The Tyrant by Eric Flint and David Drake

And, again, it hardly mattered. The populace of Vanbert, which had suffered the swaggering abuses of the city’s gangs for decades—and never more so than in the past months—were even more adept at leading soldiers to the hidey-holes of criminals than the criminals had been at ferreting out noblemen. Within the first hour, in fact, the transaction became more-or-less standardized. Show us where the bastards are and we’ll cut you in—a tenth of whatever the squad gets.

That was perhaps the brightest side of the affair. At least thirty-two marriages came out of those impromptu liaisons between squads and civilians—along with more than twenty adoptions. One street urchin was even, officially, adopted by an entire squad. Which they thought was eminently reasonable and fair, since the shrewd and plucky lad had led them to no less than thirteen hidey-holes. (And never you mind how the boy knew about ’em. How many real crimes could he have committed, anyway, at the age of nine?)

There was a much darker side to it, of course, as Demansk had known full well there would be. Not all of the “criminals” who were pointed out to the soldiers were anything of the sort. It was easy enough, in the chaos and carnage of the moment, for someone to settle an old score or grudge by simply making the claim. Soldiers were not given to asking too many questions, after all, under such circumstances. Unless others—neighbors, friends, relatives—put up a fierce argument on the spot, most squads were ready enough to chop off a head on anybody’s say-so. Although, now and again, it did happen that, once convinced a “criminal” was innocent, the soldiers cheerfully decapitated his accuser and brought that head before the Paramount Triumvir.

And . . . got paid. Demansk was asking no questions. He had not asked any, since the third hour of the slaughter, on the first day, when the head of his son was presented to him.

* * *

Helga hissed, faintly, and her hand on her father’s shoulder tightened. Olver, standing nearby, looked away and grew wet-eyed. Adrian gave a moment’s thanks that Trae was across an ocean in Chalice. But, so far as Adrian could tell—even with the visual acuity Center gave him—Demansk’s expression never changed at all.

A face made of iron, that was. Had been, and would be, throughout the crushing of Vanbert. And his voice, as level and even as a road made of stone.

“Yes, I recognize him. Pay the man. Cash or future land grant, whichever he prefers. Next.”

How can he do it? Is he already insane?

There was no humor at all in Whitehall’s response. Steady, boy. Come this spring, you’ll have to do the same. Not until you examine yourself after Esmond’s death will you be able to answer that question—or even ask it in the first place.

* * *

Adrian would never know the answer, really. In some ways, he was and would always remain too different a man from his father-in-law. An Emerald scholar, ultimately, reared by a merchant father and trained by philosophers; where Verice Demansk was, ultimately, the boy shaped by the harsh Confederate grandfather.

Arsule had enabled Demansk to pass through the ordeal. Not she, really, so much as what she brought with her when she arrived at the siege the day before the garrison broke.

“I told you to stay in Solinga,” grated Demansk.

“Oh, Verice, give it a rest.” Arsule plumped herself down on the cot which served Demansk for a bed in his command bunker. Then, winced. “Gods, you sleep on this thing?” she muttered. “How are we going to manage—”

She broke off that train of thought, after a glance at Demansk’s angry face. Sighing: “Give it a rest, I say. You of all men in the world don’t have to maintain your august image. You know it as well as I do. Besides—”

Arsule was quite shrewd enough to have figured out that her graceful hands, in motion, soothed the savage patriarch. So, with a particular flourish, she accompanied her next words with many a gesture.

“Besides, Jonthen Tittle’s doing a splendid job of serving the Emeralds as a deputy governor while Adrian’s down here with you. The province is quite peaceful and steady, I assure.”

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