Each evening, he sent for me. I did learn. I grew more skilled at hearing a question and thinking of something else, but I did not grow skilled enough. Nothing I did could prevent him from learning anything he wished. I thought of giving up the effort, yet I knew if I did not learn this, I would always be afraid. Still, I dreaded the summons. Sometimes I could not eat the evening meal. At night, I slept badly and woke often.
Late on the seventh day after we had left Dumau Sen, while the evening meal was cooking—it was a thick, spicy soup, made with beef and lentils—Esau stood up, said he had things to do and walked away. Suyet had already gone somewhere else with other friends, but that left two soldiers of Esau’s file, Laraut and Kosas, with us. But a little while later, they too stood up and strolled away, leaving me alone with Geras. This was unusual, but I was too unhappy to think anything of it.
Geras sat on a log, shaving long strips off a piece of wood. I did not care what he was making. I sat looking into the fire, waiting for the summons to come. Geras shaved another long strip from the wood, and another, tossing them absently into the fire. Then he held up the length of wood and peered along it, making a dissatisfied noise. Not looking at me, he commented, “Not much company around our fire tonight.” Another shaving went into the flames. “Laraut and Kosas probably wanted some time alone. They’re close friends, you know. You know what we mean by that?”
I did. One cannot live near soldiers and fail to learn all their terms for such things. Even though I shared their tent, I had not known about Laraut and Kosas, but I did not care. Everyone knows such things happen. As long as a man respects his wife’s pride, no one thinks much of it. I shrugged.
Geras cleared his throat. “It’s one thing when it’s men of the same rank. As long as it doesn’t cause trouble, people look the other way. It’s something else when it’s a man of high rank, and possibly a much younger man of much lower rank.” He was still not looking at me. He shaved another thin sliver from the wood and went on, his tone completely neutral. “Sometimes that happens. Some officer gets an idea he can give that kind of order. What a young soldier ought to do then is, he should tell his troop leader. Who will sort it out. One way or another. Even if the officer is an important man.”
By this time, even distracted as I was, I had understood his meaning. I sat back and looked at him. “Any young soldier would be fortunate to have you as his troop leader,” I told him. “But nothing like that is happening.” I laughed then, pressing a hand over my eyes. I did not want to say I been afraid of exactly that, the first night I had spent in a Lau tent. I certainly did not wish to say that I would have preferred something that simple. Lowering my hand, I said, “No. Truly.” When Geras raised one eyebrow, doubtful. I repeated, “Truly. He would never do anything of that kind.”
“Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t have thought it. He’s never condoned that sort of thing in his talons. But—”
“I cannot tell you. Do not ask me.”
“Right. All right.”
There was an edge to his tone now. He knew there was a problem. He did not like being asked to ignore it. To distract him, I asked, “How would a troop leader stop a talon commander from doing such a thing?”
“There are ways,” he said vaguely.
“If that kind of problem occurred among my people, the young man would never go to another man. Not even his warleader. He would tell his mother. She would go to the other man’s wife. If that did not end it, she would go to the wife of the tribe’s lord, or to the warleader’s wife, or to the foremost singer of the tribe, whichever might be more forceful. That would certainly end it.”
Geras was looking at me, the smooth movements of his knife finally arrested. “Ryo. No. His mother? That is just ... so wrong.”
I laughed, pleased to have disconcerted him. “I would tell you,” I promised him. “But it is not that, and I cannot.”
“Huh.” He slid his knife into its sheath, tossed the wood he had been shaving into the fire, and stood up. As though she had been waiting for that signal—she probably had—his wife came softly out from between the rows of tents. She came to the fire, smiled at me and at her husband, and sat down there, bending forward to tend the pot.
“Stay with Aedani until I get back or someone comes from Lord Aras for you,” Geras ordered me. Then he walked away.
I stared after him. Being left in the company of a woman was not remotely like being left under the guard of soldiers. If I chose to disobey his command, certainly a woman could not prevent me. Though she could call for help, of course, unless I prevented her. I was still in the middle of the Lau camp, so if she called out, any number of soldiers would answer her cry. Even so, I was surprised he had left me that way. I said to Aedani, “Does Geras mean to show he trusts me, that he leaves me with no guards around me? Would you call out if I stood up and walked away?”
Aedani looked at me, smiling and raising her eyebrows. It was not a very demure expression. I had come to know that she was a confident woman, though so far I had met no Lau woman remotely as forceful as my mother. Perhaps the comparison was not entirely fair.
She said, in the soft voice common to Lau women, “I wouldn’t call out. I would probably warn you that some men you might not see right now have been warned to be alert. My husband shows his trust by leaving you alone with me, Ryo, but he would never be careless in his duty.”
If I frowned at her, she would drop her gaze, so I kept my face smooth. I said, “But you tell me that other guards have been set to watch for me. Now that I know that, I could be careful. Perhaps I could avoid their notice.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I don’t think that’s very likely, and I don’t think you would try anyway. But if I’m wrong, it isn’t my duty to prevent you.” She stirred the soup and moved the pot away from the coals. “Could you eat something? I know you haven’t been eating enough.”
“I thank you for your kindness,” I said automatically. “I am not hungry right now.”
She sighed. Then she sat back on her heels, laid her hands in her lap, and looked at me seriously. “If you were my son, I would want you to eat something.”
“You have sons?” I should have guessed this, but there were no young children in the camp and I had not thought of it.
“My sons are close to your age. One is a glassworker and one is apprenticed to become an ironsmith. Both live at their crafthalls, as is our custom for young men. I have a daughter, younger than you. She’s in service to Gaur, as I am when my husband’s talon is at home.”
There were some things in this I did not understand, but I nodded. I said, “I will not disobey Geras. My oath to Lord Aras would prevent me even if I wished to do so. But I am sorry; I do not wish to eat anything.”
Aedani sighed. “Perhaps later. I’ll keep the pot warm for you.”
I nodded, and looked into the fire. I thought about Geras, about his decision to leave me alone by the fire. I thought about what he had suspected, of how he had said, There are ways. He would not have let something like that continue; I understood that clearly. I wondered whether perhaps any talon commander of that kind, a lord perhaps, who thought he could give such orders, had ever ridden toward the enemy, yet somehow fallen with an arrow in his back.
If Geras had ever done anything of that kind, Lord Aras would surely know of it. Or ... perhaps not. It was not the sort of question that would arise in any ordinary situation. I sighed. I knew exactly what I was going to be thinking about when I stepped into the lord’s tent tonight. Unless I could prevent myself from thinking of it. I would have to try. I would never forgive myself if I showed this thought to Lord Aras and it turned out to be true and Geras suffered for it.
The summons came very soon after that. The young man was Ranen, one of the soldiers who ran errands for Lord Aras and provided all the small services he required; bringing his supper and laying out his clothing and many other things. I stood up, nodded to Aedani, and followed him in silence. As I walked, I thought, carefully, of the softness
of the air, and of the smells of the camp behind me—horses and men and the spices the Lau cooked with—and the scents of the damp earth and cows and grass. Very simple thoughts, things of the moment. I had learned that this was a way I could use to prevent myself from thinking other, more complicated, more private thoughts.
But hearing Geras’ voice ahead of me made me pause. It also brought everything I did not want to think about back into the front of my mind.
Geras was saying, his voice low but sharp, “—ever you did to Ryo to make him run, whatever you’re doing to him now, it’s time for it to stop. Give him a break at least, let him get his feet back under him, keep his dinner down for a night or two. You put him with me and that’s fine, but now I’ve an obligation, and I’m telling you, my lord, I can’t meet it if you don’t take a lighter hand with that boy.”
Even my escort had stopped at this. We both stood, listening. I did not know why the young man did not back up and make me back up as well. Perhaps he was as surprised as I was.
Within the tent, Lord Aras asked, “Do you want to be reassigned, Troop Leader Geras?”
I blinked, dismayed. My escort glanced at me and took a breath to announce our presence.
“No, I don’t,” said Geras, his tone so sharp that the young man paused again, irresolute. “But it won’t matter if you do reassign me. I’m not the only one who’s noticed and I’m not the only man who doesn’t like it. You’d just have Esau here tomorrow, telling you what I’m telling you now, and after him somebody else. The boy says it’s not what it seems, and I believe him, but it’s something, and it’s hurting him, and it’s got to stop.” He took an audible breath and added, “My lord.”
There was a pause. My escort finally put a hand on my arm to make me step back, but I braced myself and did not move. The young man did not have the strength to compel me and clearly did not wish an audible struggle. He let go again.
Lord Aras said, his level voice unchanged, “I commend your commitment to your duty, Troop Leader Geras. I am aware that Ryo is unhappy, but I didn’t realize he had become unable to eat. Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention.” Then he went on, more gently, “I do not remotely enjoy inflicting pain on the young man. Please absolve me of that, if you have suspected it. I hope we are very nearly through the worst of it. Please inform me if the problem does not improve in, let’s say, four days at most. Is there anything else? No? Then—” his tone took on an ironic note— “if you would be so good as to send Ryo in, if you happen to see him.”
My escort twitched, but of course it was far too late to step out of the way and pretend that we had just arrived. I nodded to Geras as he came out and said in the driest tone I could manage, “I am not so delicate as you would have me. You had no need to bring this trouble to Lord Aras.” But then I said, bowing my head in respect for his kindness, “But I thank you.”
He shook his head and said in a low voice, “I didn’t mean for you to get any of that, obviously. I couldn’t get in to see him fast enough, or I’d have been away before you arrived. Listen, Ryo, if he does reassign me—”
“I think that is not likely,” I told him. I touched his arm as the Lau sometimes do to a friend, and went into the tent, a step ahead of my escort.
If the young man had been Ugaro, he would have blushed to the tips of his ears, knelt, and offered to take a blow for the offense. Since he was Lau, he stood very straight and said stiffly, “I apologize, my lord. I didn’t mean—” he cut that off and said even more stiffly, “I will put myself on report, my lord.”
“Yes, Ranen, I should think so,” Lord Aras answered, his tone severe. “I am aware it would have taken prodigious determination not to listen. However, next time, please try harder. You may go.”
Then, when the young man had left us, he leaned back in his chair and laughed for a long time. I sat on the floor, smiling, and waited for him to recover.
Finally, straightening, he said to me, “I hope you aren’t too upset with Geras. There’s a man who knows what he thinks. I would promote him, but he’s perfect where he is.”
“You know I am not upset with him.”
“Yes, and I’m glad of it. He deserves a bonus for telling me you’ve stopped eating.” He gave me a searching look.
“He overspoke. I eat more in the morning. He thought you were hurting me on purpose, because you enjoyed it.”
Lord Aras nodded. “Lately he’s been suspecting me of a wide variety of iniquities on your behalf. All of which have been known to happen. I keep my talons clear of that kind of thing, which should suggest better, but I expect Geras has seen men who gave themselves license for all manner of wickedness they would not permit in their subordinates. He’s seen a good deal in his life, I believe, and taken a hand in putting a stop to some of it.” He gave me a questioning look.
I knew why. He had felt my startled awareness that there were things I did not want to think tonight. I asked immediately, “Will you punish Ranen? That would not be just unless you punish me as well. We were both wrong to listen.”
Distracted, he tapped his scepter on the table in a gentle rhythm. “You were. Yes, I’ll have to. I can’t have those boys thinking I’ll condone any sort of dishonorable behavior; it would be a failure of my duty as their commander. Also, Ranen’s father would never forgive me if I sent his son back to him with a habit of listening at keyholes. I don’t suppose I can assign fewer than ten.”
I said firmly, “Twenty, my lord. At least twenty.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “You Ugaro are punished too much as boys. It makes you harsh. Ten.”
“You Lau are not punished enough as boys. It makes you shy of correcting serious faults. If listening was a failure of honor, ten is not enough, and I must ask your pardon, my lord. I apologize for—”
He waved away my apology before I could complete it. “Let us say it was a failure of respect, not of honor.” He sighed, running the scepter through his hands. “It cannot be let go entirely, though. Ten for Ranen, and since it would obviously be unjust to assign you a different punishment for the same fault, you will have to content yourself with ten as well.” He held up his hand. “Don’t tell me how much more severely your father would have punished the same fault. I don’t want to know.”
I laughed. I could not help it. My fear of him had gone, cleared away by his obvious delight with Geras, his tolerance for Ranen’s fault and mine. I could not doubt him—his humor, his kindness, his dismay at the thought of having to deal out even very minor punishment.
The humor in his face slipped away. He leaned forward, his manner serious. “Ryo. Thank you. But let me suggest we call a halt for a day or two. There’s no shame in pausing to catch your breath.”
“You think we are ... I am ... past the worst?”
“We. I think so. I hope so. Most often it’s worse and then suddenly better. But I don’t know for certain.” He looked at me searchingly. “You’re hiding something now. Something about Geras?”
“Stop!” I said sharply. He could not, of course. Sorcery is not something a man can choose to set down as he may lay down a sword. I had to stop him myself. I had done it for a little while ... I said quickly, “How was it a matter of disrespect to listen, instead of dishonor?”
“Not far enough removed, Ryo. You can do better.”
Cursing my stupidity, I said quickly, “My father’s harshest punishment was not won by listening outside his tent; it was for breaking his favorite bow. Our bows are wonderful things, as you know, my lord, made of many layers of horn glued over a frame of birchwood. It takes a bowyer many days to make one. Breaking one of our bows is very difficult, unless a boy is especially stupid, and then it is remarkably easy.”
Lord Aras smiled at me. “Much better. What are you trying to conceal from me, Ryo?”
I smiled too. The rhythm of the tale had me now. It was easy to brush aside his question and go on, especially because I was not afraid. “This happened in the spring. My people were in the
high steppe, as in that season we hunt the great herds of steppe deer that pass from east to west as the weather eases.”
I told him the whole story, drawing it out. When he pushed me harder, I began to tell him in detail about the punishment my father had given me for breaking his bow.
“Stop, stop,” he ordered me. “Enough, Ryo! Go away. Eat something. Rest. I think you should sleep better tonight. I’ll see you at the discipline parade tomorrow morning—yes, you Ugaro savage, I knew you would laugh! Out! Go!”
I laughed all the way back to the tent I shared with Esau’s file. Storytelling! I could not believe I had not thought of it before. Like a song, but more compelling, easier to imagine. And if he would not stop, I could always begin to tell him about some harsh punishment. Then he would stop.
Geras stood up when I came to our tent, his expression stoic. Then, as he saw me better, he smiled. “Not as bad tonight?”
I touched him on the arm. “Your doing, Geras.” As it had been, in a way. Maybe I had needed something that mattered, but not too much. Though I did not wish to try him too far, I suspected Lord Aras would not punish Geras for anything of that kind, even if he found it out.
Aedani had gone, but I sat down by the fire, looking at the pot, which still rested near the ashy coals. She had made sure it would stay warm for me. “Is there any soup left?” I asked, knowing there would be.
Geras ladled some into a bowl for me and handed me bread. “I gather I’m not likely to be rid of you any time soon?”
“He very much approves of you. He was not offended at all. He could not tell you so himself, but he did not forbid me to tell you.” I dipped bread into the soup and ate a bite.
“Well.” Geras stared at me, nonplused. “Well, that’s ... good, then. Not what I expected. But I’ll take it. You’re not angry at me either.”
“No. How could I be angry? But—” I pointed at him with the remaining bread “—I will wrestle you tomorrow and rub your interfering Lau face in the dirt.”
He laughed, surprised. “Oh, will you, barbarian Ugaro brat?”
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