“Compensation,” the ferrywoman replied, handing over the two coins. The woman studied them from a distance as if they were contaminated.
“Keep them,” she said after a moment. “So what else-”
Squawking interrupted them, and they turned to look at movement in the jungle. From the thick grove of trees burst a boy racing through the undergrowth, a squawking chicken held above his head, laughing as he weaved his way through the startled villagers. Right behind him, giggling maniacally, was Preeda. Then she halted in place, eyes wide, the chicken struggling on her head as she noticed the adults around her. Preeda lowered the chicken, and it hopped to the ground to squawk and flutter its wings.
“Oh,” she said, noticing Tien and the ferrywoman glaring down. “Uh…”
“Bo, you and Preeda get back here and stop playing with my chickens! You should know better! I was looking for them all morning,” she said, grimacing at the ferrywoman. “Sorry, Grandma Liu.”
“Children,” the ferrywoman snorted in disdain, but she was smiling all the same, her eyes crinkling in merriment as Bo and Preeda scampered away.
◆◆◆
The column of refugees moved by fits and starts. Once, as a Syriot balloon hovered in the distance, they had stampeded forward heedless of obstacles. But now, once again, some unseen blockage in the distance had everyone standing around. Trees loomed close, from both sides of the dirt road, the jungle itself keeping them from leaving the road.
“What’s taking so long?” one of the refugees groused, heedless of the crying children around him. Kattaren paid him little attention. In the distance they heard another burst of musketry but this time there was no panic. They had heard it off and on all through the day and it had become as irritatingly monotonous as the harsh sun and the stinging mosquitoes. A woman’s voice carried from farther up the road.
“Any of you wish to fight?”
Kattaren blinked at the question, leaning to look over the shoulder of an elderly merchant, and was surprised to see the column of refugees splitting in the middle. They were making way for a nun in a saffron robe carrying a curved bronze-edged halberd. Another nun followed behind her, then a boy in a novitiate’s robe, both carrying short bows.
“Who wishes to fight?” the nun asked, glancing from side to side. “Anyone?”
“Please help me,” a woman said, moving to bar her path. “My children are sick, they-”
“I am sorry, Sister, but I cannot help you,” the nun said, shouldering her aside and pushing her way past, and raised her voice. “Who here wishes to fight?”
“Is the Hangyul army nearby?” Kattaren asked, pushing forward to join the nuns.
“Hangyul army?” the nun replied, her voice scornful. “They pulled out days ago. No, we’re recruiting for the Righteous Army.”
Righteous Army? It was an ancient name and for a moment Kattaren couldn’t reply. The zealots and monk soldiers? The founding of the Three Clans had been a bitter period of warfare, a struggle that lasted years, and the Righteous Army had fought during every stage of the war. The nun stared at Kattaren as he thought.
“What are you doing with the refugees? You can hold a spear, can’t you?”
“I was looking to fight,” Kattaren mumbled thickly.
“Come with us then,” the nun said as she moved past, and Kattaren saw now that a trail of men and women had formed behind the nuns and the novitiate. In silence, Kattaren fell into step behind them, plodding along as the nun at the head of the column harangued the refugees and brought a few more with them. Then they reached the end of the refugee column and the nun turned to look back at them.
“Twenty-three,” she said after a long moment. “It will have to do.” Distant musketry punctuated the end of this but she paid it no heed. “Stick close and don’t fall behind. That is your first task,” she said, and at that the nuns and the novitiate entered the jungle at the northern edge of the road.
Kattaren hesitated as others entered the jungle after them. It’s what I wanted, after all. I have no particular love for religion, but then I don’t care much for the Hangyul Clan either. And everyone says they’re retreating to the east.
The thudding of what must have been cannon fire echoed even on this dirt road an hour’s walk from the last village. Kattaren glanced a moment at the back, to where smoke rose in the distance, then made to turn. But something caught his eye and he paused.
Two yellow orbs glinted in the undergrowth. Whiskers shifted, and Kattaren saw that it was the face of the tiger. They regarded each other for a moment, and then the tiger moved away, his orange and black body rustling through the jungle. Kattaren watched the beast disappear and found himself unafraid.
Then he turned and leapt into the jungle, following the chattering voices of those joining the Righteous Army. It was rough ground, this expanse of teak trees and soft, yielding dirt, but Kattaren knew there would be worse yet to come. The Righteous Armies sprung from the mountain monasteries, after all, and there is no harsher climate in all the Three Clans than the mountains.
Kattaren was soon among the new recruits, keeping pace as they made their way along. One of them, a young man with a thin mustache, turned to look over at Kattaren.
“Gods, am I glad to be off the roads. Have you heard the stories about Tamani?” the young man asked, brushing his hair back as he ducked under a branch. “Bodies in the street, I heard. Giant trolls feeding on the dead. They sent a single Islander assassin to take out the commander, I heard. My friend’s uncle’s sister was there and saw everything. They got away during the night.”
Jen Kattaren grimaced as some of the others around him groaned at the words. He hoped it wasn’t true but hopes alone meant little. Even so, he hoped his own family was safe enough on Tamani Island. Until he could do his part to win it back for the Three Clans.
“Calm yourself,” the nun said to them, waiting uphill beside a mossy boulder. “Follow me. It’s a long journey to the monastery and we keep to a brisk pace.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Prince and the Emperor
For Banisu, the commotion of the camp outside was as a distant stream to the mountain. Noted, but no distraction. His breathing was slow and his thoughts were clear as he continued his meditation. Yet, even lost as he was in his reflections, he could hear the sounds of his uncle approaching in an eager rush.
“I have found it! I have!”
Banisu’s eyes snapped open. His uncle Prasert was lurching into the chamber, his eyes crazed even as one drifted away.
“Red kava!”
Banisu blinked. “Red kava.”
“Ah, well that’s what the Jade Sea Islanders call it. It’s like the coffee bean but it’s an offshoot that grows in the enchanted swamps. It has a bitter taste, they say.”
“That’s… that’s it? The substance that increases our power?”
“I believe so…” Prasert gave a wet cough, “eshept it musht be misht with a sphishe.”
Banisu waited for a moment. “A… what?”
Prasert spat into the jar held by his accompanying attendant. “Spice. Like, er, pepper or some ground powder. Found down in the South.”
Banisu scratched his head, trying to recall the maps he had studied. The Shinzen clan held a large territory that spanned the southern coast, though it could be divided into the coastal provinces on the west and the more isolated jungle territory that was dotted with Xhan-Su speakers.
“In Shinzen territory?”
Prasert shook his head. “Farther south, among the ape men. Though, perhaps it could be found in the jungles.”
“Do we have any here?”
“Mm, perhaps a merchant could be-”
The distant sound of suona horns caught their attention, the high-pitched instruments favored by the clan leaders, in a clear call to assemble. The Syriots weren’t about to let them plot in peace, and the Army of the Three Clans was moving at last. Banisu could hardly object now, since he had been the one to push them t
o act.
Banisu sighed. “Some other time, Uncle. Once Lord Shinzen joins our army perhaps you could have words with him.”
Prasert spat into the urn. “Ah, perhaps he will not join us. One should not take that for granted, Emperor.”
“Hmm.”
Prasert was a paranoid man, though it was understandable given the family history. Banisu hadn’t considered that possibility.
“Emperor Banisu,” came the words from a monk at the door. He had a tranquil expression on his face. “Abbot Cibu requests your presence.”
Banisu briefly considered objecting, but there would be little point to it. He hurried off after the monk and followed toward the booming sounds of the abbot. Ranks of spearmen were marshaling in the open fields, and Banisu had to pause as a unit of bowmen ran past at double speed. They must be training. Right? The Syriots can’t be that close. Someone would have told me. Or would they...
Banisu grimaced as they made their way inside the crowded room. Perhaps they wouldn’t tell me. Still, all who noticed his approach gave formal bows, until Banisu had reached the table. He scanned it, seeing an array of symbols on an unfurled map.
At the far end of the table stood Prince Sharnipur in aloof dignity. In his yellow turban and embroidered robes, over travel-stained white pants, the exiled prince looked every bit the foreign mercenary general. Lin approached the Emperor after the hubbub had resumed.
“Have you met the Thane yet? I’m glad he’s on our side,” Lin said with a chuckle. Banisu noticed the icy Northerner now, quiet and sullen and flanked by two other stern Northerners. They stood like statues at the back of the room as the conference went on around them. They’d make good bodyguards at least. Where had they come from, anyway?
His thoughts were interrupted by Abbot Cibu, rapping the table with his thick knuckles. In an instant, all chatter ceased and the room focused on him, noblemen and officers standing bolt upright and attention. I wish I had that effect on people, Banisu reflected caustically. They treat me more like a leper. Worth taking notice of and backing away from, but no one of any real importance. Some day, though…
“We have been four days outside Luo Sareng,” Abbot Cibu began, and then nodded toward the Northerner and then the Prince of the Wastes in turn. As if his objections about hiring sellswords had been all for show. “Though we have been recently joined by others. But we have discussed the route of attack for some time now, and I believe we have reached a consensus. Lord Marshal?”
Lord Marshal Feruke Hangyul moved his way beside the wizened monk, harrumphing like a beached walrus. And with that white mustache and fat belly he looks like one as well.
“Yes, yes. Very good. Now then.”
The Lord Marshal harrumphed once more and slammed a fist into the table. That got everyone’s attention at least and the room fell completely silent.
“It’s war, it is, war to the teeth. We won’t have an invasion, oh no we won’t. We will throw them back to the sea, we will. It’s settled then. We move out and unite with Lord Shinzen. That we will. That we will.” The Lord Marshal harrumphed once more, with the exaggerated dignity of the elderly. “The Elephant Corps will take the vanguard, they will.”
Banisu looked across the table at the Easterner, his personal hero, the renowned mercenary general Dharmender Sharnipur, the Dread Prince, the Prince of the Wastes. The man stroked his beard and gave a curt nod.
◆◆◆
Prince Sharnipur lost no time in leaving the ancient Kintari estate, keeping his distance from that strange Northern bastard. He strode through the chaos of the camp city, shaking his head in disgust as the disarray. They were not ready for this. They were lucky we were looking for work. The prince grimaced, both at the smell from a nearby copse of trees that indicated sloppy latrine discipline and at the memory of the Corps’s dire financial straits just days before. We were lucky as well.
The prince gave a silent blessing to the Syriots for the timing of their invasion. He bore them no ill will, after all. A squad of Kintari swordsmen rushed past him, their unbuckled armor jangling with every pace. The pride of the Army of the Three Clans. Prince Sharnipur snorted to himself. An Empire, they call it. But it’s just a collection of infighting bureaucrats and a stammering boy child.
The Elephant Corps had been readied hours before, howdahs cinched tight, mahouts, lancers, and gunners all in their appointed places. They said we would leave at dawn. Those slovenly amateurs. We will show them how war is done. The Veldtland skirmishers stood with proud dignity under the beating sun and the armored Elephant Guards ringed the flanks of each elephant in protective half-circles. They may have been just a third of the size of the boy emperor’s army but they were a professional force and Prince Sharnipur was confident they were superior to any body of men he had ever faced.
But I have never faced Syriots.
It didn’t take long for Prince Sharnipur to mount Ranvir, and the Corps was soon off down the westward road. Prince Sharnipur frowned, seeing an elephant straying off the path in the distance. Is that one of mine? But no, it was all wrong, the howdah extravagant and without the rotating ballista, and as the prince approached he saw that it was one of the albino elephants often given to kings. Within its howdah smiled the boy emperor, as if he had some reason for joy. The prince tried to think of some excuse, but there was nothing for it. The emperor had already cut off a bemused squad of Hangyul swordsmen and it was clear he intended to talk.
Prince Sharnipur looked over and nodded politely as he passed, hoping the boy emperor wouldn’t start a conversation. As usual, things did not turn out the way he hoped, the albino elephant lumbering forward to walk alongside Ranvir.
“So. ‘Prince of the Wastes’…” the emperor said slowly, as if sounding out the name. They were just a few spans apart now. “That’s not really accurate, is it?”
Prince Sharnipur shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it farmland, but the Veldtlands are nice enough.”
“You know what I mean. Lord Dharmender Sharnipur, is it? The Sharnipur name is very well known. In fact, several years ago a Sharnipur won the succession dispute and now sits on the throne of the Gutharan Kingdom. Isn’t that right? So… you, with your magnificent army… why not you?”
“Perhaps I’m not interested in thrones.”
Emperor Banisu raised an eyebrow. He was such a delicate figure, Prince Sharnipur thought. He looks like a flightless bird. If he falls from that beast I expect he’ll break all his bones.
“What man isn’t?”
“I have a magnificent army, as you say, that answers to me alone. I go where I please. I answer to no man. I am content with this.” Prince Sharnipur tried to stop himself, but the boy emperor had annoyed him. “And you, ‘Emperor.’ Where is your army?”
Of course, the Army of the Three Clans was all around them. But the emperor knew what he meant. To his credit, the boy did not pretend otherwise.
“I have none.”
“And so, no empire.”
The boy emperor grimaced. “It is as you say. However…” he looked behind him for a moment. They had outstripped the main army by now. “War brings with it opportunities. An empire is all I have dreamed about. I am surprised you do not share this dream.”
Prince Sharnipur snorted. “What can you do with an empire?”
Emperor Banisu’s jaw dropped and he took his time about replying. Prince Sharnipur looked away, hoping the boy would get the message. But, of course...
“What can’t you do?”
“Wear what you want,” the prince replied in an instant. “Work with leather. Brew ale. Train elephants. Walk alone through the cities. Trust the people around you. Work a farm. Travel the caravan route. Study alchemical properties.”
“Why would you want to do these things?” asked the emperor, looking truly baffled.
Prince Sharnipur ignored the boy for a moment. “Never mind,” he said, relapsing into silence.
“When I get rid of my regents and rule as Emperor, I will be
able to do whatever I want,” Banisu declared, with more than a touch of pride and certainty. The prince made no response.
They rode their elephants together, feeling the dull tread of the steady marching feet below them, and hearing the occasional chatter in the ranks and a repetitive jangling of swaying buckles and harnesses. Prince Sharnipur’s eyelids began to lower, as he relaxed to the pleasant and familiar sensations. He breathed in the unmistakable scent of his Elephant Corps on the march.
It smells like… home.
“He’s your brother, isn’t he,” the boy emperor asked, breaking into his thoughts like a careless thief.
The prince thought about denying it. But there was little point.
“Yes.”
“I can understand being reluctant to kill your brother,” Emperor Banisu said, choosing his words with evident care, “but there’s certainly precedent for it. And with a kingdom on the line?” He fell silent for a moment. “We could be allies, you know. I have no designs on the Veldtlands.”
“Well,” Prince Sharnipur began in an undiplomatic tone. “Now that is touching. The greedy little boy emperor knows his limits. I’m a mercenary general. That’s all I am, and all I want to be. I’ll lend you my army for your coin but I’m not going to arrange a treaty for you with my fucking murderer of a brother.”
He pulled up Ranvir, turning him to the side, and looked back at the surprised emperor.
“I need to check up on my men,” he said abruptly, heading back on the side of the trail, marching soldiers glancing at him to break the monotony. My skirmishers, with their loose clothing and bundles of javelins. My infantry, with their swords and bucklers and steady smiles. Prince Sharnipur found himself smiling back at them as they passed him by. But that boy emperor…
The emperor sat still for a moment before he closed his mouth. He leaned forward, and hugged himself, as if suddenly cold. I don’t understand that man at all…
The prince grimaced as Ranvir slowly lumbered to the back of the detachment. He scratched his beard in irritation. I don’t understand that kid at all…
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