by CJ Brightley
Hakan sat up. “There, you have the border with Rikuto wrong. Let me do it.”
He took the quill from my hand and I let him turn the map to see it more clearly. His eyes narrowed as he studied the map, adding some of the smaller rivers and correcting the southeastern border. He labeled the rivers in a practiced hand, the flowing curves of the letters coming effortlessly. That was his element, parchment and ink, the narrow planes of his cheeks matching the straight clean lines of the northern border drawn arbitrarily across the flat cold plains. Good. He needed to know this land. More than that, he needed to know these people. I could see no other way. The people would have to make him king. If they feared the Rikutans enough, they would accept Vidar for the protection he might offer. But if they were not so afraid, perhaps they would support Hakan after all.
“Priven, where are the passes through the mountains?” I spun the parchment around and took the quill back from Hakan.
He marked tentatively on the map. “I don’t know them all, of course, but the last raid came from here, just east of town, from the Ising Pass. I’ve also heard that some have come from here, but that’s all I know. We don’t get much news here since the soldiers left. Senlik is only half a league north. I go in every week. Thosin is just west of town, less than a league.”
Hakan took back the map in the silence, studying it a moment before marking nine more passes.
“This one is a good wide road all the way to Rikuto. These two have established trails, wide as roads, though not so flat. Horses could pass three abreast. These six are footpaths, wide enough for one horse at least. The ones you’ve marked I’ve never heard of, so there are probably more that I don’t know.”
Priven stared at him, eyes narrowed. Suddenly Hakan looked at me, realizing his folly, and Priven looked between us suspiciously.
I was cursing inside, but I smiled at Priven. “Naoki studied to be a mapmaker, but he suffered from an insatiable desire for adventure. He’s in training now for the kedani, and I’m hoping to bore him out of the idea. We need more good mapmakers, don’t you think?” I have never been good at humor, and this time was no better.
Priven stared at me. “No, we need good soldiers. They’re in short supply here.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He stared at me a moment longer.
Fool boy should have kept his mouth shut. He could have added to the map later, when we were alone.
Priven leaned forward. “I venture that the town would be happy to put you up for the rest of the summer if you train some of us to better defend ourselves against the raiders.”
I looked at him sharply.
“We can’t fight them. We don’t have the skills or the weapons, and foolish courage in the face of trained soldiers would only leave our wives and children to starve.”
Like those men in Miafal who died protecting sheep that were taken nonetheless, wives and children left to grieve in hunger.
I sat back. “Aye, you’re right. But mayhap we need to get on our own business.”
“Mayhap. It’s an offer nonetheless. I’ll take you in to town tomorrow if you want.”
I stood. “I’ll think on it. Thank you for your hospitality. We can sleep in the stable?”
He nodded and stood, leading the way out into the darkness. Hakan trailed after us.
“There’s an empty box stall and good clean straw in the back on the right.” In a few moments he left us in the warm smells of horses, hay, rich grain, and manure. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but I heard Hakan drop down into the straw with a tired sigh.
“I’m sorry, Kemen.” He sounded thoroughly subdued.
“Then be more careful.”
Pain.
The Tarvil drives the javelin deeper in the dirt, grinding against the bone. His breath smells of rotten meat. He is missing a tooth.
I can’t breathe.
“Kemen!”
I jerked awake.
“Are you alright?” Hakan’s voice came out of the darkness.
“I’m fine.” I took a deep breath. “Sorry.” My heartbeat felt ragged.
I heard him shifting in the straw and one of the horses snorted softly. I was glad he didn’t ask anything else, though I know he was awake for some time.
Priven took us into Senlik early the next morning. Word spread that we would be introduced to the town that night at the inn, and in the meantime he showed us about the town, introducing us to the blacksmith, the baker, and others. His son Neel was a good looking boy with a quick smile, though his eyes widened when he saw me.
A small crowd, mostly of children, slowly accumulated and followed us curiously. We had dinner at the boarding house, served by a young woman who looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear. I tried not to look at her, since when I did, she seemed to flinch away. But she smiled at Hakan, an admiring, hopeful smile. He was probably used to such smiles from pretty girls, and from noble ones at that. The smile of a serving girl was a gift he didn’t even see and couldn’t appreciate.
I wonder sometimes if Dari women would have the same reaction to me, whether I’m considered ugly because I am Dari or because I’m ugly even for a Dari. Not that it matters.
A crowd had gathered by the time we finished eating, and Priven stood on a chair to address everyone crowded into the dining room. The crowd was mostly men, of course, with a few boys just getting their first beards, and several women in a little clump at the back of the crowd. I could see clearly over everyone’s heads, and I studied their faces while Priven waited for them to quiet. Good faces, some simple, some less so, but honest and friendly enough. All curious, all staring at me, though most had the good grace to try to hide it when I met their eyes. I don’t like being stared at; it burns inside, as if I have failed somehow, or am about to.
Priven did not have a good voice for addressing a crowd, and I could see some of the men in the back straining to catch his words.
“This is Kemen Sendoa, a warrior of great skill and courage. He’s offered to train us to defend ourselves against the next raid. Would you have him do this?”
There was a murmur in the crowd, and I hid a smile. That wasn’t exactly how the offer had been made, but Priven continued unabashed. “I think it only fair that for his help, we provide food and lodging for him and his friend for as long as they train us. What do you say?”
A man spoke up from the middle of the crowd. “I would hear from this Sendoa himself. You served in the army?”
I nodded. “Aye, in the suvari for four years, then I was transferred to the kedani.”
“We have few weapons. What can we do against the raids?” This from another man.
“It depends on what they want. If they want to kill you, it will be difficult, but there are defensive measures I can teach you. If they only want your livestock, it should be easy enough to remain safe. I’d have to learn more about the raids before I recommend anything.”
The men were nodding now, cautious still. “Have you ever stolen anything?”
“Aye, a drink from a horse trough.” They mistrusted me, and I suppose I should not have been insulted, but I was. A warrior would never speak to another warrior so disrespectfully, insinuating such base things. But they were not warriors, and I reined in my anger. Courtesy among common folk is of a different kind.
“Can you be trusted around women?”
Now who, if they could not be trusted around women, would admit to it? I felt my jaw tighten in anger, and my words were clipped, though I did try to remain polite. “I have never been accused of anything less than perfect courtesy toward a woman.” It was a stupid question, but one that I supposed was meant more to gauge my reaction than my words.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Naoki.” I gave no more details, and though I would not have expected the questions to end there, the crowd seemed to hesitate.
“I would have you train us.”
“And I.”
Priven pu
t it to a general vote, and no one said nay.
“For now they’re staying with me, but tomorrow and after that, they’ll stay here at the boarding house.” He looked to a flabby man with pale red hair and a large beard for confirmation. Then he continued, “Everyone should contribute for their food and lodging. Haral Twilling, will you keep the records?”
The red haired man nodded again. With that, the meeting was over, though many men lingered, most watching me but not speaking to me. Hakan and I followed Priven back his house and slept in the stable that night.
The next day we began in earnest. The sheepfold was sturdy enough, but the wooden gate was simple and easily broken. I asked Mullin, the blacksmith, to make a lock for it while Adin and I reinforced the gate. The granary got a new lock, as did the stables. In a city, most of the simple measures would have been taken long ago to prevent common theft, but in small towns, there’s little need of such care until raiders come.
The blacksmith had no skill in making swords. He could make a blade, of course, but nothing that would stand up to a Rikutan sword. I didn’t have the knowledge to teach him, either. Instead, after the basic reinforcements were completed, I trained the men in the uses of their farming implements as weapons. It would have been better to train them as archers, but I’d never made a bow either, and I wouldn’t trust their lives to my first efforts. Once again I appreciated my army training. We were taught that anything can be a weapon when wielded correctly.
I spent time with small groups of men, those who chose the same weapons, rather than larger groups as I’d done when training soldiers. I taught Mullin, Neel Priven, and two others a circular style that took advantage of the heavily weighted hammers they chose. With proper usage, they would smash bones and provide a fairly effective shield for the wielder, but it would take practice.
Adin and several others chose shepherds’ crooks or long staffs. None of them had Mullin’s burly strength, but Adin at least had a quick hand with the staff and a good feel for his own distance and reach. A shepherd protects his flock from wolves, even bears at times, with his staff and a few good dogs. Adin was probably the best prepared of any of the men for combat, though in truth none would stand up to a trained warrior even after months of training. Not for lack of courage, for I wouldn’t underestimate them so, but the skills a warrior needs do not come so quickly.
A few others chose sickles and flails, each requiring separate training. Hakan seemed thoroughly impressed by my knowledge, and I wondered what he thought a soldier’s training consisted of.
The routine of childhood was etched in my memory. We were roused before dawn to run for an hour, all skinny legs and big eyes, hungry and silent except for our breathing. Cold in winter, heat in summer, there was always training. We tended the horses and chickens and pigs, milked the cows, picked the vegetables, did whatever chores the schoolmaster assigned. We wolfed down bread and cheese and bacon at mid-morning, our stomachs growling, then it was time for our lessons. History, grammar in the early years and later literature, poetry, arithmetic, geography, logistics, tactics, strategy. Grappling. Weapons of all sorts, both on foot and on horseback. How to march and ride in formation. How to break a horse. Training your horse not to panic in battle at the noise and the smell of blood. Basic healing, how to stitch and bind a wound. Basic carpentry. Wilderness survival. Tracking. How to set snares for rabbits and humans. How to not be seen or heard when you didn’t want to be. Lunch was in there somewhere, unless you were on field training, and then you ate only what you could find. Then more lessons in the evening, more chores, supper of milk and bread and honey, beef stew or pork roast, heavy and rich, and we collapsed into our beds too tired to cause trouble.
The life didn’t suit everyone; some were more fragile than others, and they fell out somewhere along the way for easier jobs, funneled into the logistical corps, assigned to sew uniforms or work in the royal stables. But I might have been born for it.
I was never an archer. I trained most extensively with swords, the longsword, the scimitar, and the short straight twin swords. I’m large enough that I can use a longsword one-handed at need, though not for too long with any degree of skill. We also trained with hammers, sickles, whips, knives, boat oars, chains, horses’ bridles, staves, and other more common items, as well as empty hand fighting. More importantly, we were taught a philosophy of fighting, a way of inventing effective moves at need with whatever implements might be handy.
The men took turns training, for they still had the work of farming and shepherding as well. I trained every morning myself, beginning in the cool grey blue light before the sun cleared the peaks to the east. I’d let myself get a little soft in the months of escort work, and so now I pushed myself harder, especially in my speed. Endurance is of little use in a fight if one is gutted in the first four seconds.
Hakan helped the men with the work of shepherding and farming. First he only observed them working, but soon he plunged into the work himself. He helped Thosin with some of the new foals. Adin taught him to milk the goats and sheep, and Adin’s wife Anora taught him to make cheese and precious butter. Adin laughed at him for doing women’s work, but Hakan took the teasing with good will. Though at first the men laughed at his inexperience with farming, his good humor and readiness to help made him popular. Adin was a born comic, and he and Hakan got on well. They joked and laughed, and Mullin joined in sometimes, his deeper voice a rumbling undertone among the others.
I wondered whether they had any idea he was the prince, but I heard no whispers about him. They seemed to think he was merely a city boy, and they shared their lives with him once they saw his eagerness to learn.
I trained him in the afternoons, and I pushed him hard. He did improve, though more slowly than either of us would have liked. Neel Priven watched us sometimes. Although he made Hakan nervous and self conscious, I think it was good for him to have an audience. He was less likely to show his frustration because he wanted to save face in front of the townspeople. It’s an innate need of all men, to not show weakness or frustration before others. Yet I think it was even stronger for him, for though he’d been mostly hidden away in the castle by his father, he’d also grown up with the knowledge that he would someday be king.
A king is both the embodiment of his people and an example for them. His weaknesses are the weaknesses of the nation, and his strengths are the strengths of the nation. Hakan struggled in our training sessions, but he did not throw down his sword in frustration nor did I see tears again. He sweated and persevered, and I took care to note his progress and show my approval, especially when others were watching. A man needs his effort acknowledged, and though we both realized he’d never be an accomplished swordsman, I would not have him think his discipline was for nothing.
Despite our time spent training together, I tried to maintain my reserve. The fight for Hakan’s throne, however it might occur, might cost either his life or mine, if not both.
I would give my life first, of course, because I’d already decided that he would be better for Erdem than Vidar. He was young and green, but he was also pure of heart. Erdem needed that, much more than she needed a strong military leader. His regard for me, his friendship, gave me hope for Erdemen Dari. His willingness to learn, to ask questions, had given me hope that he would be a wise and thoughtful king. A boy king, but one who would grow quickly into the heavy responsibility.
I wondered if the burden would make him sing less, whether he would smile less often.
That’s why I kept my distance. When he and Adin laughed over some joke, when Mullin clapped him on the back in praise of his training, I smiled distantly. I’m not one to laugh often, but even so I might have laughed more than I did. Very occasionally, I even thought of a funny comment too, but I kept my few joking thoughts to myself. I tried to stay in the background, though I wasn’t always successful. Hakan looked to me for guidance and I was so accustomed to command, to leadership, that it was natural to advise him. But I tried not to beco
me his friend, at least not more than was inevitable. Removing the usurper would be dangerous, and if I died, I did not want Hakan to grieve too much.
My grief at Yuudai’s death had been numbing. I’d been heartsick at the tragedy, at the uselessness of his death, at how quickly one of Erdem’s finest heroes was forgotten. I’d needed time to grieve, and I would have been less than ideal as a commander during those first few months after his death. Erdem would demand all of Hakan’s heart, all of his attention. She could not afford to have a boy king distracted by grief in those difficult times.
11
I was training Hakan when the raiding party came one morning not long before noon. The townsmen had been practicing the moves I had taught them, still standing in the street. Many had weapons in hand already, mostly sickles and axes. But the men walking arrogantly into town were armed with swords and shields, trained warriors all. Four were on horseback, but the remainder, some twelve or so, were on foot. I sprinted to the front of the crowd, pushing men out of my way in my haste.
I spoke in Kumar because Rikutans do not often speak Common. “Go back!”
The man mounted in front laughed. “Go on with you. We only want some food, and two or three pretty girls.” He pointed his sword at one of the younger girls, maybe fifteen or so, who was peering anxiously from an open door.
Her father growled angrily and moved forward. When I snapped at him to stay back, my voice was harsher than I had intended.
“Go back. If you’re hungry we’ll feed you, but you will take no girls.” Hungry men are dangerous men, but perhaps with luck they would stand down.
He scowled and spurred his horse forward. “Stand back. We will take them whether you will or no, and the food as well.”
“Then I challenge you to single combat!” My voice rang out. Better to fight him alone than everyone at once. He’d be shamed into taking the challenge, for his men all watched him. If I lost, the townsmen would have one fewer to fight; he would not escape me unscathed. They would never give up their daughters. Who could blame them?