Yet I lived on. If Saionji had taken everything I had, then I would become truly hers. I would go in harm’s way until she allowed me relief and forgetfulness in my return to the Wheel.
My Red Lancers found wood for a pyre, and Tenedos himself held the ceremony, a great honor that was, like all else to me, totally meaningless.
The retreat continued. The gods should have had mercy on any Negaret, any partisan, any Maisirian regular who came within range of my rear guard, for I had none. We struck hard, and stayed on their trail until we brought them to bay, and then killed them to a man.
We lost soldiers, but what of that? All men die, and all of us would perish in this vast desert, and it was better to die with a sword in your hand, spitting blood, than to slowly freeze in your filth.
Prisoners said the Negaret called me a demon and unkillable, and so it seemed, for men were brought down on my left and right, but I never received a scratch. Svalbard and Curti fought on either side of me, and they, too, remained unscathed.
The army plodded on, leaving bodies, wagons, horses in the snow. The Time of Storms had ended, and the Time of Dews begun, but the weather did not break.
Yet slowly a bit of hope came. The city of Oswy could not be far, and beyond that was the border. At last we’d be quit of this hellish country. There was no reason King Bairan would pursue the shattered remains of the army into Numantia, or so they hoped.
Only Svalbard, Curti, and I, and a handful of others, realized peace wouldn’t be at hand, but rather the savage mountains of Kait, the murderous hillmen and their evil Achim Baber Fergana. Every rock would hide death, every pass an ambush. But I said nothing.
On a clear morning, we saw the walls of Oswy.
And, in a great arc to the east of them, the Maisirian army, ready once more for battle.
• • •
“I know of no other army capable of such a feat,” Tenedos said. “Which is why the Maisirians will be utterly bewildered when we pull it off.”
The emperor had proposed a bold tactic to the tribunes and generals assembled in his tent: We should turn right, or east, as if preparing for frontal battle. But, masked by sorcery and the weather, we would continue moving, marching parallel with the enemy lines until we were about to attack Oswy instead of the Maisirian army. If we took the city, we could resupply, and hold the Maisirians off until the weather broke and we were able to march on.
Such a flank-exposing maneuver is terribly hazardous, but such maneuvers had been rehearsed in peacetime, and carried off. The question was whether we were still capable of such cleverness.
“If we do not succeed?” Herne asked skeptically.
“Then we’re no worse than if we’d stood and fought,” Linerges said.
“Not true,” Herne said. “For if we form battle lines now, we’ll have our reserves properly positioned. And Your Highness’s plan, with all due respect, will leave our support elements open to attack from the west, from what the Maisirians will think to be our rear.”
“The Negaret to the west will be busy,” the emperor said. “I’ll have certain sorceries for them to concern themselves with.”
“It’s terribly chancy,” Herne said, still unconvinced.
“Not for you,” Linerges said, half-smiling. “Your units are just ahead of Damastes’s in the line of march, and I doubt if any Maisirians will dare hit the demon Cimabuen, or even strike close to him. Most likely, if they scent our plan, they’ll smash into me.”
“I’m worried about our entire army,” Herne said sourly. “Hit us anywhere in the column, and the army’s cut in two, leaving me and General of the Armies and First Tribune á Cimabue surrounded.” I noted the sarcastic emphasis he put on my rank, and knew he had neither forgiven nor forgotten my redistribution of his wealth.
“Perhaps you have a plan,” the emperor said.
Herne hesitated, took a deep breath. “I do. But you will not like it, Your Highness.”
“I like very little these days,” Tenedos said. “Try me.”
“I suggest we attempt to negotiate with King Bairan.” Everyone looked at him in amazement.
“He’s shown little interest in talking,” a general in the rear said bitterly, “only in slaughter. And I can’t blame him, since he’s got us on the run. So why talk?”
“Because no one, not even the Maisirian king, could want any war to go on to annihilation,” Herne said.
“Who makes that guarantee?” Yonge muttered. Herne ignored him.
“Let me surprise you,” Tenedos said. “I have tried to contact the king, but his sorcerers keep blocking any attempt I make.” There was a shocked murmur, and I came out of my glumness long enough to wonder what terms Tenedos had devised, and why no one had heard of this before.
“Try another route,” Herne said. “Not magical, but direct. Our First Tribune’s dealt with him. Send him out under a flag of truce.”
“The hells,” I spat. “The only way I want to see that bastard is at the end of a lance. I’ll not — ” I caught myself, seeing the emperor’s look. “ — Play diplomat. Unless the emperor orders me,” I finished weakly.
“And I’ll give no such order,” Tenedos said. “Tribune Herne. Don’t slacken now. We’re almost clear of Maisir. Bear up, man. Once we cross the border, and have time to take a breath and regroup — then you’ll realize how weak your idea is.” Strangely, his tone was almost pleading.
Herne stared at Tenedos for a long moment, then nodded abruptly. “I hear and understand what you’ve told me, Your Highness, and withdraw my suggestion,” he said, suddenly formal.
“Very well,” Tenedos said. “Gentlemen, return to your units and order them for the march. And remember … the end is very near.”
• • •
Linerges drew me aside as we left the tent. I feared he was trying to do for me what I’d failed to do for Myrus, and, frankly, I wanted no bucking up, thank you, I was quite content following the weird I’d chosen. Sooner or later death would take me in this monstrous land, and I’d find rest for a time before Saionji summoned me to be judged for my evils and cast back into the world’s muck. I thought I might make the first move.
“I hope, Cyrillos, you aren’t planning to tell me you’ve realized The End Is Near, and are giving me the ownership of your stores, for I’ve no sense at all when it comes to commerce, and they’re better left to your wife.”
He surveyed me wryly. “I was going to try to cheer you up,” he said. “But if you’re capable of even wormy sallies such as that one, the hells with you. Go on and die. As for me, I’m immortal, in case you haven’t figured it out by this time.”
I looked closely at him, and couldn’t tell if he was still trying to be funny or had gone mad. “Careful,” I said, “the gods might be listening.”
“No,” he said seriously. “No, they’re not. Or, anyway, the gods that give a shit about us aren’t. The only one who might be is the emperor’s prized whore Saionji, and who cares, for she intends nothing but evil for us anyway.”
And I thought I was becoming an unbeliever, or, rather, a non-worshiper.
“Careful,” Yonge said, coming up from behind us. “Your curse might change things.”
“For what? The worse?” Linerges laughed boisterously, the harsh laughter of a warrior beyond fear, beyond hope. “Anyway, Damastes, do me a favor and don’t die tomorrow. We’re running short of tribunes, and I’m afraid the crop the emperor might name next would be terrible drinking company.” Linerges barely drank at all. He smiled once more, clapped me on the back, and hurried toward his horse.
“So he thinks he’s immortal,” Yonge mused. “Why not? Someone has to be, sooner or later.”
“What do you think?” I asked, making sure no one was within earshot.
“About what? The emperor’s plan? It’s possible. Maybe even good. Not that I care,” Yonge said. “For I came to bid you farewell, Numantian.”
“Come on, Yonge. This sort of claptrap only works for mummers. You’re too devious, sly, and duplicitous to die, at least honorably in battle.”
“Thank you for the compliment, my friend, and I hope you’re right. I mean I’m leaving the army.”
“What?”
“I said, long ago, in Sayana, when you were a legate and I was a native levy, I wished to learn about Ureyan women, and whether they were more interesting if they had a choice as to bed or no. I’m content with my knowledge that they are.
“I also said I wished to study honor. Now I know all I wish to on the subject. And on its opposite.” He turned, looked back at the emperor’s tent, and spat scornfully. “So I’m quit of my sash and the army tonight.”
“You can’t!”
“I can,” he said firmly. “My command is either dead or parceled out to other officers, so there’s no one to care whether I shout orders or put my thumbs up my arse and walk on my elbows.”
“Where’ll you go?”
“Back to Kait, of course. And I doubt if there’s anyone, either Numantian or these dogs from Maisir, who’ll even see me, let alone be able to stop me.” I knew he was right there. “So I came to say good-bye, and to thank you for what we might call an interesting time. Perhaps I’ll see you once more, although I doubt it, this side of the Wheel.
“So I’ll give you two favors now. The first shall be a surprise, when you find out about it, in the fullness of time.
“The second requires some meditation, so imagine you’re some sort of dirty holy man with fleas, an unwiped arse, and able to think of great things and tell us peasants what they mean.”
“All I’ve got is the shitty ass and fleas,” I said, suspicious of all this.
“Then think harder than you have before. Remember, long ago, after my skirmishers were almost destroyed at Dabormida, when I came to you, drunk, and said my men were sacrificed, and I didn’t know why?”
I was about to snap something about that being many corpses and campaigns ago, but I saw Yonge’s deadly seriousness. “Yes,” I said. “I remember.”
“Well, now I think I know the answer,” he said. “And I suspect you can come up with it as well. I’ll give you one clue: Why did the emperor, back at Sidor, insist on the Varan Guard’s sacrifice? He called it a diversion, but what was it diverting? We had already crossed the river, and were known to the Maisirians. Why did he let them die without sending a spell? Why, come to think about it, did he send such a small unit out in the first place? Why didn’t he send more men with them?
“More questions,” he said, holding up a hand for my continued silence. “Why did he wait to cast his Great Spell until the Guardsmen were already on the bridge? Already on it, already dying? There, I think that’s more than enough, so I’ll leave you.
“One other thing that just came to me as I talked. Remember the demon that destroyed Chardin Sher?”
I shuddered. In spite of all the horrors I’d seen, that mountainous four-armed V-mouthed demon was the worst.
“I’ll make a wager I’ll never be around to collect,” Yonge said. “I’ll wager you’ll see that fiend again. Not now. But later. When all seems lost. Now, Numantian, good-bye. And take good care.”
Before I could clasp him in my arms, try to argue or even say anything, he slipped away, around the imperial bodyguards’ warming tent. I went after him. But he wasn’t in the tent, or, when I circled it, anywhere around it.
So passed Yonge the Kaiti, by far the strangest of all the tribunes of Numantia.
• • •
I was in my blankets, pretending sleep as a calm, confident commander should, actually trying to blank my mind, trying to avoid thinking of the past two years of unrelenting sorrow and pain, when Captain Balkh woke me.
The news was as disastrous as it was shocking. The Twentieth Heavy Cavalry had lost contact with the rearmost elements of the five Guard Corps and their supporting elements, which Herne commanded, and had sent out a patrol. They found nothing — Herne’s positions had been abandoned.
He’d marched his entire force, almost twenty thousand men, due east, into the enemy lines. Heme, we learned later, had ridden in front with a white flag, shouting his surrender. I don’t know how he fooled his officers, whether he said he’d gotten imperial orders to take positions to the east before dawn, or if the azaz seized the moment and used his magic to fog the minds of our soldiers.
All that mattered was the gaping hole between my rear guard and the rest of the army. Minutes after I was roused, I heard the sounds of battle. The Maisirians had discovered the hole and were attacking through it. Herne’s treason was about to destroy us all.
I had to do something, and it couldn’t be anything predictable. An idea came, which at best might mean we’d be on our own in the suebi for several days, at worst … But I refused to think about that.
I sent Captain Balkh, wearing my helmet and with the Red Lancers, to the Twentieth Heavy, ordering them to fake an attack toward the Maisirians, as if I were leading an assault to link up with the rest of the army.
They were to strike until they hit real resistance, then fall back on the Seventeenth, which was to be an assembly point for our support units, the ragtag men who’d fallen to the rear, and those civilians prepared for a hard march instead of slavery or death. Then the entire formation would strike due west, away from the Maisirians, away from Oswy, with the Tenth Hussars leading the formation.
We would turn north after I’d broken contact with the Maisirians, circle east-northeast and rejoin the army at Oswy. It was a desperate hope, but the best we had.
• • •
The Twentieth Heavy Cavalry, even though they were decimated, their horses barely able to manage a trot, smashed into the Maisirians. The enemy had rushed forward with vast glee, looting what little there was to steal, and were swarming about, not yet re-formed, when the cavalry hit them. They fell back in amazement, shocked that the Numantians were able to mount a counterattack so quickly.
Before they could recover, the Twentieth withdrew as quickly as it had come. By the time they rejoined the Seventeenth, the Lancers were ready to move, and the column pushed out, away from the road, into the open suebi.
It was hard going, and again men and horses went down, and civilian carts weren’t able to keep up, and so the panicked sutlers and camp followers had to grab what they could and trundle on afoot.
But this wasn’t the worst. The ambulances filled with our sick and wounded bogged or overturned as they tried to cross the deep ravines that intersected our path.
I gave hard orders: Abandon the train. Even Domina Bikaner gave me a shocked look before he saluted and went to see my orders were obeyed. But it was simple in my mind: Either they would fall into the hands of the Maisirians, or we all would. A handful of chirurgeons volunteered to stay with them, and while I admired their bravery and dedication, I refused to allow it. We’d need every one of them on the march. Men and not a few women cursed, screamed at us, as they saw men cutting the trails of the horses pulling the ambulances, but their anger was to no avail. An hour later, we marched away, leaving some of our honor and our hearts as we did. But compassion had no place in this wasteland.
• • •
Two hours later, as I was hoping my ruse had succeeded, our outriders reported Negaret patrols. I cursed — our movement would be followed and reported to King Bairan, giving him more than enough time to move troops between us and Oswy. But I had to continue the attempt, and ordered the Tenth to swing north.
Then came horror. The snow ahead of the Tenth’s screen heaved as though it were alive, as if great burrowing creatures were under it. The hillocks sped toward our men, then buried the lead elements as they screamed and tried to run, nightmarishly slow through the waist-deep snow. But no one saw or felt anything under the snow.
This was the surprise Tenedos had planned for the Negaret, a horror weapon that had turned against us. The snow-burrowers — snow-worms if that’s what they were — smashed men down, broke them like frozen twigs.
The Tenth fell back, and the snow-worms turned away, not interested in anything moving away from Oswy.
Now we were doomed. South and east was the empty, man-destroying suebi, west were the Maisirians, north were the snow creatures. Then something came, an utterly foolish notion, as I realized we were out of contact for the moment — the Negaret patrols following us had fled even faster from the nightmares than we had.
I summoned my three dominas and the tough regimental guide who was the most senior of Yonge’s skirmishers, and told them we were about to make a one-day forced march, and to put the strongest men at the rear, not to guard against attack, but to make sure everyone kept moving and that we left as few tracks as we could. Put the weakest on horseback, I said, and everyone else afoot.
We had two Chare Brethren, and I ordered them to summon flames to consume any corpses. We were going to try to vanish. This might give us a slight, very slight, chance of life. Otherwise, we might as well start thinking of ourselves as either Maisirian slaves or frozen corpses.
“What direction will we march?” Bikaner asked.
“East,” I answered. “East by northeast.”
Almost directly away from the emperor and our army. The only chance we had was to break contact with the enemy, and then attempt an impossibility: to cross the mountains into Numantia as I’d done once before.
But then I’d had only a handful of men in prime condition to worry about; now I’d cross with several hundred shattered, starving men and some camp followers.
I should have ordered an attack, back the way we came so we could die nobly and uselessly for the emperor.
But I stood by my foolishness.
• • •
Two hours later we stumbled off into the empty suebi. I put my Red Lancers at the rear of the formation and told them to obey my command with no bowels, no mercy. No man was allowed the privilege of dying, not until nightfall. I was the last of all, screaming, shouting until my voice sounded as if it were drawn across broken glass.
I swore at men, and they swore at me. I struck them, and they tried, feebly, to hit me. But I always sidestepped the blows, and then taunted them to try again, or were they weak worms? I said I’d call them women, but that would shame the sex, for women were ahead of them — sutlers, laundry maids, whores, who knew, who cared.
I felt no fatigue, no exhaustion, no hunger. I’d become a creature of the snows, of the wilderness, and drew my strength from the wilds around me.
We went on, and on, and slowly the smoke of Oswy’s warm fires slipped back over the horizon, and there was nothing but empty prairie in front of us. It began to snow, and for the first time the storm was the blessing of Isa, of Nicias, of Irisu the Preserver, for it hid our path, and blinded any enemies who might’ve pursued.
Eventually I called for a halt. We collapsed in our tracks, and the long frozen night dragged past.
• • •
I commandeered Balkh’s horse and pushed ahead before dawn. About half an hour distant was a tiny valley surrounded by twisted low trees. A frozen stream ran along one side. I rode back and told my officers to get everyone moving.
An hour later, they did, but there were twenty-three bodies in the snow. I had my Lancers drag them together, but forbade my sorcerers to try to burn them. We could afford neither the smoke, the loss of the magical energies, nor the possibility the azaz’s War Magicians might pick up our scent.
It took almost two hours to reach the valley, but we did. I had the men assemble in whatever formations they had left, and it was a pathetic sight. Bikaner and his adjutant did a fast count and reported. We had forty-six of my Red Lancers, one hundred fifty of the Seventeenth, about two hundred of the Tenth Hussars, the same number of the Twentieth, some of Yonge’s skirmishers, three hundred fifty or so odds and sods from other formations, forty-nine women, and even a scattering of children. I tried to hide a wince. Ration strength of the Seventeenth Lancers was over seven hundred, the Tenth Hussars and Twentieth Heavy Cavalry nine hundred each.
I had to do something to make people believe there was the slightest chance of life. I told the men to break ranks and form up around me. The wind blew cold, but it was over our heads, whispering across the suebi beyond the valley.
“Well,” I started, knowing better than to sound inspirational, “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to be away from the army.” That brought a shock.
“At least we aren’t wallowing along in their shit and ashes,” I said, and there were a few snickers. “That’s what I like, to be out here where someone can breathe, where there’s plenty of fresh air.” There were a few open laughs.
“All right. We’ve been cut off from the emperor,” I said. “And that fucking Bairan is rubbing his hands together, thinking that he’s got us on toast. I’m going to prove him full of horseshit, and anyone who wants to do the same is welcome to take a little walk with me.”
“Where we goin', Tribune?” somebody shouted.
“We’re going to stroll across the suebi until we come to some mountains,” I said. “Then we’ll go up ‘em, and down the other side, and we’ll be right at the borders of Numantia. We ought to be home sometime in the Time of Births, so the weather’ll be fine. Anybody want to go with me?”
Again, mutters, some laughter. But most faces still looked empty, hopeless. “Or do you want to see how many ways a Maisirian clod-knocker has to keep you screaming before you go to the Wheel?”
A hard-faced warrant stepped forward. “Ain’t gonna happen to me, Tribune. I ain’t plannin’ on bein’ taken alive. And they’ll know they been in a pissin’ match when they come for me.”
“Good,” I said. “But wouldn’t you rather stay alive and get your own back another day?”
“Hells yes! But — ”
“But nothing, man. Now, shut the fuck up and listen!”
“Sir!” And he fell back into the formation.
“That’s the spirit we need,” I said. “Because all of us are going to try to stay alive. Look at the man — or woman — on your left. Do you know him? You’d better, because he’s going to get your sorry ass over those mountains. Tell him your name. Go ahead. Right now.”
Silence, then a babble as some, then more, obeyed.
“We’re going to spend the rest of the day here. First we’re going to put everyone into a formation. If you’re already part of one, you’re going to get reinforced. Friends stay with friends when we divide up. That’ll help.
“I’m going to make some men officers, others warrants today. Maybe you’ve never held any rank, and don’t want it, don’t think you can carry the weight. Tough shit. You’ll do it, and you’ll do a damned good job of it. Another thing we’ll do is divide up all supplies. There’ll be no more fat bastards eating while others starve. We all eat or none of us. That goes for officers, warrants, men, civilians.
“Now, I want the Tenth, Seventeenth, and Twentieth on that side of the valley. The rest of you, see if there’s anybody else from your old unit. Get moving. I want to be on the road before any Maisirians wander across our tracks.”
That put people in motion.
There were a surprising number of Yonge’s skirmishers still alive. In spite of their hazardous duties, I had ninety-two of my original two hundred. I took them to one side and told them they were all promoted sergeant.
“The reason I’m promoting you isn’t that I think you’re heroes. Yonge told me better. I know you’re thieves, sneaks, back-stabbers. Like your leader. And I’m damned proud he tried to train me to be like you.”
I waited until the laughter died.
“I’m not promoting you because you’re good, just because you’re still alive. Now I want you to help all these others stay the same. But there’ll be one change. There’s no more of just worrying about your own flea-bitten hides. Each of you’ll have at least a squad, some more. If you don’t like it, my piles bleed for you. You’re welcome to see if the other side can use you.”
There was louder laughter, for the skirmishers were thought bandits, lawless murderers for whom there was no mercy, even from their counterparts in the Negaret. “Now, all of you report to Domina Bikaner of the Seventeenth for your new posts.”
Late in the day, we gathered in our new formations.
“Good,” I shouted. “You almost look like soldiers again.” Even though they were bearded and ragged, and I could smell them from where I stood, they held their weapons ready, and I knew they could use them. “Look again at the man on your left. Now you know his name. You’re mates, whether you like it or not. And my first order is that you’re to make sure that man beside you lives to see Numantia. Because if he doesn’t, most likely you won’t, either. There’ll be no more of this pull for yourself and let the other bastard sweat.
“We’re all in this sewer together, and we’ll all get out of it together. We’re an army again, and warriors once more. No more of this hobbling along, letting any shitty-dicked Maisirian do whatever he wants. From now on, we’ll fight them if they find us, and make them sorry they ever came on our trail.
“You know me, you know how I smashed the bastards every time they hit us. If they find us now, we’ll do the same. Let them get their fingers lopped off to the knuckle, and they’ll go somewhere else, looking for easier targets.
“That’s enough words,” I finished. “Let’s take our walk.”
• • •
I still wished for death, for oblivion. But not yet. First I must try to cross those great mountains. Most likely I’d fail, and we’d all die, for I didn’t believe a thousand soldiers could manage that smuggler’s track.
But I wouldn’t let myself be killed. Ironically, I found myself praying, empty words, but still saying them, prayers to Vachan, my monkey god of wisdom, and to Tanis, asking for the boon of life.
Twice now I’d sworn fealty to Saionji, after Tenedos had brought me back from the fire, and when Alegria had died, and promptly tried to renege on my vows.
The goddess couldn’t be thinking very much of me as a mad juggernaut, I thought, and had to laugh. With the laughter, I felt myself coming alive a bit, coming from under my woe cloak.
Again, I remembered the wizard’s prophesy when I was born, and prayed I had been savaged enough by the tiger, and that again it was my turn to ride him, and that the thread of my life would run on. At least for a while.
I had my warrants and officers up and down the ranks constantly, shouting orders as they’d always done, but now doing something different — showing they deserved their tabs, their sashes. They swore at a man who dropped his weapon, but if he couldn’t lift it, they carried it for him until he got some strength back. If he went down, they bullied two of his comrades into draping the man’s arms over their shoulders and going on.
If they didn’t do this, and thought my words were as empty as the wind — that first day I reduced seven officers and thirteen warrants to the ranks.
Compared to the pace I’d made with Bakr and his Negaret, we were crawling. But we were moving, every day farther away from Bairan and his army.
• • •
I asked the two Chare Brethren to try a spell to contact the other magicians in our army. They’d barely made marks in the snow for their symbols and burned a few herbs when one shouted in fear and kicked the markings into nothingness.
“He’s out there,” he managed to say. “Somebody is. Somebody looking for us.”
We made no more attempts to communicate with the emperor.
• • •
A man fell to his knees, moaning. I was on him and jerked him to his feet.
“Please. Please. Just let me die,” he begged.
“I will, you bastard. But in Numantia. Not here. Get up, you piece of shit! No wonder you’re down, you asshole! Your whore of a mother didn’t have time to give you any heart, did she! Nor did any of the pimps who could be your father,” I raved.
The man’s eyes sparked life, and he swung at me.
“Not close,” I jeered. “Come on. Try again.”
He did, and I let the blow land against my chest.
“I’ve been hit harder by babies,” I laughed, and stalked away. He shouted a curse at me, and I hid my smile. He might make it across the mountains, if for no other reason than to kill me.
• • •
The last two horses died, and were consigned to the pots. Two horses and perhaps a dozen sackfuls of roots we’d scrabbled from the frozen ground, to feed nearly a thousand.
We reached the great river, and Isa was with us, for it was frozen solid. We hastily crossed.
Another miracle — one of the skirmishers found a shallow backwater, and in it were three of the bewhiskered, evil-faced fish, seemingly asleep. We cut a hole in the ice, spears went down, and the fish awoke to lashing agony. But as they wriggled, smashing the ice about them, arrows flicked into their hides, and we had fresh food.
Two were over twenty feet long, the third almost forty, and we devoured them eagerly, half-cooked or even raw. Other fish were found sleeping close to the banks and we broke the ice and killed them as well.
We made several meals from those fish, enough so everyone was heartened. Perhaps it was possible to live in this spare land after all.
Men still died, but not as often. When they did, we carried their bodies until the night’s camp, and then our wizards said the words and tried to summon the flames. All too often they failed, and we had to bury them under mounds of rock. But this was better than letting them lie where they fell. And there was no more cannibalism.
• • •
The country looked slightly familiar, and I thought the weather was becoming milder. We were coming to where Bakr’s Negaret had been camped. It might have been a hundred years ago. I remembered how good that antelope tasted we’d hunted, and if Isa was truly on our side, perhaps there’d be game wintering over here, and who cared if it was a bit gaunt. We could rough-tan their hides, and that would give us better footwear and coats for the icy mountain passes. I put scouts far ahead of the formation to make sure we saw any game before it saw us.
We found better meat than I’d hoped. Our scouts reported seventy black, circular tents in a large hollow: Negaret. I guessed they might be having one of their gatherings, their riets.
My Brethren sensed no magical wards, so the Negaret weren’t on their guard, never imagining there’d be any enemy this deep in the suebi. I sent the Ureyan Lancers to sweep wide around them and attack from the rear.
I had the former skirmishers, such men as they recommended, and the dismounted Hussars move forward as my main attack element, and held the rest of my column about a mile in the rear, guarded by the Heavy Cavalry.
It wasn’t a riet, I learned from the scouts who’d crept close, but a camp of Negaret women and children, safe while their men harried the outlanders.
There were only a handful of sentries, just boys, and they were quickly silenced. We swept down from the heights around the camp screaming battle cries.
The Negaret women and even children poured out with what weapons they had, sometimes swords, more often butcher’s implements or even sticks. They fought bravely, but we vastly outnumbered them. They fell back through their tents, and the Ureyan Lancers took them from behind.
Some fled into the suebi, others tried to fight on and were cut down or disarmed; still more held up their hands, knowing what horrors were about to come.
I saw a man reach for a woman, who struck him down and kicked him. Other officers and warrants were shouting, screaming, and the bloodlust died, a little. Before it could rise again, we beat the men back into ranks and began the systematic looting of the camp, working in squads, for a man alone is more likely to murder and rape than when he’s with his fellows under tight control.
We took food, drink, weapons, heavy clothes, all the boots that fit, blankets, packs, horses. I wanted the cook pots, sleeping robes, and tents that could be made small through magic, but one of the women said their nevraids were at the battle, and none knew how to work the magic. Of course she was lying, but what was I to do? Put her, or others, to torture?
It was almost dusk when I ordered the men to march on. We could have, should have, stayed the night in the comfort of the tents. But I doubted I could keep control of my soldiers with enemy women, particularly those of the loathed Negaret, close. Not that I was, or am, innocent of crimes of war. Perhaps the Negaret still had their tents and cookware. But what could they prepare in them? And how would they hunt for game? I refused to admit pity, any more than I permitted that weakness when I abandoned our sick.
At least, I thought to console myself, the women and children of Jedaz Bakr and the other Negaret who’d befriended us hadn’t been at this camp. Not that it would have mattered if they had.
• • •
The plains became foothills, and the mountains drew closer, dark shadows through the clouds. The weather was warmer, and it rained constantly. The rivers beside the rough trail were in full flood, and fording the creeks crisscrossing our track became a challenge.
One day we reached a clearing I thought I remembered, where men in dark armor had been waiting for me. But if not, it was as good a place as any to announce we’d crossed the border. Maisir was behind us. We were in the Border Lands, which Numantia had long claimed for its own.
Cheers rang, and I ordered an extra ration of the Negaret’s grain, which we ground and added hot water to.
Over us hung the silent mountains.
• • •
The climb went on and on. Once more we were surrounded by snow, but it didn’t matter as much, for that signified we were farther away from Maisir, closer to our homeland.
It stormed, and we found shelter in a canyon for a day? A week? Time became meaningless in the grayness. Our sturdy Negaret horses could go no more, and we slaughtered and rough-butchered them. Most of the meat we froze, but I permitted one great feast.
Soon enough all around us would be nothing but cold, and the memory of that meal would have to warm.
The storm ended, and we went on.
We heated snow water in whatever served as a canteen, mixed that with grain we’d mashed up, and ate it as we marched. The way was now narrow, with high cliffs to one side and emptiness on the other. Men began dying again, of the cold, or a stupid fall they wouldn’t have taken if they had had proper strength.
Sometimes, scrabbling for a hold as they fell, they found another man’s leg, and pulled him over the edge with them, to tumble screaming into white nothingness.
We reached the head of the pass and started downhill, and again we rejoiced. I was happier than most, for I’d been certain no body of soldiers could make this passing without being destroyed. I’d been wrong, and humbly swore I’d never forget this triumph of the spirit. Men, properly led or leading themselves with a strong will and heart, can storm the very heavens.
A day was simple: Wake from the shivering half-sleep you’d passed the night in. Hope someone nearby had found enough wood for a fire, so you could melt snow water for your “tea.” Pick up your pack and weapon and stumble on, one foot in front of the other, over and over, sucking air, not letting yourself fall, then another step, and another, and another. When a warrant shouted stop near dark, eat whatever scraps you and your mess-mates had, or whatever had been doled out. Try to find a place out of the wind, close to a fire if you were very fortunate, and spread whatever blanket or canvas you had, and slip into a nightmare-ridden drowse. Wake when you were kicked for guard duty, or to tend a fire, and pray for dawn. Again and again, over and over.
On this dreary trek, I had time to brood about the past, then to do something I was most uncertain at: think. About who I was, why I was, and consider coldly the endless disasters, from Kallio to the present. Catastrophes, in various shapes, had been constant since I’d helped the Emperor Tenedos seize the throne.
I couldn’t believe we’d gone against nature when we overthrew the stumbling morons of the Council of Ten. But why had there been nothing but tragedies ever since?
The strongest memory that kept returning, and I kept trying to push away, was of Yonge’s questions before he vanished. Reluctantly, for there was nothing else to hold my mind but the dirty snow I was plodding through, the wind down my back, and my sodden clothing, I considered Yonge’s sardonic queries.
Quite suddenly, the answer came, an answer that should’ve been obvious. Evidence assembled itself, things Yonge hadn’t been privy to.
I began with the night the emperor had gotten me to volunteer to enter Chardin Sher’s fortress, spill a certain potion, and say certain words that brought up that nightmare demon from the burning hells under the earth.
Tenedos had said that for the spell to work, the powers he’d contacted wanted someone Tenedos loved to willingly perform a great service that could cost his life. Of course that meant me, and of course I volunteered.
But there had been more. He’d said this “power,” which I thought to be that terrible monster from under the mountain, had another price, and Tenedos’s words came clearly: You may not ask what its price is, but it is terrible, but not to be paid for some time to come, fortunately.
A price. A sacrifice? That word sprang into my mind. This was appalling. My thoughts were traitors to the country I served.
No, I reminded myself. My inner oath, the oath of my proud generations, was to Numantia. But the oath I had sworn was to the Emperor Tenedos. Very well then. I was being disloyal to him.
I returned once again to Yonge’s questions.
Why had Tenedos waited so long to cast the spell that made the trees become stranglers at Dabormida, wait until heavy cavalry units and Yonge’s skirmishers had spent themselves bloodily against the Kallian defenses?
Did the casting of that spell also require a price? A price not in gold or in servitude, but in blood? Of course, my mind said contemptuously. What sort of debt do you think a man who loudly espouses vassalship to Saionji the Destroyer would incur?
I remembered the conversation I’d had in Polycittara, in the seer scholar Arimondi Hami’s cell, and his words came back very precisely. A friend of Chardin Sher’s mage Mikael Yanthlus, Hami asked if I thought one man could pay a high enough price to call forth the demon that destroyed Yanthlus, Sher, and their mountaintop citadel.
I also remembered when I’d tried to ask the emperor about Hami’s conjecture and was forbidden to mention the subject. There had been a price the emperor couldn’t discuss, not with the person who was the nearest thing he had to a friend.
Price … I thought of how nervous the emperor had been the longer war took to come, and then the sudden inexplicable plague that had appeared in Hermonassa, slain a half a million, then vanished as strangely as it had come.
Blood. Could blood — enough blood — satisfy any demon, make it do anything its summoner wished? Was this Laish Tenedos’s great secret, something he’d deduced in his far wanderings and studies with dark sages?
If his spells required blood, did that mean he must be willing to sacrifice anything, including his own army, for eventual victory? To feed a mountainous, V-shaped demon? Or to feed Saionji herself?
Must the emperor make constant blood sacrifice to the dark Destroyer to hold his power, either magical or temporal?
Yonge had warned me after Tenedos had rejected our idea to free the Maisirian peasants.
But why these disasters, then? After all this slaughter, all this destruction in Maisir, wouldn’t the goddess be well pleased with her servant?
Again, Yonge’s voice came, saying that when Tenedos rejected chaos, rejected unleashing the peasants against their masters, Saionji turned away from him. Certainly she must have welcomed the slaughter, but just as a drunkard who is grateful for a pint of wine at first soon thinks it’s his due, the goddess of destruction wanted more: utter chaos, with each man’s hand turned against his better.
Was Tenedos scrabbling to regain her favor? Or had he gone beyond that? Was his power now completely grounded in blood, in disaster?
And I’d sworn an oath, an oath to help in whatever he endeavored, my mind ironically reminded me. Did that include helping him destroy Numantia, if it came to that?
Thank Irisu that Domina Bikaner came with a problem requiring my immediate attention, so I wasn’t forced to answer that question. For the moment.
• • •
Now we moved faster, for we were marching downhill, and I swear I could smell Numantia’s welcome warmth. But almost a third of us who’d marched away from Oswy were dead.
• • •
I stared downslope at the huge temple and the small village where we’d been fed and sheltered, and where we’d obtained our zebus. I remembered that young Speaker who wore no more than a summer robe against the snow, and the riddle he’d told me. I also remembered Yonge’s fear and hatred, and wondered what demoniac curses might be brought against us, six hundred men who surely wouldn’t be welcome.
But there was no choice, and so I went ahead, flanked by Svalbard and Curti, gathering my stuporous wits, trying to think of words that might grant us safe passage.
But I needed none. Before, the temple had been dark, foreboding. Now it gleamed with bright lights, and soft music floated toward me. There was a huge, winding stone staircase, with fabulous beasts on the balustrades and, at the top, enormous stone doors. I should have felt fear, trepidation, after Yonge’s snarl of how he hated these villagers, their temple, and most especially those who have some sort of tin god whispering in their ear and think they’ve been adopted into his son-of-a-bitching family. I recalled, too, him saying that he and three of his men, all wounded, had been turned away by the Speaker’s father.
The doors swung open as I approached, and I knew they couldn’t be of stone to have moved so easily. A man came out, a big man, but old, bearded, with still-dark waist-length hair, floating like silk in the wind. I thought I knew him, but that was impossible.
“I bid you and your soldiers welcome, Numantian.”
I bowed. “Thank you. But there are far more than we three.”
“I know. I counted them as they came across the glacier. Five hundred ninety-three warriors, women, and children, by my figuring.”
“You’re correct,” I said, covering amazement. “We accept, gratefully. We ask only a night’s lodging, and perhaps a place to prepare our rations, and we’ll march on at first light, without disturbing anyone.”
“I bade you welcome, and it would be a poor host who wasn’t prepared to feed his guests. Summon your command, if you would.”
I nodded to Curti, who saluted and trotted back down the staircase. The big man looked at Svalbard and me.
“Your companion may be harboring suspicious thoughts of my intent, although how one man could harm as many soldiers as you lead seems hard to imagine. Does it not, great Svalbard?”
The big man jolted, looked afraid, then forced resolve. “Not f’r a magician like you, which I know you to be, knowin’ my name an’ such.”
The man inclined his head. “It might be possible. If I were a wizard. You’re welcome to post guards if you wish, and those two men with you who’re students of magic, even if they’re not quite sages, may wish to lay any spells they care to. It matters not.”
“I don’t see any purpose in guards,” I said. “You are a sorcerer, and if you think my two men nothing but acolytes, then we’re in your power anyway. I’d rather my soldiers come in out of the weather. If you have evil intent, at least we die together. And warm.”
Of course I had no intention of putting myself completely in this man’s powers. But there wasn’t any reason not to let him think I’d lowered my guard.
“I’m honored at the trust,” he said. “You and your men will be more than warm. Please enter.”
“I thank you,” I said, bowing once more. “I am First Tribune Damastes á Cimabue, General of — ”
“I know you,” the man said. “And I know your army. All of it. Come inside.” He made no move to give me his name.
I looked up the hill, saw my men coming toward me, less an army than a ruin, and walked inside, feeling no fear at all. I touched the doors as I passed. They were the heaviest stone.
• • •
The temple was even larger than I’d thought, extending for many levels underground, stone ramps curving down and down. There were floors of nothing but small one-man stone cells, perhaps thousands of them, which we were offered as bedrooms. There was an oil lantern and a straw mat in each, and they were spotlessly clean, but smelled old, disused.
“These were for your monks?” I guessed.
“You might have called them that,” the man said.
“How many live here now?”
The man smiled, but didn’t answer. He said for my men to leave their weapons, packs, and outerwear in their cells, unless they felt particularly fearful, and to go down one more level. They would come to two doors. Men were to take the one on the left, our few women the one on the right. He said a clean man would be even hungrier.
Those chambers were high-ceilinged, solid stone, and had changing rooms with stone benches, where we left our clothes, and one great room with stone tubs four feet deep and twenty feet across. Naked, I felt my skin burn, as it always did when I came inside after spending a long time out of doors. I stepped down into a tub and let the bubbling water, just uncomfortably hot, lave me. There was no soap, but bars of sandstone we could scrub with.
I ran my fingers through my hair and beard again and again, trying to comb them, but not making a very good job of it. As I did, tangles, knots of hair came away, and I was reminded once more of how I was aging.
If it weren’t for my howling gut, I could’ve spent the rest of my life in that stone tub, but I was forced out.
As I walked back to the changing room, a blast of hot, perfumed air caught me, and I was dry. More than dry, I realized, as I reflexively started to scratch, a habit we all had, then realized there was nothing biting me.
A greater marvel was our clothes. Ashamed of our rags, we’d tried to stack them neatly when we stripped. Now they were folded as if a laundress had been at them, and so someone invisible had, for they were clean, rips and tears not just mended, but the cloth seamlessly joined together. They were still stained and battered, but lice-free.
We dressed and went up the ramps. The women, chattering as gaily as we, came streaming out to join us.
We entered a huge dining room, with tables and benches of heavy, ancient wood. The tables were laden with brass bowls, filled with food. Taking little heed of formation or rank, we rushed them.
Our host entered as we sat down. We caught ourselves, expecting some kind of prayer.
“Go ahead,” he said. “The gods look with disfavor on hungry people.”
We needed no more encouragement. There was rice, spiced hot with Numantian herbs none of us had tasted since we left our country, and sprinkled with melted butter; aubergines sliced and fried in an egg batter; lentils so spicy tears ran from our eyes, fresh tomatoes with grated cheese from buffalo milk; rice pudding with mangoes, jackfruit, and herbal teas of many varieties.
Svalbard leaned close. “Wonder how long it takes t’ train a demon t’ cook?” he whispered.
The bearded man had preternatural hearing, for he smiled broadly. “So you’re still suspicious,” he said. “Let me ask you something. What are demons?”
Svalbard frowned. “Evil. Spirits that’ll do you harm.”
“But these beings you’re worried about are feeding you. So they can’t be demons.”
“Poison,” Svalbard said, not giving an inch.
“Poison? Then you will die. Die nobly, opposing evil forces, which will advance you on the Wheel, am I not right? Since their deed would have done good for you, they could not be demons, for demons are incapable of good work, by your definition.”
“Words!” Svalbard snorted. He looked for a place to spit, couldn’t see one, and buried his nose in his food.
The man smiled once more, and walked down the rows of tables, for all the world like the genial host of a country tavern.
• • •
Perhaps I dreamed, but I think not. I seemed to wake and walked out of my cell into the corridor. The lamps that had been burning when we came away from dinner were flickering low, and my sentries were pacing their rounds, trying to stay awake, at each end. No one saw me.
I knew exactly where to go, and went up the ramps to the main level, and walked assuredly down one hall whose ceiling was lost in gloom. There was a small door, and then I was in the temple’s heart, a vast polyhedronic room with silk hangings on the walls in blazing colors. But there were no idols, no paintings of any gods, or benches for worshipers, not even an altar.
In the center of the room the old man sat cross-legged on a purple silk pillow. There was a circular straw mat in front of him. I knelt awkwardly on it. He looked at me calmly, expectantly.
“Why did you welcome us?” I asked, without preamble.
“Why not? If I hadn’t, you would have tried to take what you needed from the villagers, and I feel duty toward them.”
“Who are you? Their priest? Their king?”
“Neither. All.”
“What god — or gods — do you serve?”
“None. All.”
“There was a young man here the last time I passed,” I said. “He called himself the Speaker.”
“And so he is. My son.”
“Why haven’t we seen him?”
“He disagreed with the manner in which you should be greeted. I decided to overrule him.”
“What would he have done?”
“You need not know. But it would not have been the best. He is young and has much to learn.”
“He told me a riddle.”
“I know,” the man said, then quoted exactly: “ ‘The god you think you serve, you do not serve. The goddess you fear is not the one who is your enemy, but your enemy is one who seeks to become more, to become a god, yet in the end shall be no more than a demon, for demons are his true master.’ Am I not correct?”
“You are.”
“The riddle went on,” the man continued. “ ‘Serve who you may, serve who you might, you serve but one, and that one will grant you naught.’
“Can you answer any of its questions now?”
I could, although my mind tried to shudder away:
The god I thought I served … Isa, god of war. Or perhaps Irisu.
The goddess I feared … Saionji, obviously. But if I didn’t fear her, then:
My enemy, he who seeks to become more, become a god?
It could be but one.
Laish Tenedos.
The emperor.
The demon king.
If this was true, he could and would grant me nothing, for demons never give more than they must, and I’d sworn an oath of loyalty and servitude of my own free will.
The things he’d given me in the past — riches, titles, power — all of those things had bound me closer to him, made me serve him better, more loyally.
Yes, I had the answer to the riddle. But would I tell it to this man? No. Not ever. He waited. A smile came and went, and he nodded, as if he’d heard someone — myself? — speak, and he’d approved.
“Good,” he said. “Very good indeed. Now, since you’ve suffered much, perhaps you’d like me to give you something.”
“Why should you?”
He shrugged. “Because it amuses me. Because it’s my duty. Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.”
“Very well then,” he said. “Of course, being who I am, or what I am, perhaps a man, perhaps a demon as your Svalbard fears, I shall speak in another riddle.”
“Naturally.”
Both of us laughed, and the sound echoed in the huge room. Now I remembered him, him and the great leopard who’d watched us climb toward Maisir so long ago.
“You were the boy who rode the tiger,” he said, and paused as I started. I began to blurt a question, but realized he wouldn’t answer it, wouldn’t explain how he could know what a jungle sorcerer had told my parents on my name day. “Now the tiger has turned on you. You’ve felt great pain, and there will be greater pain to come. But the thread of your life goes on.
“The boon I grant is to tell you that it shall continue far longer than you think now, or shall think soon.
“Some time from this moment, your thread shall change color.
“Perhaps the color I sense has meaning to you. It is a bright yellow, and is now made of silk.”
Yellow? Silk?
“The Tovieti’s strangling cord,” I growled.
“I know of them,” the man said.
“They’ve tried to kill me several times,” I said. “I’m their sworn enemy.”
“Indeed,” the man said. “But all things change. The one you serve, for instance, may become your most bitter enemy. Why shouldn’t evil become good, if perceived good is evil?” The man rose. “I think I’ve satisfied both my duty and my sense of humor, and added confusion, just as my son did. Sleep well, sleep long.”
He walked away. The chamber was huge, but he walked away from me forever, growing smaller and smaller, as if it were miles long.
I was back in my cell, and the straw was rubbing into my bare shoulder for an instant, and then I fell back into sleep.
I awoke feeling as if I had slept for ages — fresh, eager, although when my dream, if dream it was, returned, I shivered, not knowing what to think. But I didn’t have to, for there was work to be done.
The men were cheerful and loud, dressing in the corridors like so many schoolboys. We formed up outside the temple, while I sought the one who’d guested us.
My calls echoed against stone, without an answer. After a time, I gave up and went out.
It was bright, clear, and a warm wind blew up from the lowlands. Without looking back, we marched away.
Into our homeland, into Numantia, into the fairest land I’d ever known: Urey.