There were still the mechanics of dissolution, but Marán had spoken the truth, and there was no saving our marriage, our life together.
At least I still had my honor and my duty as a soldier. When we returned to Nicias, I immediately had those few things I wished to keep moved out of her house on the riverfront. I went back into the Water Palace. One of Kutulu’s emissaries came, and said the Tovieti were more active than ever, and I might be considered foolish to dangle my coattails in front of them. I smiled, a tight, hard grin, and said I wished them well, and they were welcome to try once more. He eyed me, the sword at my side and the dagger sheathed across from it, bowed, and withdrew.
• • •
I went to Kutulu and told him all of what had happened, including the meeting I’d had with Praen and his cronies, and the murder gangs that had resulted from it.
“I suspected something besides the traditional estate goons was occurring,” he said. “But you’ve given me the first clue these gangs are organized by a central group. I do wish you’d come to me when your brother-in-law — pardon, former brother-in-law — approached you.”
“I’m not a tell-tale.”
Kutulu inclined his head, didn’t respond.
“What about these Broken Men?” I asked. “Now there’s proof they’re being run by the Tovieti.”
“Within the past month I’ve had several confirmations of that information,” the warder said. “There’s been more than one outbreak of violence in the countryside, all of course appearing spontaneous.
“But there is a problem.”
I waited. Kutulu squirmed.
“Everything must be paid for,” he said finally. “Even spies and assassins. Perhaps them before anyone, since they work best for red gold.
“And there is no funding for any further investigation into the Tovieti. All secret service funding goes to working against Maisir. All of it.”
“At the orders of the emperor,” I said.
“Of course,” he said, and I read helpless rage in his eyes.
• • •
I tried to pretend Marán, and our marriage, had never existed, and so avoided Nicias’ polite society, where I might encounter her friends or her. Tales of what she was doing, saying, came, and I tried to ignore them, even though I was drawn, with a horrid fascination. Thank Irisu, Jaen, and Vachan I heard no stories that she’d taken a lover, for I don’t know if I could have handled that.
Now the only thing that mattered was the army, particularly the new Guard. I frequently journeyed upriver to Amur, to oversee their training. And there were always paperwork and intelligence summaries on Maisir to study.
I saw the emperor more frequently now, and he never brought up my marriage, for which I was grateful. Once or twice I saw him looking sympathetically at me, but he said nothing.
The Time of Births ground past, and the Time of Heat began. I tried to convince myself my wound was healing, but someone would inadvertently mention her name, or I’d glance at a broadsheet and read an account of the Countess Agramónte’s plans for the upcoming social season, and the scab would be ripped away once more. Marán didn’t return to her old ways, when she had scorned the butterfly whirl of court for intellectual pursuits. These days no court occasion or ball was complete without the countess, her hangers-on, her latest imaginative dress, and so forth.
I dully knew only time would end the pain.
Once it was discovered that “Damastes the Fair” was available, my post was filled with offers — some subtle, some most appallingly direct.
Even more obscene were the hints from brothers and fathers who’d have liked nothing better than to make such a high connection, either through marriage or in a far less formal relationship. I availed myself of none. I felt no desire, no lust. My appetites had been burned with Irrigon, had died with Amiel, had withered when Marán turned me away.
• • •
The bad news came to Renan in the person of a small, friendly little Maisirian. He was one of Kutulu’s agents and had been set up as a wandering sutler, dealing mostly in illicit alcohol, who moved from camp to camp of the Maisirian Army. His discovery was so important he chanced taking it across the border and through deadly Sulem Pass in person, rather than by the usual covert messengers.
King Bairan had called up three “classes,” or age groups, to serve full terms in the army, which hadn’t been done for at least thirty years to our knowledge. Also, the current class had been ordered to remain in service rather than being discharged. Maisir was mobilizing, and there could be but one cause, one potential enemy.
A day later, another, possibly worse report came, this one from our embassy in Jarrah. King Bairan had summoned a conclave of the highest-ranking sorcerers to the capital for a special conference. Ominously, the topic of the conference was considered a state secret.
I ordered Petre to accelerate the Guards’ training schedules, with never a break in the schedule or between training cycles, and sent more recruiters out with the promises of greater rewards for the most successful.
War grew ever closer.
• • •
One night thunder rode the sky in a night-long drumroll, as if the cavalry of the gods were galloping past in review. Lightning flickered, then flared, not in comfortable white light but in reds, greens, purple — shades that no one could remember having heard of. It was a great storm, but during that long night, not one drop of rain fell.
A day after the storm, near midnight, I was summoned to the emperor’s palace. I’d been finding it easier to sleep if I worked myself into exhaustion, and so was still at my desk when the call came. I pulled on my sword belt and helmet and galloped hard for the emperor’s castle, Lucan easily staying ahead of my escort.
The Emperor Tenedos looked demon-haunted, as if he’d slept but little, and then his dreams had been more evil than reality.
“Damastes, this meeting must forever remain a secret,” he began, without preamble.
“If that’s your wish, sir.”
“I mean forever, no matter what happens.”
I was a little irked. “If my word isn’t enough once, what will make it stronger a second time? Sir.”
Tenedos began to get angry, then caught himself. “You’re right. My apologies.”
Even now, even with things as they are, even after all the betrayals, I still find it hard to continue, to break that now-meaningless promise. But I must.
The emperor paced back and forth, holding his hand near his heart, as if swearing an oath of his own. “That storm the other night was my magic,” he started. “I won’t … I can’t … tell you who or what I summoned. I was attempting to reach into the future, for some inkling of what comes next for Numantia. That sort of thing generally isn’t wise,” he said. “Those demons … or gods … who might have the power to look beyond this moment aren’t happy about being asked to help nonentities like ourselves.
“Nor is the future graven in stone, obviously. Everything can change in an instant, as a result of the most minute events. A child, for example, might take a different way to the market and, instead of seeing something marvelous that sets his curiosity aflame and leads him to become a great wizard, he sees nothing but the dusty road and dull people, and grows to become no more than one of them.”
I waited, patiently, realizing the emperor was gathering himself. He looked at me hard, as if reading my thoughts. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll go directly to the matter. We must not go to war with Maisir.”
“Sir?” I blurted the word in utter surprise.
“Both of us thought such was predestined, that there was no other road for our nation,” Tenedos said. “But if we do declare war, all is doomed. Maisir will completely destroy us. That is what I was told by those demons, spirits, whatever, I consulted.
“We are still fated to march against Maisir, for there can be but one great nation in this world. But we must not do it for at least five years, until our country is far stronger and our army much greater than it is now.”
“May I speak frankly, sir?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“It would’ve been easier if you’d learned this back when King Bairan sent his reply to your first note, after that troop of the Twentieth Cavalry was butchered.”
“I know,” Tenedos said, showing no anger. “I overstepped my limits. Damned little good it does me, any more than regretting the past helps anyone. The question now is what to do next. What can we do to recover, to stall for time?”
“The king asked once for a meeting between you two,” I suggested after a bit of thinking. “If you reminded him of that, would that be a possibility? Or, perhaps, if you went to Renan and then asked for such a conference?”
“I can’t do that,” the emperor said flatly. “That would appear as if I were begging, and Bairan would see our weakness at once, and almost certainly strike hard. Let me correct myself. I can’t do that without preparing the ground. That is what I need you for. Damastes, I’ve asked you to go on some extraordinary missions since we’ve been together. This is the most dangerous.”
“Worse than creeping into Chardin Sher’s castle with a potion and a piece of chalk?” I half-joked. “I wasn’t supposed to even live through that one.”
“Yes,” Tenedos said. “Far worse. Because I’m asking you to take on a task that has nothing to do with a soldier’s skills and talents. I want you to go to the court of King Bairan as my plenipotentiary.”
“Sir, I’m no diplomat!”
“Exactly why I’m asking you to go. I’ve half a hundred men who can talk for an hour and you’ll be convinced you’re no longer Damastes á Cimabue, but a goat. And King Bairan’s got his own corps of smooth politicians. If you go to Jarrah, representing me, the king will realize my seriousness. If his most famous general showed up at my doorstep wanting to talk peace, I’d certainly listen.”
I considered. Tenedos was making sense. “But what would I say, what could I offer?”
“You’ll have complete powers to do whatever is necessary to stop the war from happening. Make any trade concessions that are asked for. If it’s necessary to concede part or all of the Border Lands, do that. If King Bairan wishes to press those ancient claims Maisir has for parts of Urey, very well. Everything is on the table, Damastes. We must have peace and keep this war from starting.
“I have it,” Tenedos said excitedly. “Return to your idea of my going to Renan. Once matters have been discussed, and it seems peace is reachable, then tell the king I’ll meet him in Renan … or even across the border in Maisir, given sufficient guarantees for my safety.
“Damastes, you must go, and bring back peace. What I’m asking — no, demanding — is the most important job any Numantian has been given since I took the throne.”
His eyes burned into mine, and I felt the truth in them. “Very well, sir. I’ll go … and I’ll do my best.”
Tenedos sagged. “Thank Saionji,” he whispered. “You’ve just saved our country.”
• • •
But how in the hells was I going to get to Jarrah? The only practical route I knew was through Sulem Pass, past the Kaiti capital of Sayana, and then across the border into Maisir, and along the traditional trading route to Jarrah.
But Achim Baber Fergana still sat the throne in Sayana, Kait’s capital. He’d have every warrior in his kingdom sharpening his sword in front of my image, and every jask atop mountains muttering spells to put a lightning bolt in my breeches.
I was trying to decide which was the quickest and safest method to travel — escorted by a full regiment of cavalry, probably the Ureyan Lancers, or traveling fast and incognito, as I’d done before.
I sent for maps, which was my mistake. I had had barely two hours to study them when a visitor was announced. Tribune Yonge. It was imperative I see him at once. I hastily covered the maps and opened an innocent folder. Yonge came in, barely nodded at me, then went to the covered table, and sneered. “You think you’re clever, don’t you, Numantian?”
I was in the dark.
“How are you planning to cross Kait?” he asked.
“How the hells did you know?” I stammered, hardly the finest way to divert an inquiry.
“You are a fool even if you’re a tribune,” Yonge said. “You forget I am Kaiti. I serve Numantia — for the moment — but I am from Kait. I know everything there is to know about my country, and about anyone who’s interested in it. When the First Tribune, General of the Armies, asks for maps of Sulem Pass and the trading route past Sayana to the Maisirian border, and I happen to hear of his request, what do you think I’m going to think?”
“Yonge, no one is that sneaky.”
“Ha!” was his response. “And just because you’re a barbarian who can’t handle strong waters doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn how to be a proper host.”
“Third cupboard from the window,” I said. “There are glasses on that sideboard.”
Yonge poked through the assortment of liquors, found one to his choosing, tore the wax seal off, pulled the cork with his teeth, and spat it onto the floor.
“I assume you’re planning to drink it all.”
“Of course,” he said. “What other payment would be proper for a man who’s about to save your life?” He poured a glassful, drank it back, and grunted. “Good. Hog swill. Triple-distilled. You could clean rust from a sword with this shit.” He poured another glass. “Poor baby,” he crooned, going back to the table and pulling the cloth from the maps. “Trying to decide how he’s going to go through my country, all tippy-toe or with banners and bugles, eh?”
“Nobody lets me have any secrets,” I complained.
“With that stupid cowlike expression you carry around, you don’t deserve to have any. I think both ideas suck goat shit,” he said. “If you go with soldiers, unless you take a whole gods-damned army, Achim Baber Fergana will hunt you down with a bigger force. I understand that man, because I’ve taught myself to think like a pig. A clever pig, like Fergana, eh? He’ll do anything to put you in one of those little cages outside Sayana and watch you rot. After he finishes pulling off all the stray parts he can get away with.
“That first way is stupid,” he finished. “Pah.” He drank. “Next is to go a-secret, of course. Like the way we went into that demon Thak’s cavern and killed all those Tovieti. Dress like country droolers and pray a lot. That’s your other idea, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Pah,” Yonge said with even greater emphasis, and shoved the maps to the floor. “Now here is what you’re going to do, Numantian. You’re going to cross the border, but you’re not going to go near Kait.”
“I’m going to fly,” I said.
“No. You’re going to go where a mountain goat gets the drizzling shits just thinking of going. You’ll be so far above the clouds you can piss down through them, and your water’ll be frozen before it touches the ground. I, Yonge, know a better way. A secret way. A way that’ll take you into the heart of Maisir.”
Evil pleasure shone on his face.
“Now can I keep the bottle?”
• • •
It was an hour after dawn, and the river street was deserted. I sat astride my horse, looking up at the five-story mansion that used to be my home.
On the top story, behind a balcony, in the room that had been our bedroom, a curtain moved slightly.
I thought I saw a figure behind it.
The morning breeze moved the curtain again, then the wind died. All was still, all was silence. No one came out onto the balcony.
I waited for a time, then clucked to my horse. He nickered, and I rode away, not looking back.
An hour later, I sailed for Maisir.