Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “I don’t know why I would have to convince anyone of the merits of finding new medicines,” Karik said, somewhat tartly. Romi just grinned, and Wepizi hid his own smile behind his hand as he stroked his moustache. “Well, I expect you to put a good word in, and start a proper recording regime. Once you’re set up, I’ll get Kei to send you basic texts and papers, personnel even, if you need it. He said he would gladly do that anywhere in Andon.”

  Wepizi gave a little bow of thanks. “Then your uncle will have my gratitude, and I will indeed contact him. We are starting with a blank canvas there—we should be able to set up a base which suits your needs perfectly.”

  It was so good to have his friends with him again, though it was always slightly bittersweet to see Romi. Romi understood though, and his company was much more pleasure than pain. Karik, sensitive man that he was, made sure Wepizi had time to talk to Romi on his own, which was much appreciated. Lema would have been happy to see their friend with a mate so well suited to him.

  Ah, my love, how you would like Karik, he thought as he watched Karik and Romi having an animated discussion with their team and some of Wepizi’s soldiers. There was always a lot of laughter at such times—the Darshianese had made such good friends in Andon, and were such good friends themselves.

  Their time together went all too quickly. On their last evening, Wepizi felt sadness descend upon him, as it often did at night, so he excused himself and went out to the verandah to sit under the stars and think. He wasn’t sorry to leave Tsikiugui, but it had been a place of happiness as well as great sorrow. Lema wasn’t buried here—he had taken her body back to her tribe who lived a hundred miles west along the coast—but it was still where she’d died, where they’d spent three happy years together in their new home after Wepizi had made lep. The thought that leaving here meant closing off that chapter, as well as making it harder to keep in touch with his friends, made him melancholy, though he knew there would be compensations in his new post.

  “Wepizi, even for you, surely it’s too cold to be sitting outside at night.”

  He smiled up at Romi who was shaking his head at his stupidity. “Nonsense, my friend—it’s good and bracing. Strengthens the lungs and the body.”

  “That’s not what Karik says it does.” He came and sat down beside him on the edge of the verandah. “Though it’s a beautiful evening.”

  “It is. Perfect for your mission. At least we’ve got decent beasts for you this time. My tezrei has finally been forced to admit that importing the animals from Darshian was a good idea.”

  “You can tell him that we might be importing doigs in a few years—Karik’s Pa is doing good things with that pair we brought back for him last year. At least they’re not dead yet.”

  “They’re Andonese, they adapt,” Wepizi said with a slight smile. “Your life seems so content and full. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so pleased for you. You really enjoy being a father?”

  “Honorary Pa, you mean. But yes.” Romi’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Karik’s girls are great, and his brothers are such wonderful little boys. They’ve turned Karik’s uncles’ lives upside down and they don’t mind a bit.”

  “Children can be a blessing, certainly. We never knew why Lema couldn’t conceive, whether it was her or me. We always prayed Sephiz might relent and allow it, but in his wisdom, he did not.”

  Romi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but said nothing. Wepizi was rather ashamed of his self-pity, but at the same time, it was good to be able to say her name and talk about her to someone who had actually known her. It kept her memory green in his mind and in the minds of those who’d met her—that was all that was left to him now. He cleared his throat. “Once the new establishment is bedded in, I plan to apply for long service leave. I’m more than due it—and I can then come to Darshek. I want to see what you’re doing there.”

  “You’d be very welcome, Wepizi—you might just find no one’ll let you leave.” Wepizi smiled at the compliment. “But will they let a tezrei take long leave so soon after setting up a new barracks? You are getting a promotion, aren’t you?”

  “I have no secrets,” Wepizi said mournfully. “Yes, the post comes with a promotion. Though I’ll still be a lep in rank, and I will be doing much the same as I do now, only more of it.”

  “I bet,” Romi said dryly. “Why didn’t you say anything? We could have drunk to it, or something. Promotion to tezrei—that’s a big thing.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s only because the size of the post demands it. It’s just an administrative matter.”

  Romi punched his shoulder gently. “False modesty doesn’t suit you. Congratulations. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I expect to congratulate you before long too.”

  “Me? The next rank is colonel. Not much room in Darshek for another one. I was lucky to make captain when I did—and that was only an administrative matter too.”

  “Yes, of course. We’re both unworthy,” Wepizi said with a straight face.

  Romi punched him again, then left his hand on his shoulder. “You must come to Darshek. By then Jou and Netu will be based with us, and they’ll be wild to see you again.”

  “If Sephiz wills it, then they shall. I’m so glad I was here to see you this year. It does my heart good.”

  Romi stared out over the moonlit yard. “Maybe...getting away from here, meeting new people...might give you another chance for love. I know you say you aren’t looking...but I wasn’t looking and love fell into my lap anyway. It can happen.”

  “Certainly it can, and you’ve caught yourself a magnificent mate. But I had my own magnificent mate, and she died. It would be very hard to find her equal, and I won’t sully her memory by having a lover for a lover’s sake.”

  “No one would want that for you.” He squeezed Wepizi’s shoulder. “But after what happened to me, I’d say never say never again, because the gods love a good practical joke as much as anyone, or so Arman says.”

  “The Prijian gods need things to occupy their time since they don’t care for their people as carefully as Sephiz does.”

  Romi arched an eyebrow at him and grinned. “Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet some of our Prijian friends so you can go in for competitive theology with them.”

  “We would win,” Wepizi said simply, but then grinned back at his friend. Life was too short to get worked up about heathen gods. “Shall we go back in?”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Ah, so Romi had noticed. “Yes. Always better for your company, my friend. Come on, a last mug of drizu and then we both need a good night’s rest. We both have great things ahead of us.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  They reached Dizeindo little over a month later, with the spring well underway, and the sun now truly warm—warm enough even for those hot-blooded Darshianese, Wepizi thought, as he’d wondered how his friends were getting on.

  For the last three days, the caravan of mounted soldiers and carts had travelled along well-worn roads through fertile, spring-green farmland. They’d had Dizeindo in their sights for a few miles, squatting low in the foothills of the Tuqul range and Mount Karvelino. Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, while the wide river snaked across the landscape between dense forests and wide plains. Dizeindo marked the end of its navigable length, at least for larger barges and sailing ships, and so it was an important trading post and dock. Tall sails of the many barges that plied the river had been visible all day as they’d got closer to the town.

  He had sent advance riders ahead the day before to announce their arrival to the barracks, so he wasn’t surprised two jirens and a smartly turned-out squad met his party a mile or so outside the town. He was saluted and returned it, confirming his identity.

  “Greetings, tezrei,” the senior of the two jirens said, after introducing himself. “Lep Tovoi sends his compliments, and asked us to show you the way.”

  “Thank you, jiren. Has his highness been told of my arrival?
”

  “Yes, sir. Lep Tovoi will tell you more about the arrangements for you to meet him.”

  It might have been more polite to have gone straight to the governor’s house and pay his respects, but Wepizi was new here and the local customs were as yet unknown to him. He decided to be guided by the lep’s suggestion, giving the order for his people to fall in behind the welcome party.

  The town’s walls rose sharp and high against the backdrop of mountains and farmland—made of earth banks and local hardwood, dark, imposing, solidly protective in the eastern style. He noted approvingly the walls were well guarded, sentries walking along the ramparts, guard towers not just at the corners but at intervals between. The walls enclosed the homes and many of the businesses of the three thousand residents. Mills and engineering works on the river side were dockside, for easy access to the water—he heard the creaking of the great wheels as they turned under the river’s force. He couldn’t see, but guessed that there was a heavier guard on that side—the river was a strength and a vulnerability, but without it, the town would not exist.

  They entered through the southern gate, admitted under the watchful eye of the soldiers of his new command. The barracks were close by the gate, pressed hard against the walls, hemmed in close by civilian homes, businesses and warehouses. Immediately Wepizi saw why expanding would be such a problem. Quadrupling this establishment would simply not be possible within the current boundaries—nor within the current town walls. It would be a major engineering task to increase both walls and barracks—but he already knew that. He had been given a big job to do, and was eager to get on with it.

  He’d brought three hundred soldiers with him, and their arrival, even with warning, would put the town barracks under strain. However, Lep Tovoi was all smiles as he came out to bow and greet them. “Welcome, tezrei—welcome, everyone, to Dizeindo.”

  “Thank you, lep. I take it you have everything in hand as to where we’re putting everyone.”

  “Certainly.”

  Tovoi whistled up his junior officers and got them sorting it all out. Wepizi was invited to come along to his new—if rather small and shabby—office, which he would have to share for a while with the lep. He didn’t mind that. Tovoi seemed a pleasant man—only two years in post here and young to be a lep, though it was often the way in the distant postings that people advanced much more quickly. Wepizi was slightly concerned the man might resent him, since Tovoi had been considered for the promotion too—but as Tovoi had less experience, Wepizi had been appointed instead. He detected no sign of hostility, thank the benevolent god. He was politely offered drizu and hard biscuits to tide him over until supper, and invited to take the lep’s own desk for now. He was glad to sit—they had been riding for so long without a single day’s break, and it was catching up with him at last. Tovoi sat down in front of the desk and folded his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s very good to have you here, tezrei—everyone’s excited about this expansion. It will make this town a major centre in the east.”

  Wepizi took a sip of the drizu, almost sighing with pleasure—trail tea got rather dull after a while, and this was excellent stuff. The main ingredients for drizu came from this region, after all. “So his majesty wishes it. I’d like you to arrange a meeting with the engineers and architects tomorrow, and any civic officials who need to be there. I should speak to his highness first—I presume he will want to be at this meeting too.”

  But the lep shook his head as he picked up his own mug. “I doubt it. His highness has little interest in military affairs—little interest in anything, so I understand it. To be frank, sir—he’s a bit of a bastard to work with. He’s uncooperative, rude, and unfriendly.” He grinned ruefully. “Dealing with him isn’t my idea of fun.”

  “That’s odd.” Wepizi leaned forward, frowning as he recalled the conversation he’d had in Tsikiugui. “My old tezrei spoke most fulsomely of him, praised his manners and his understanding.”

  Tovoi shrugged. “Well, his understanding might be sharp enough, but he seems to have lost his manners somewhere along the way. When his majesty appointed a prince of the blood to the governorship, the town was honoured at the recognition, but now, I think you’ll find most people wish Count Fiezenai was still with us. I know I do.”

  “He interferes?”

  “No—just the opposite. He does the bare minimum, doesn’t observe any of the ordinary courtesies. There hasn’t been a governor’s winter feast here in four years, and when he’s prised out of his house, he won’t talk to people, or offer any pleasantries. If he wasn’t royalty, no one would invite him to anything, governor or not.”

  “So...it wasn’t him suggesting the barracks expansion?”

  The lep gave a short laugh. “No, sir. That was his majesty’s idea, and Prince Furneim’s. It would have happened sooner if his highness the governor had shown more enthusiasm. You won’t get any help from him.”

  “Hmmm, we’ll see. The governor needs to be involved in this, lep. It will need the entire town involved. Does he not even care about the new infirmary? The engineering workshops?”

  “No, sir. At least, he’s never said anything. We do wonder sometimes if his majesty just wanted to get rid of a troublesome son, sending him here. There seems no other reason for him to do so.”

  It was hard to conceal how much his lep’s words had depressed him, and he was still puzzled as to why his tezrei had been so enthusiastic about Prince Juimei when the reality was apparently so different. Still, a soldier did his duty regardless of circumstance, and if the governor was difficult, then he was just an obstacle to be either surmounted or avoided.

  There were only two hours of daylight left but Wepizi was anxious to avoid appearing in any way discourteous to the governor—especially if his lep was right and the man was prickly and unpleasant—so he sent a message to the residence politely asking if he might attend and present his papers that afternoon. A brief reply told him to do so no later than the end of second quarter—that gave him time to wash quickly and change. Then he made a brief inspection of the barracks to meet his junior officers and introduce himself. He was shown where the tents were set up on the training track and the courtyard, space which would have to be sacrificed for the duration until the new barracks were built, asked about the food and watering arrangements, and what medical facilities were available. Everything was well in hand, so he asked one of the jirens to arrange a small escort to ride with him the half mile to the governor’s residence and offices.

  Coming up towards evening, the low sun struck the peaks of the Tuqul range, making them shine like flaming gold. The streets were still busy, both with people and with doigs, even the occasional urs beast, and carts, headed for the main market on the town square. Spring was a busy time, of course, and here more than most. Dizeindo was the hub of an important farming region, though farming was not its only activity. There were valuable mines in the hills, and timber too was harvested and shipped to the coast via the nearby Huoinevol river which gave its name to the region. A paper mill had started to ship products even to Darshian, and a good deal of lightweight cloth was made here from the futik plant introduced from Darshian and which grew very well in the east. Such cloth was in demand both in Andon and abroad, and was a major source of income for the Huoinevol region.

  It was a huge territory, and even though it was sparsely populated, as was all of Andon, still eight thousand people were under the authority of the governor of Dizeindo—though he was never likely to see more than half that number in person. There were nine hundred soldiers already established throughout the district, two hundred here in the town and around it. Wepizi’s brief was to increase that to eight hundred eventually, the same size as the Tsikiugui barracks, and with the total complement in the region to be raised to close to two thousand. His majesty hoped to double the population of the region, extending the Andonese settlements eastwards for defence reasons, and for practical ones—but there had to be better infrastructure and
military protection first, before more settlers would be attracted to the area.

  Wepizi had already recognised on the journey that this was a region with great potential, though it had been sadly neglected for many years after the defeat of the warlords. It wasn’t the most easterly province, or the wealthiest, so it had been considered less important militarily. But it could be much more than it was, as his majesty had clearly decided. Strange that his son did not support his father’s ambitions out of simple filial duty.

  The town square was surprisingly grand, and wastefully large, considering how tightly some parts of the town were packed. It was cobbled stone and, except for the large, busy market which spread out from the western corner, bordered by solid respectable buildings and houses. Some had shops at ground level, and others had a dual purpose, the look about them as if business was transacted there, as well as providing homes for their wealthy owners. The mayor’s residence and town hall was the most imposing building, by far the tallest and most splendid in scope. A steady stream of people passed in and out its heavy brass-embellished doors.

  Next to the mayor’s house stood another large, though more utilitarian building—the infirmary, so a carving in stone over its entrance announced—and next to that, the school. All these buildings, built of stone and in some cases brick, were largely the exception from what Wepizi had seen. The region was prone to earth tremors, and the local building material of choice, as least for the common folk, was wood—cheap, quick to work with, and in plentiful supply. Stone, of course, was also plentiful, but stonemasons were not, while any fool could swing a hammer if need be.

  The low building style was, to Wepizi’s eyes, rather dull, even more so than Tsikiugui’s which was hardly outstandingly lovely. But it was tidy, the streets well swept, the people clean and confident, an air of quiet prosperity about them which made the ordinary architecture look dignified and comforting. This place felt much more self-contained than Tsikiugui, but a port city with its mixed population would always seem more unstable than this, where the residents lived in the one place all their lives, doing the same jobs their parents had, and living in the same houses. Placid—that was the word for it.