“And I slew its people and burnt it to the ground.”
“Alone?”
“My army.”
“Did many die?”
“Not one of mine. Scores of thousands of theirs.”
“Oh.”
“In part, it was what made all this. I punished the rebels exactly as the law required. I did what was right, but I was too harsh in the minds of some. Afterwards, all those who thought sedition, who plotted without real intent of acting, began to wonder if they would be next.”
“And?”
“They banded together against me and the throne.”
Nici nodded.
“And your father died, and we fled, and in time we came to here.”
“I understand,” he said, and did. He was understanding much more, of the politics and hatreds that ran the world.
A soldier came to the door, and coughed. Ishta’eth looked to the nuts, and said to Nici, “Have you had your fill?”
“Of course,” Nici said, puzzled. Ishta’eth passed the bowl to the soldier, who muttered his thanks, and left.
“I don’t understand,” Nici said. “What is this?”
“I crack nuts for the men. They are not as strong, it is easier for me.”
He looked at her.
“I cannot eat them,” she said.
“I see.”
“I cannot. I do not eat.”
“I know.”
“Well then.”
*
Another month of marching. They passed through forests, and over a mountain range, and crossed rivers wide enough to have their own currents, and plains Nici could not see across. He saw trees shift from the cold-climate needle-leaves he knew to wider, lusher growth. For the first time he felt hot air all about, away from a fire, and warm water. In time, Ishta’eth said they were past halfway, were growing close. They crossed another set of mountains as the winter began, great grey piles of shingle and dust, and by then Nici was tired and weak and exhausted. The days ran together. He was sore from the saddle and tired from the length of the march, and increasingly isolated from the daily decisions Ishta’eth was making. They came to a river, a crossing, a valley full of soldiers, and Ishta’eth said it was the last river to cross, that it was open grassland from there to the Heart of the World, the imperial palace. “We are close now,” she said. “These need not die. I will speak with them.”
“There are ten thousand of them.”
“Indeed. They could do much harm to our men, in those numbers.”
“You cannot go down there alone.”
She seemed amused. She touched his face, almost kindly. “Child, my emperor, what am I?”
Nici looked at her. “A slave, my slave, my demon slave, a Kereshin?”
“Indeed. And what are they?”
“Men.”
“Men of flesh and blood and fear and tiredness and sloth. Tiredness as you feel, after a month’s long march to bring us all here.”
“You can fight them all?” he said. “You will be safe?”
She laughed.
“You tease me,” he said.
“I do. And yes, I can fight them.”
“Take our men.”
“No. If I do, some shall die.”
“And now you care for that?”
She laughed, nothing more.
“You cannot fight ten thousand men on your own,” Nici said.
“Of course I can. But I shall not need to.”
She called over a captain, and told him to have the army wait. “Come,” she said to Nici, “Meet your subjects,” and she led him down the hill and into the enemy camp.
Nici was scared, but it seemed that Ishta’eth was not. He reminded himself that Ishta’eth would not risk him if there was actual danger, so therefore there could not be. This must be a way to get him used to war, he decided.
Little happened as they rode down. The enemy soldiers simply stood there and watched.
Ishta’eth stopped in the centre of their camp, at the approach of the bridge they guarded. “You know what I am,” Ishta’eth said to the nearest of their enemies. “Decide.”
A few ran at her and died. Then a few more. Twenty, thirty ran at her and died. Nici began to understand. Only three or four could fight her at once, and she took care that her back was always clear. She was fast, much faster than they, she wove and ducked a lot, and killed with almost every blow. And they were afraid of her, terrified, and that slowed them down. Fifty died. Eighty died. Blood soaked her from head to toe. Blood flicked from her hair and hand and weapon tip as she spun around.
In the distance, a bow. “Ishta’eth,” Nici called, and she looked, and at the same time an officer did.
“Kill that man,” the officer said, panic in his voice. “Now.”
Two of his men ran off.
“I apologize, my lady,” the officer shouted to Ishta’eth. “He did not fire.”
She looked at him for a while, and his hands began to shake.
“My lord,” Ishta’eth said. “I am my lord Kereshin. Not my lady.”
The officer dropped his sword, stood there looking at her. “Please,” he said. “Please, I have done you no harm.”
“Join me.”
“I cannot.”
“Join me or die.” She raised her voice. “All of you. Join me or die.”
Some confusion, whispers. A sergeant, “We are yours, my lady.”
“My lord,” Ishta’eth said, and smiled, looking around, and it was a terrible thing to see.
She walked to the officer, and touched his face. Nici was beginning to be afraid of that touch, afraid for others, not himself.
“I spare your men,” she said. “That is enough.”
“Please,” he said.
“Understand, you have failed the one you serve. Failed badly. I cannot have you in my ranks, behind me, waiting to fail again.”
“I will not, lord, I swear. I will not fail again.”
“No,” Ishta’eth said, almost absently, and cut his throat. She moved fast enough no-one alive could see her blow coming. A blessing, Nici thought, as the officer might not have actually realized. The man blinked, and gurgled, and seemed surprised. He fell to his knees.
“It is not your failure that concerns me most,” Ishta’eth said to him gently. “It is your dishonor. And this makes that right.”
“Sergeant,” she said, “Some water,” and stood still while it was brought. They watched her, and she ignored them. She washed her face, her hands. “Are you ready to ride?” she said when she was done.
Frantic activity followed. Camp was broken. Tents torn down.
Riding ahead of the group, Nici said softly, “Did we do that so you could recruit them?”
“Of course.”
Silence for a moment. She touched his hand. “You are learning. It is good.”
They rode up the river banks and onto the plain.
“A month or two more,” Ishta’eth said. “A lot of fighting still, but a month or two more and we shall be done.”
*
Ishta’eth, walking through the camp one night, heard two off-duty guardsmen talking softly.
“They have no souls, you know, tis why they do not age or die.”
“We none of us have souls, brother, but the emperor himself.”
“Well, she less than others. I would not meet her in battle, I tell you that.”
“No,” the other conceded after a moment, “Nor I.”
She stood in the shadows near a line of wagons, and listened, and smiled, then went on her silent way.
*
Ishta’eth went to Nici one night, when she thought he was ready. It was an old custom that she did, but she bade her time before she began, wary about his mood. He had not forgotten the deaths of his foster-family, but he had become more accustomed to bloodshed, and to her, and time had begun to set some distance. Kereshin had done this often enough for emperors in the past, because a Kereshin bed-companion was a loyal one, and bro
ught the certainty of safety. This was like that, but not entirely as it had once been, for Ishta’eth had reasons of her own, this time. She had her way. Nici was nervous, and gentle, and afterwards he lay on the bed and watched her move around.
“They call you a demon,” Nici said.
“They do.”
“Why?”
“Because it is so.”
“A demon. Born of hell?”
“Melodrama. All those stories of gods and heavens and hells, they are for children.”
“There are no gods?”
“I do not know. I think none but those we make. And the emperor.”
Nici thought. “No heaven and hell?” he said.
“Nought but those we make ourselves.”
“Then how are you a demon?”
“We were made, not born. Forged of magic, tis all.”
“Oh,” Nici said, and began to understand.
*
The army marched on, and still more joined them. The army grew until it was a blight across the land, a moving sore that trampled crops and stripped an area five leagues wide of fuel and forage and stock. Nici understood that was necessary, that they had no supplies and must live from the land, but the careless harm they did those they passed, people like his foster family, troubled him.
He spoke to Ishta’eth, who told him, apparently surprised, that this was why they took the route they did, that they could not live from the land in a lord’s domain without causing offence, but these were free peasants, owned by none, and therefore it was permitted.
“And the rape?” Nici said. There had been a lot of it going on as they passed. Nici had been pretending not to see.
Ishta’eth shrugged.
“Must they?”
“I will tell them to take care not to sire bastards, if you wish.”
“That’s all? Not to cease entirely?”
“Soldiers always rape peasant girls. It is the way of the world. The girls who don’t want to be raped don’t stand so near the roadway while an army marches by.”
“I forbid it.”
“Then you shall lose your throne. But as you will.”
“I would lose my throne?”
“We cannot march with a surly army.”
Nici thought. “And if I say I demand it anyway? That they stop?”
“I will not hear you. I do not hear the words of emperors who speak in madness.”
“Of course not,” Nici said, and looked away.
“You are angry.”
“Not angry. Just… unsurprised.” He looked around, and then stood up. “I wish to walk.” He had adopted this affectation of nobles, to walk simply to walk, without going any particular place. Ishta’eth thought it was useful he was seen by their army, and encouraged it.
Nici stood, and Ishta’eth stood too.
“I wish to be alone,” Nici said.
“Never again.”
“I wish to be guarded by someone other than you.”
“As I said. It cannot be.”
“I wish you not to speak.”
She nodded, and seemed unconcerned. “Of course.”
And she followed a few paces away, and did not speak again until he spoke to her, more than an hour later.
*
Nici learned more of politics, enough to see how Ishta’eth infuriated their allies. She berated and bullied, and in the end, to get her way, often announced she would remember any who would not stand with her, and consider them foes, and usually then the room became silent.
“I am the law,” she said often, even while Nici was there, at her side.
Once, someone had said, “The emperor is the law. Let him decide.”
“The emperor is of the law,” Ishta’eth said. “And bound by the law, but I am the law. I will decide.”
That seemed to settle it for her. Nici watched quietly, and thought on that, and wondered. Ishta’eth always had her way, in the end, about every little thing. The roads to take, the fodder rations, and everything else. Nici wasn’t sure it was the best way to manage their army.
“You are a terrible politician,” he told her after one such meeting. “You should let them talk. It would allow them to keep their pride.”
She looked pleased, as if Nici had learned well, but said, dismissively, “I am a soldier, not a politician.”
“You are a soldier?” Nici said, surprised. He had been around many soldiers now, and understood their way. Obedient and steady and utterly unlike her. “I cannot imagine you ever following another’s order.”
Slowly, she grinned. “Over time I have become…”
“Worse?”
“More myself. But once I was a soldier as you mean.”
“Did you actually stand when a superior walked into a room?”
“Of course,” she said. “More myself.” She turned over a map, to end the conversation. “Now, to this…”
*
They fought their way across the plain. They had full battles now, mighty engagements of horsemen and catapults and magic-throwers. Each took time. Millions died. All the world was here for this, to stand with them or stop them. Ishta’eth seemed not to care. She was calm, and confident, and took for granted she would win. She was a masterful general and an accomplished warrior and really, there was really no question that she would win, and bring her army to the imperial palace.
In a castle a half-month from their destination, Nici sat with Ishta’eth in the now-dead lord’s private rooms.
At times, when Ishta’eth was thinking or bored, she dragged her true-sword along the floor, letting the tip scrape and rattle on flagstones.
“You should not do that,” Nici said. “You will blunt the blade.”
“There is nothing in this world can blunt that blade.”
“Oh.”
She turned and looked behind herself, at the floor. There were scratches in the stone, dozens, where she been walking. She seemed surprised.
“Perhaps you should not damage the floors,” Nici said. “For the sake of the lord we one day install here.”
“I should not,” Ishta’eth said. “It is unwise. Was a time all trembled if I had cut the floor too much after a discussion. It is a habit of mine, well known. I should not reveal my thoughts so.” She cut her thumb, neatly, and then put the sword away. She inclined her head slightly. “I thank you for the lesson, my emperor.”
Nici looked at her. “You are mocking me.”
She seemed surprised. “Of course not.”
Silence for a time. “What must I do at the palace?” Nici said suddenly. It was close now. He had been dwelling on it. He expected a test, a challenge, something momentous and worth what would take place.
“Very little,” Ishta’eth said. “Stand within. Claim your throne.”
“That’s all?”
“Stand within, claim your throne, and fail to be killed by me.”
Nici grinned.
*
It took another month, and half a million lives, to cross the final fifty leagues, but in time it was done and they stood at the last hurdle.
“This is it,” Ishta’eth said. “The last of them. In two days this shall be over.”
They stood atop a hill, looking out across a valley. In the valley, beyond a river, was the imperial palace. Between it and them were two armies and what seemed like half the peoples of the world.
Both armies were preparing for dawn. Scouts were clashing, establishing lines, and fire was already being cast into the air. Men were dying out there, in the darkness, but from where Ishta’eth and Nici stood it was a quiet, still night.
“You’re that sure of the outcome?” Nici said. “It’s a large force against us. Larger than any yet.”
“Of course I am sure,” she said, almost irritably. “This is the last. We outnumber them. And we are better positioned.”
“You planned it so?”
She nodded. “All the weeks, all the delays. The recent hurry. To bring us here, in this formation, a
t this precise time.”
“You’re certain?” Nici said, nervous.
“There will be blood today,” Ishta’eth said. “A lot of blood. But I am certain of the outcome.”
Nici looked at her. “It is that simple?”
“It is. We have me. They have but men.”
Nici nodded. They stood there for a time and pinpricks of light winked out in the distance as more men died.
“There is one other thing,” Ishta’eth said. “I am to have our child.”
Nici was surprised. “How could that happen?”
He thought she smiled. “The usual way.”
“You aren’t human.”
“Human enough.”
“What will it be?”
“Half my kind. Half yours. What do you expect?”
“A warrior like you?”
“If she is trained.”
“Immortal?”
Ishta’eth nodded.
“An immortal Kereshin demon-emperor,” Nici said.
“Is it not a glorious thing?”
Nici looked at her and understood that she thought it was.
“How will people react?”
Ishta’eth shrugged. “It matters not. There is one other thing. When I give birth, I will die.”
Nici didn’t understand. “Why…”
“It is the way of it. For my kind, childbirth is fatal. There can only be a given number of us in the world. When one dies, another emerges. And when one is born as child, the mother dies.”
“It is only half your kind,” Nici said, for want of anything else.
“That is enough.”
“You cannot,” Nici said, a little desperately. “I need you.”
“It is too late.”
A magic-thrower spat blue fire, and Ishta’eth pointed. “Something large on our picket-line,” Ishta’eth said. “They are scouting too.”
Nici nodded.
“You must understand,” Ishta’eth said. “For my people, this is all we have.”
“What is all?”
“This. This world. It must be as it must.”
“I do not understand.”
“You are reborn. Or you are promised by gods that you will be. Here or there or somewhere.”
“So some believe. You do not.”
“The promise is there. My kind are not made that promise. This is all we have. This one long moment. Understand our daughter will be the same.”
“And emperor.”
“Indeed.”
“I love you.”
“Of course. That was my intent.”
“When?” Nici said at last. “When will this happen?”
“A half year. Enough time for this. Enough time to make the world accept a demon-emperor.”