she knows
She knows I pray to her
Become what you show.”
For just an instant, I swear the map became a tiny replica of the land, so Nevern wasn’t tiny dots of ink, but small houses, and the hills around us rose up, like a sand-table model. But then everything returned to normal. Sinait took the dagger once more and held it over the map by the gold cord, muttering words I couldn’t distinguish. The dagger hung level, dipped. She lowered her hand until the dagger’s point touched the map.
“The ones you seek will be there.”
I showed Captain Lasta the spot on the map.
“One hour distant, I’d guess,” he said. “We can follow this trail … here. It doesn’t look too bad, unless the map’s lying to us or the rain’s washed it out.”
I stood. “Lance Karjan, ride for Captain Pelym, and tell him to bring his company back.”
“Yessir.”
Kutulu was frowning. “A word, Tribune?”
We stepped a few feet away.
“Do you accept her magic?”
“Not entirely,” I said. “But I know damned well a group of farmers didn’t come up with the magic to slaughter a quarter hundred Lancers, nor with the courage.”
“But they knew,” Kutulu said stubbornly. “Even the seer said that.”
“So she did, and they’ll be punished. But there are other ways of punishment than the sword or prison. I could order the village razed, but how many friends do you think that would win for Numantia in the towns around us?
“They’ll be punished, Kutulu. Don’t doubt that. Perhaps I’ll order their marketplace destroyed, and all sellers and buyers to do their business elsewhere for a year. I must think on it.”
“There is no place for weakness in the law,” said the Serpent Who Never Sleeps.
“You might call it weakness,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll use another word. Mercy. Now, those are my orders. Obey them, sir.”
Kutulu dipped his head and walked back to his horse.
• • •
Within a few moments of Captain Lasta’s prediction, we reached the place Sinait had indicated our quarry would be. It was almost dark, and the rain had returned, but softer than before.
I’d already given orders to Bikaner, Lasta, Pelym, and Tiger Troop’s commander, Legate Thanet, as the column wound through the hills. We’d leave the horses and close on foot. One man in four had been told off to hold them. The Lancers left their primary weapons behind. If I’d known we’d be fighting on foot, I would’ve had them draw shortswords and knives before we marched out. But their sabers would serve for the task I proposed.
I was properly armed, having learned years ago from my father that a saber is a single-purpose weapon, good only for a man on horseback, and so carried a straight double-edged blade whether afoot or riding.
I was at the head of the soldiers, and Domina Bikaner brought up the rear. Behind me was Karjan, then Kutulu and Seer Sinait. We were flanked by archers, then Captain Lasta and the men of the Red Lancers. Before we started, I asked the seer if she felt any magic about, if the wizard who’d ambushed Legate Ili had laid out any wards. She cast two spells, said she sensed nothing, which puzzled her — was the unknown wizard that confident?
I noted a distinctive crest line just to the right of the direction we wished to travel in, outlined against the darkening sky, and we moved out through the night, not needing a compass. There was not a murmur from the men, and not a clink of weaponry or scuffle as we crept over the hills. Not far ahead, I saw the glow of a fire dimly reflected from the storm clouds above, and I moved in its direction. The ground climbed gently, and I stopped just below a hillcrest, and held out my hand, palm down. The soldiers flattened, weapons ready.
I touched Karjan, the seer, and Kutulu, and we moved to the top of the hill, keeping in a crouch. I was most impressed with Sinait — though she had none of the training of a soldier, and was hardly in the best of physical shape, she’d kept up without panting, and walked almost as silently as any of us.
There was a small valley below, almost a natural amphitheater. Fires burned smokily. There were no demons to be seen, but about fifty armed men crouched around the fires. Some were roasting meat, others sheltering under blankets or oilskins. They were talking animatedly, unbothered by the rain, and I heard occasional bursts of laughter. I saw no sentries.
We watched for some moments. I was about to return to the troops, but Kutulu held up a hand. He was waiting for something. One man stood and called names. Three others joined him, and they moved away from the fire to confer.
Kutulu leaned close. “Those four,” he whispered. “Or, at any rate, the one in the center. He’ll be their leader. We want him alive.”
“If possible,” I said, a bit of skepticism in my voice. There were no guarantees in close combat.
“Not if possible. I have some questions that must be answered.” I saw the gleam in his eyes, reflected firelight. He drew on a pair of long gauntleted gloves, his favorite weapons — each had sand sewn across the knuckles and palms, ideal for knocking someone instantly unconscious. In his left hand he held a dagger he carried sheathed down the back of his neck.
We returned and I whispered final orders to Captain Lasta, and he went down the column, passing them along to warrants and officers. I wanted Tiger Troop to move around the valley to the left, and the Tenth Hussars to the right. They were to be in position by a count of two thousand from the time they left the column and, at my shout, were to charge.
I counted slowly as men slipped away. At one thousand, I motioned, and my Red Lancers went on line, crawling to the crest of the hill.
My mouth was dry, and I could feel my lips pull back in a humorless grin.
Time. I gave it another few seconds, then came to my feet. As I did, Kutulu bounded over the crest of the hill. I thought he’d not understood, or his nerves had gone, then swore as I realized what he was doing.
“Lancers … Attack!” I bellowed, and we went over the top in a rush down on the raiders. Kutulu was in front of us, and I saw him cannon into a man and send him tumbling.
There were shouts of surprise, screams. Men scrambled up, grabbing for weapons. Some tried to run, but saw the other two waves of soldiers, coming over the far crest. My cavalrymen smashed into the throng as if they were a phalanx of spearmen; sabers flashed in the firelight, and the screams were louder and now agonized instead of surprised. Some of the Kallians managed to break away from the swordsmen, but with no hope, for my archers stood at thirty-foot intervals around the rim of the valley, whipping down goose-feathered shafts.
A man was in front of me, open hands pushing, and my blade went between them into his chest. I booted him off my sword, then spun as someone cut at me with a scythe. I knocked the wooden handle up and put my sword through that man’s neck.
Two men with clubs stumbled at me, and I danced to the side, sliced one’s arm open, gave him an instant to howl in pain while I gutted his friend, then slashed, almost taking the first man’s head off.
There was a man with a wide-bladed falchion, and he cut at me. I parried his thrust, struck, but he moved aside. He swung again, and I blocked his blade at the hilt, forcing his arm up, and our bodies slammed together. His breath stank of garlic and fear.
Before he could pull back, I jerked my knee into his crotch, and he screeched and doubled over. I crashed the pommel of my sword down on the back of his neck, cracking his skull, and finished him as he fell. Then there was no one standing except soldiers.
“Domina!”
Bikaner came toward me, limping a little. I saw the dark of blood on his thigh.
“I think I’m gettin’ a little old, sir. One of ‘em went down and I didn’t stay to finish him. Bastard had th’ brass t’ cut me. What’s your orders, sir?”
“Take their heads. We’ll have something decorative for the walls of Polycittara come morning.”
Bikaner’s teeth flashed. “That’ll give them something to ponder, sir.”
The city would have more than just heads to think of. All Kallio would go into mourning for my fallen Lancers. Not that I expected them to do anything but rejoice privately, but they would mourn several things: the banning of all festivals and playing of any music for a time, and the shuttering of all public houses for the same. If I couldn’t appeal to their sense of justice or their fear of the consequences, I’d instruct them through their guts.
Kutulu was two dozen feet away. A man lay moaning at his feet and, a foot away, a second was on his hands and knees. I went to him. “I thought you’d gone mad,” I said.
“Not at all,” and he looked about, saw no one else within earshot, “my friend. It didn’t seem as if you could guarantee the safety of those I needed, so I thought I might make an early selection. One of these is the man we saw giving orders, the other’s one of his … assistants, perhaps. We’ll see what they have to say for themselves, once we return to the castle. I have many questions, and I’m sure they’ll give me all the answers I need.”
He neither smiled nor sounded angry, and his words were a simple declaration of fact. There would be no mercy from his torturers.
The skirmishing was over, and it was time for full battle.