The Warrior King: Book Three of the Seer King Trilogy Read online

  “Put your legs around my waist,” and she obeyed. I moved my cock up and down along her sex, and she was panting, head rolling from side to side.

  “Please!”

  “Not yet,” I said, teasing her once again with the head of my cock, moving it in a bare inch, then out, and she swore, words a soldier would use, trying to pull me into her. Again I stroked her, and her hands were clawing at the dress she lay atop, and this time I pushed my cock into her, and she gasped.

  “Put your feet back down on the floor,” and she did, and I moved steadily in her, feeling her clitoris against my pubic bone, kneading her breasts, and then her feet came off the floor and around my neck and I kept moving, moving, and she came, trying to keep from shouting aloud, but I was still hard, still moving, and again she clasped me into her.

  • • •

  We were lying together, still joined, back on the bed, and she was stroking my chest.

  “Can I ask something?”

  “I might answer.”

  “I don’t think your name is Nurri.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Will you tell me what it really is?”

  I hesitated, then, “Damastes á Cimabue.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know it. Should I?”

  I made a noncommittal noise.

  “You’re running away from something, aren’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?” I asked.

  “You dyed your hair, and I don’t think anybody who’s blond would want to be dark-haired.”

  “Why not? You’ve got dark hair, and you’re beautiful.” She smiled at me.

  “Thank you. Jalak’s the only other one who ever told me that.”

  “There are some very blind men in this village.”

  Steffi sighed. “No. They’re just used to me, like we’re all used to each other. I wish …” She shook her head. “Never mind. Damastes, if you’re running from something, why don’t you stay here? With us? Gunett would love that. I know we could keep you happy. And we need somebody strong like you. Not just in bed, or with an ax, but with a sword.

  “In case the bandits come back … or any other bad people. You’d be like our king maybe, or anyway king to everybody except Gunett, and she’s a wizard so that doesn’t count, and she’s a good woman, and you wouldn’t mind doing what she tells you to.”

  It wouldn’t be a bad life, and I wasn’t thinking of the sex. What more is a man supposed to do, anyway, in the span before he goes back to the Wheel, except find someone to care for, who cares for him, and make that person’s life as good as it can be? Better if he can help more than one person, whether it’s a family … or a village.

  Perhaps if I did this and stood strong for these people, Saionji might lessen the penalty for my sins when she judged me.

  No, it wouldn’t be a bad life at all, here in this village, its fertile fields and loving people.

  But I shook my head, not knowing why I refused her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Steffi took a deep breath. “I had to ask. All right, Damastes. Then fuck me again. Fuck me everywhere.”

  “With such a ladylike invitation,” I said, “how could I refuse?” and pulled her on top of me, stiffening, hands moving down to her hips, and I jerked upward and she squealed and buried her head against my neck.

  • • •

  I don’t know if it was Gunett’s spell or what, but I slept no more that night, making love to Steffi in every way I knew, she always ready, always willing, our bodies twisting, contorting on the bed, spirits entwined, and then we dressed and she kissed me chastely and I slipped away as the first villagers were coming from their huts in the golden hush of dawn.

  • • •

  Other things happened, and I met and dealt with others as I journeyed, some with words, some with a sword, but none were that memorable.

  Then, one day, in the middle of the Time of Heat, I crossed a narrow, nameless river. I smelt cinnamon, jasmine, cloves and knew I was in Cimabue once more.

  FIVE

  SUMMONS OF THE TIGER

  Now my journey became even more leisurely, and I paused to wander a jungle glade or to help a farmer thresh the first yield of rice from his paddies or at a village inn and engage in spirited and pointless arguments about Cimabuan customs or history or religion over endless cups of tea.

  I was a dry sponge, soaking up the ways and habits of my native land after so long an absence. But that was only part of the reason for my laggardly ways, and a small part at that.

  For the closer I came to my family’s estates, the greater the question became: so you go home, Damastes. Then what? What trade will you take up? There were other, darker, more obvious questions I didn’t even want to consider as well.

  But eventually, close to the end of the Time of Heat, I came on the dirt road that wound beside fields toward the compound I hadn’t seen since my mother’s funeral, when I was still the emperor’s first tribune.

  The land was still being worked, and the crops appeared plentiful, although there were just as many women, children, and dotards and as few young men working as in other places. Of course, with their native son heading the Numantian armies, patriotism during the war would’ve flamed high, and many must’ve marched out to join the colors.

  I was still dwelling far too much in the past and forced myself to concentrate on the present and the future, for I had a life to lead and, since I was probably the most sought-after fugitive in the land, dangers to beware.

  It was very hot, probably uncomfortably so for anyone not born in these tropic jungles. The air smelled of dust and burned slightly when it entered my lungs, but it was as welcome as mountain air is to others.

  The main house was a sprawl in the middle of a great garden. The walls were freshly stained, and there were a few new rooms added to the main structure here and there, in the incoherent building style my father had made notorious. The gardens were well tended, which wasn’t a surprise, since most of what we grew was intended for use as well as beauty, spices, some exotic fruits we didn’t want zebu or sambur nibbling, and vegetables for our table.

  I opened the gate silently, saw a man oiling the two hand-carved red vervain statues of Tanis. He straightened as I came up the path, and I recognized him, thinking in amazement that he hadn’t aged in the years since I’d last seen him. He was Peto, and he’d ridden to war with my father when he was just a boy, to be Cadalso á Cimabue’s body servant, and had stood by him well, even on the final bloody field at Tiepolo, when my father lost his leg.

  Since then, he’d been our family’s head steward, always there, a man respected not only for his advice, but for his greater wisdom of keeping his mouth shut when guidance wasn’t wanted.

  “Peto,” I said, “you missed a patch, under Tanis’s chin.”

  He came to his feet, and I saw the years had, indeed, cut at him, as they had all of us.

  “Damastes,” he said gravely. “I knew they could not kill or keep you.”

  Then there were tears in his eyes and in mine as well, and I was in his arms and truly home.

  • • •

  Appropriately, there was great outcry and joy at my return, and I was plied with every delicacy the estate had and given the finest guestrooms.

  My youngest sister, Kassa, still lived in the house with her husband Mangasha, who’d been a sergeant in the Cimabuan state militia and was now overseer of the family accounts. She wept profusely and wanted to call for a holiday throughout our lands.

  I saw Mangasha look a little wary as he stopped her.

  “I’m a renegade, my crazy sister,” I said. “Let’s not advertise my presence until we’re sure what comes next.”

  She called me a fool, no one in Cimabue would report me, but appeared to set the idea aside. She sent messengers for my other two sisters and their husbands, then asked what I needed, what I wanted.

  “A towel,” I said. “And clothes that don’t stink of the road.”

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sp; Or of blood and death, I thought, but didn’t continue.

  Surprisingly, some light linen pants and shirts from my last visit so long ago were found, and I took them, a towel, and soap to that jungle pool I’d dreamed of on those dusty days.

  It was smaller than I remembered, but still cool, green, and welcoming. I tore off my clothes, tossed them into a pile for burning, dove and went deep, into the dimness, where time had a stop, and when I’d swim up I’d still be a boy, glad with the world before me.

  But when I surfaced, all was as before, except for a servant waiting with an evaporative canvas bag filled with my favorite lime drink and a large glass. I drained one, then another, clambered out onto the rocks, soaped, swam, soaped, swam again, and finally, after one more scrub, thought I might be clean sometime this century.

  I floated on my back, my head, chest, cock, and toes all that was above water, staring up at the sky more wondrously blue than anywhere else in Numantia, the current from the small waterfall that fed the pool turning me like a leaf, here, there. My mind wanted to drift away, but I refused it. The evening ahead required thought.

  • • •

  The dining room was lit with happiness candles, many-colored lights slightly ensorcelled so their flame and scents were as varicolored as the waxes they were cast from.

  Everyone seemed happy, and tears were shed rather indiscriminately, and no one talked about the future or the past. Children clustered around, and it was obvious my clan was in no danger of extinction.

  The meal was wonderful, and I thought wryly that sometimes the life of a running man isn’t all bad, for I’d had some wonderful meals on the road and could have written about the festive dishes of the tropic Numantian north to go with my companion volumes on starving in Maisir and Numantian prison fare.

  We had minced chicken rolled in wild greens; sour shrimp and pineapple soup; many-spiced vegetables; roast duck in honey, ginger, and wild plum sauce; green onion pancakes; spiced beans and aubergines; and, for dessert, steamed lotus with sour and sweet rice.

  The others drank good vintage wine, and I had fresh orange juice.

  Eventually the last dish was removed, the children rousted, a clean cloth laid across the table. I asked Mangasha to close the lattice doors and make certain no servants had their ears to them. The room was quiet, people looking at me curiously.

  My plan was to seize the moment, and so I stood.

  “I want to thank you for my welcome. It was everything and more that I dreamed of during those long months in that hell called Maisir and later in my island prison.”

  I looked at Traptain as I said “prison,” and he shifted nervously. I’d never been able to warm to him, even though he was a charmer on the surface, a little heavy, always smiling, round-faced and cheery. Perhaps it was I’d seen that smile slip once, at my mother’s funeral, when he realized he wouldn’t be inheriting all the family lands.

  “You are my friends, my loved ones, and I’m more than blessed by Irisu.

  “However, we have a rather serious matter to talk about. I’m more than aware of the problems my presence will bring.”

  I was interrupted by a clamor of “no,” “there’s nothing,” “let’s not talk about bad times, bad things.” I waited.

  “We can’t ignore what we’d like to go away,” I continued. “Let’s be honest about my situation. I’m being sought by the Grand Council in Nicias. I killed the leader of their wretched Peace Guardians before I escaped, and I know they’d like vengeance for that.

  “Also, they’re very worried that I’ll return to serving the once-Emperor Tenedos.”

  I thought of telling them of his spectral visit, decided not to. Tenedos’s reputation was already terrifying.

  “I will tell you, in all confidence, that I was approached to return to his side. He’s trying to reestablish his army, somewhere south of here along the coast, and then he’ll move against Nicias and attempt to recover his throne.

  “I’ll tell you something no one else knows, and I ask it remain a secret.”

  Nods, agreeing murmurs, a somewhat indignant “we never talk about any family business” from a sister.

  “Thank you again. I have decided I will not fight for anyone. I’ve seen enough bloodshed, enough of disaster. From now on, I’ll live my own life, no more, and worry only about the people I care for, the people sitting around this table.

  “I’m aware there is no peace in Numantia and won’t be as long as Tenedos is alive. There’s not only the Grand Council to worry about, but the Maisirian king as well.”

  “What should we do?” Daryal asked. He was a village sub-chief, Anadyr’s husband, a small, balding man who always looked worried.

  “I don’t know, to be truthful,” I said. “Try to stay out of harm’s way. The rabbit must hide when tigers fight.”

  “Will we be able to?” Anadyr asked.

  “I don’t know that, either. Cimabue, at least as far as I know, has remained loyal to Nicias, at least so far. We’re remote and don’t have much anymore in the way of resources to lust after, either men for soldiers, iron for their swords, or food for their campaigns.

  “Perhaps the armies, when they move against each other, will stay clear of Cimabue, as they have thus far. We can pray to Vachan, to Irisu, to Tanis to keep our land at peace.

  “Which brings me back to the problem.

  “I don’t want to do anything to disturb the balance and think it would be best if I lived somewhat apart from you and kept away from having any business with the family lands, as much as possible.”

  I saw a bit of relief flicker across Traptain’s face. Kassa was on her feet.

  “That’s nonsense! We’re not going to drive you away, brother!”

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t think you would. But I don’t see any problem in remaining here and being just a little bit invisible.”

  “How?” That was always-practical Anadyr.

  “I know a place to sleep where very few know of,” I said.

  My sisters frowned, then Anadyr got it.

  “That old building Father gave you when you were a boy?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s still standing, and I require no more.”

  “You can’t live in a shack like that!” Jeritza said. “That shames all of us! A great general, a tribune, our only brother — ”

  “Jeritza,” I said gently, “those rooms are far more than I’ve had for most of my life as a soldier. The palaces the emperor granted saw me but little. I’m more familiar with mud for my bedstead and the sky for a roof. And don’t worry about shame. Remember, no one is going to know I’m here.”

  “People talk,” Traptain said cynically.

  “Of course they do,” I said, “and they’re going to talk about me. But if we all cooperate, they’ll do it in whispers and know this is information not to be spread abroad. Besides, they’re Cimabuans, and since when doesn’t someone from our state love to hold a secret close?”

  That received some smiles and was certainly the truth. There was even a proverb among us — three can keep a secret, if two are dead.

  “But what will you do to pass the days?” Kassa said.

  “That’s a good question,” Daryal said. “For I know you won’t be content to sit and twiddle … whatever you normally twiddle.”

  “A good question indeed,” I said. “I’ll know my trade when it comes to me.”

  • • •

  That wasn’t long in happening.

  But first, literally, I set my house in order. My small bungalow had been given to me by my father, amid lamentations by my mother and sisters, and I was told to keep it like a barracks, and I did. It was one of the best things anyone’s ever done, for here I discovered the joy of being alone and of being responsible.

  I set to with a joy cleaning up the two-room building, whitewashing the walls, rethatching the roof, and reinforcing the heavy beam door.

  The bungalow sat on the outskirts of the estate, with the jungle st
arting just behind it. I put in a comfortably firm bed — wide enough for two, for I remembered the farm girls who’d come after dark, giggling at being the first to teach the master’s son the games Jaen wants us to play. I hung a map of Numantia on one wall, a sketch of the battlefield of Tiepolo on another, and took a handful of books at random from the family library.

  I got my father’s old sword from the main house, which was just the style he’d trained me to prefer and use skillfully: double-edged, with a simple guard and pommel, and sharkskin on the handle, so a bloodied hand wouldn’t slip. I sharpened it with stone, steel, and then powder to a razor’s edge. I hung it, in its sheath, within reach. I put hooks under the bed, on the far side, and hid Salop’s sword there, and Perak’s dagger was mounted next to the door. On the doorsill overhead I put that iron pig.

  I did not intend to be surprised … nor taken alive … if anyone came on me.

  I had the feeling I was waiting for something, and that it would come soon.

  While I waited, I held to a schedule: waking at dawn, running for two or more leagues along jungle trails, swimming at the end of the run, having water and some fruit to break my fast. Then I studied my books, which I hated, never being one for dusty knowledge, but knowing my brain for another muscle that would wither if not used.

  I’d eat at midday, very lightly, then go for either a run or a ride. When my father had been alive, we always had thoroughbreds, but no one now seemed much interested in horsemanship, and so our mounts were either intended for pulling carriages or wagons or indifferent saddle mounts. I thought of my two great horses, Lucan and Rabbit, that I’d left in Nicias when I left for Maisir, and hoped they’d found good masters and were comfortably out to pasture amid their mares, enjoying a peaceful old age.

  After a ride, I’d work on one or another of the projects I’d had a somewhat scandalized Mangasha suggest, working around the estate either by myself or with two or three trusted servants. I did everything from rebuilding arbors to tearing berry bushes gone wild out of the gardens to replanting to draining and redigging a fouled fishpond.