by Devin Madson
“We need no overgrown bastard girl born of a traitor,” Lord Oyamada spat. “If Jie announced you his bride he would—”
“I did not offer myself as a bride,” I said, anger flaring again as the man looked at me like I was a bug. “I offer an alliance.”
Jie turned away, cheeks reddening. Lord Oyamada started to laugh. “An alliance,” he said. “Not marriage, just an alliance, as nebulous as it is dangerous. What is it you propose? Two emperors? Rule half the empire each? And when you marry another, we hand the throne to someone else again? No. I cannot believe we are even having this conversation. Emperor Kin was emperor of Kisia for over thirty years. His people loved him. His chosen heir is before you, and you stand there speaking of alliances when you should be bowing at his feet, pleading for your life and offering to serve him in whatever way is required of you.”
“I will not dishonour myself with pleas. My life is nothing to the empire’s survival. If my death could save Kisia then I would go to the headsman with pride.”
Lord Oyamada snorted. “A fine speech. Your death would end the division of loyalty once and for all and if that is not enough reason then it is not really Kisia you care about.”
“I have already explained my death would not achieve that. If the Levanti emperor treats them well the northern families will go on following him and Bahain before another Ts’ai. Especially a Ts’ai child. I will not die for that when from a position of greater power I could lure back their allegiance.”
“You will go to the headsman whether you like it or not, you manipulative shrew.”
“Jie,” I said, looking past the fuming lord to the young boy in a grown man’s clothes. “You are listening to the wrong people. You have lived out of the world too long, learning from books. Take guidance not from those who would burn Kisia to see the Otakos die, nor from those who would cheat you for their own power, but from—”
“Someone who has already betrayed me once?” Jie said, turning a look of hurt upon me. “Someone I chose to trust against the better judgement of my guardians?”
His words left me momentarily speechless. So long ago it all seemed. For me, perhaps. Not for him. “I had no choice, Jie,” I said. “I would not abandon half of the empire then and I will not do it now. No child can—”
“No child can lead Kisia in battle. No child can rule in a time of war. Yes, so I have been told. My councillors may not say so to my face, but I am not stupid. But tell me, sister, how many times have you been told you cannot rule because you were born a girl?”
My mouth opened and there it stayed, devoid of words, my heart aching with the truth his question conjured. Fierce anger blazed in his eyes. “You did not even let me try!” he went on, brushing away an angry tear. “You did not seek to help me. You did not offer support. You just got rid of me like the annoying little boy I am and stole my throne, my title, my empire, all so you could ride out to a glorious battle. All so you could prove a woman could do it too.”
Jie turned away, crimson robes sweeping upon the old matting. “I am finished here.”
“I will send for Moto,” Oyamada began. “He can perform the exe—”
“No,” Jie said, and the triumphant glee slid from Lord Oyamada’s face. “No, we will take her back to camp. Whatever else they might say of my reign it will not be that I was dishonourable. Whatever my feelings on the matter, Princess Miko is owed a proper execution. One that everyone can see, putting all rumours to rest.”
A shadow of the triumphant smile returned to Lord Oyamada’s face. “Wise, Your Majesty.”
“Jie,” I began. “I—”
“That’s Emperor Kin, or Your Majesty,” the boy snapped, rage seeming to have overwhelmed his hurt. “And I said we were finished here. You have nothing to say I wish to hear. We will return to the main camp tonight and in the morning you will be executed properly as befits your rank and birth. And then I will have achieved something even my father was not able to—the ultimate destruction of the Otako line, once and for all.”
22. DISHIVA
Tafa had chosen well. Too well, perhaps, considering my growing doubts about the deserters. Apart from herself she had chosen Baln and Kehta en’Oht, two of the longest serving of Yiss’s Swords that had become mine to serve their emperor; Yafeu en’Injit and Jakan e’Qara, both men who had also left their herds to join mine; and four Jarovens—Moshe, Esi, Shenyah, and Loklan.
Unsure of our mission, I watched them all now, watched who they rode with and who they spoke to, sketching alliances in my mind.
Once we had reached the caves, Jass had told me everything he knew about the deserters, yet I felt vulnerable armed with his knowledge but not his presence. He had suffered for me. He had helped me haul a broken and bound Leo through miles of cellars and caves and storm-lashed mountainside. Then he had stayed behind because someone had to keep Leo alive.
By the time I had returned through the underground caves that connected the manor to the mountains it had been almost dawn. Lady Sichi had cleaned my room as best she could but the smell of blood and vomit lingered everywhere. I’d been desperately in need of sleep but there had only been time to wash before meeting my Swords at the dawn meal.
Itaghai had done all the work that first day, leaving me to doze in the saddle.
Our camp had been tense and quiet that night, a feeling that carried into the second day and hadn’t abated by the time I led my nine Swords off the road at a shrine with chains hanging from its eaves, exactly as Jass had described, trusting me without demanding to know the specifics of the mission. As I had been determined to trust Lashak, so had he been determined to trust me. Trust, the ultimate resistance to fear, and all we had left.
Jass had given me very precise directions and had made me repeat the landmarks to look out for over and over. Shrine. Fork. Carved tree. Large boulder in a pool of swamp water. The deserters hadn’t been able to go too deep into the swamp, he had said, what with the rains swelling every puddle to a lake, but half a day’s ride from the road kept them safe from travellers and soldiers alike. When I had asked him why there and what they were doing, he had merely flicked a glance at the trussed-up Leo and shrugged, weary. “Being Levanti.”
We followed the track, and the deeper into the sodden forest we rode the darker it became, the trees seeming to close in around us like wary enemies. No one spoke above a mutter, but every word was a complaint about the sticky, close air, the smell, or the incessant swarms of mosquitoes that followed us everywhere.
Shrine. Fork. Carved tree. Large boulder in a pool of swamp water.
We turned right at the fork and headed downhill at the carved tree. Fixated on our destination, I didn’t notice Loklan edge his horse alongside mine on the muddy track. “We ought to make camp soon, Captain,” he whispered, making me jump. “It’s heavy going in this muck and the horses need resting.” He pointed at the crack of sky visible through the drooping canopy. “It’ll be dark soon.”
Glad to put off deciding the fate of the deserters until morning, I called a halt over my shoulder. There was none of the grumbling I expected. My nine Swords just went quietly about their tasks, the silent acquiescence oddly troubling. Baln and Kehta hunted out an open space between two large trees, and while they yanked out small shrubs and cleared the area of rocks, Moshe began a circuit to check the surrounds. Shenyah, the only Jaroven to have been Made in exile, helped Loklan check the horses, Jakan went for firewood, and Esi and Tafa searched for fresh water, chatting together in a way that threw doubt on my assessment of their loyalties. Only Yafeu hung back, staring belligerently at me. Having already dismounted, there was only so long I could avoid him.
“Yes, Yafeu?” I said, summoning fortitude with a deep breath.
“We should… scout out the deserter camp, Captain.”
It was nice to be proved right about one of them at least. “And risk warning them of our presence?” I said to be sure, an utterance he met with a heavier scowl. “No, I don’t think that is wise
, but if it eases your fears, I plan to talk to them before making any… rash decisions.”
His glare softened. “It does, Captain. I do not… I do not think we should…” He let the words trail away and glanced around in an all too suspicious manner. “Some of the others are talking of setting up an ambush. Or attacking them in the night.”
“Do others here share your… disinclination for this?”
“Esi, I think,” he said, lowering his voice. “She told me about how the God’s child drew his blade on her. She thinks he has too much influence with Gideon and that it’s he who wants this, not our herd master.”
I left my own story about Leo untold. “He does,” I agreed. “Loklan will stand with me regardless; Shenyah too, I believe.”
“Yes, but Baln is the emperor’s man. And Moshe. The Oht are very loyal to Gideon and I fear they will—”
“No,” I interrupted loudly as Baln and Kehta returned across the clearing. “I think we’ll need the Kisian tents tonight, as much as I detest them. Just set them up in the standard formation so the horses aren’t confused.”
To his credit, Yafeu pressed his fists into a salute with a “Yes, Captain,” and took the tightly rolled tent from the back of Itaghai’s saddle.
“I’ll help you,” Baln said as he approached. “Kehta says she doesn’t want my company out hunting because I make too much noise.”
“Well, you do,” the young woman said, throwing him a dirty look. “What good hunter can’t stop singing?”
“The best hunter.”
She scoffed and, with a nod to me, took her bow from her saddle and strode back across the clearing.
“She’s very good, Captain,” Baln said, perhaps misinterpreting my scowl. “Best hunter the Oht have seen in a long time, at least since we got so keen on sticking around the coast and fishing.” He laughed. “If there’s any game to eat around here she’ll find it.”
I forced a smile. I had asked Tafa to choose Swords who would not blink at anything I asked them to do in Gideon’s name, but the more I doubted our mission the more I doubted them. And now knowing I wasn’t alone in my doubt only made it harder still.
The fragile peace lasted until morning. Or rather until I announced I would first go alone to talk to the deserters.
“But—” Baln en’Oht spluttered, seeming at a momentary loss for words. “But there are only ten of us to the gods only know how many of them, Captain. This was only ever going to work because we are better supplied and can catch them unawares. If you go down there, you’ll give our presence away and we’ll be outnumbered.”
“My orders were to deal with the deserter threat,” I said. “And if there’s a way to do that without killing them, I’ll take it. Right now, we need as many capable Swords as we can get. Gi—His Majesty won’t thank us for leaving him less Levanti, but if any of you think otherwise then now is the time to challenge me.”
I glared at them. They all wore different degrees of scowl, but none met my gaze over the cold coals. Except for Baln. Our eyes held for a long, tense moment, before I lifted my brows. “Well? Anyone?”
“No, Captain,” Yafeu said, followed quickly by Shenyah, no sign of her youth in her face as she stared around at her fellow Swords in a challenge of her own.
Loklan hastily shook his head, and though all the Oht hesitated, when Baln didn’t challenge, Tafa and Kehta both muttered their refusal. Moshe was an old Jaroven I’d inherited with the Third Swords, but he had never been the most respectful of warriors and I held my breath awaiting his decision—an eventual refusal. The rest followed in short succession. The captaincy was still mine, but by the hammering of my heart I knew how close it had come.
“All right,” I said. “It will take most of the morning to get there and back, but with luck and some quick talking they may surrender to Gideon without anyone having to die. If they believe I am a lone envoy we can still mount a surprise attack if all does not go well.”
“And if they kill you?” Jakan asked, crushing an errant coal beneath her boot.
“If I am not back by nightfall, then in the absence of Keka, Loklan takes charge.” I caught his look of wide-eyed horror and wished I could have spared him the responsibility. He was a good horse master, good enough to one day be a herd master, if Baln didn’t slit his throat in a challenge first. Had I been able to name another tracker then Loklan would have been spared, but Khem still Resided, his soul trapped with his body, and could not be set aside without a horse whisperer’s intervention. “Loklan is also in charge until I get back.”
They all saluted, even Moshe and Baln once I glared at them. It seemed I had to be quick and successful or this mission would go to the hells faster than a Sword caught dozing on their watch.
Having left instructions to hunt in case I returned with many more mouths to feed, I checked Itaghai’s bridle, double-checked his saddle, and triple-checked the holy book was still in my saddlebag before setting off deeper into the fen. Shrine. Fork. Carved tree. Large boulder in a pool of swamp water. We had passed all but the large boulder the day before, beyond which Jass had said I would find the deserter camp backed into a steep ridge. Follow the track, he had said, even though it seems to lead you in circles. It did, but I trusted him and urged Itaghai on through the mud and the drizzle, making him nervous with how often I twisted in the saddle to peer back the way I had come. But only Baln’s gaze seemed to follow, his almost-challenge nipping at the heels of my confidence. He hadn’t been wrong in all he said. Neither had Gideon. Yet neither had Yafeu or Jass. There was truth all around, yet I could see no path through the mire.
“Stop!”
Gripping a sword hilt, I searched for the source of the voice. It wasn’t hard to find, for the young man perched upon a branch above the path was making no effort to disguise himself. Everything about him was Levanti from the colour of his skin to the shape of his features, yet his clothing had the cut of a Kisian soldier and his hair hung long and loose. Despite his aggressive shout, he made no move toward a weapon, instead tilting his head in a way that reminded me all too much of Rah in moments of confusion.
“Who are you?” he called down. “You look familiar.”
“My name is Captain Dishiva e’Jaroven, commander of Emperor Gideon’s Imperial Guard.”
It might have been wiser to leave the last part unsaid, for the boy’s face went from a dawning smile of recognition to a hateful scowl, and he pulled a bow from his back. “Then unless you can talk very fast, I will loose this arrow into your eye.”
“I am here to talk. Jass sent me.”
He had nocked an arrow, but even had he the skill to put it through my eye he lowered it enough that it would have hit the mud at Itaghai’s feet instead. “Jass?”
“Jass en’Occha. He took a position as one of my Swords so he could smuggle supplies for you.”
The bow lowered a little farther. “That isn’t a lot to go on.”
“Why don’t you just let me come in and talk to whoever is in charge. You can always loose that arrow into my back if I turn out to be a traitor.”
The saddleboy seemed to consider this a moment, then keeping hold of the bow, leapt down from the branch. “That’s true,” he said. “But I know Rah trusted you so you’ll get at least five minutes to explain yourself before I do. It’s him I was waiting for.”
“Rah?”
“Yes. I’m Tor e’Torin. You probably don’t remember, but I was Commander Brutus’s translator.”
Memories of those Chiltaen commanders hit hard, catching me unprepared. The fatigue and the illness, the shame and degradation. A lump of grief rose in my throat and I could not swallow it in time to answer, but the saddleboy went on without seeming to notice the stiffening of every muscle in my body.
“Rah was one of the few Levanti who was kind to me,” the boy went on, something of belligerence in his expression. “At least he was.”
He pressed his lips closed and scowled at nothing, or perhaps at all the words he had left
unsaid. Words whose unspoken meaning clawed at my heart.
“Was?”
Rah had been kind to me too.
“He’s not the man I thought he was,” Tor said with a disgusted snort. “Following that Kisian empress around instead of fighting for his people.” He spat on the ground. “I left them at Syan and sped back here to fight for the cause he abandoned. But… I thought he wouldn’t be far behind me.”
His brows lowered and he ran his gaze over Itaghai and my saddlebags, then back up at my swords. The bow trembled in his tight grip.
After a long pause he snorted. “Come on, I’ll take you to Ezma.”
The name meant nothing, but we’d been exiled in such great numbers that was hardly surprising. “Ezma?” I said. “Is she in charge around here? What herd is she from?”
“No, no one is really in charge,” he said, ignoring the second part of my question. “But Ezma likes to greet all the newcomers and, you know, check them over.”
I did not like the sound of that, but with little choice I followed Tor along the track between crowding trees, each dripping the night’s downpour upon us. He said nothing more as he walked ahead of Itaghai, glancing back every now and then as though expecting me to run.
“Here we are,” he said at sight of the large boulder Jass had mentioned. “Welcome to the last of the true Levanti.” Tor sped up the short slope, his Kisian sandals cutting into the mud.
Unorganised, Baln had called them. Undersupplied. Ill-prepared for a fight. A gaggle of lost and desperate Levanti hiding in a swamp and dying of foreign sicknesses. I had known they were supplied, but even I had not expected a camp more than a hundred Swords strong and as neatly organised as the most meticulous herd. Protected on one side by the steep ridge and on another by a river running fast enough to bring fresh water, it was a haven amid the mire. Levanti were busy tending horses, skinning recent kills, gutting fish, and even sawing wood—a thing I had so rarely seen Levanti do that my eyes widened. They were building. Not just camping but building.