“We didn’t hear who was in charge, no, but we did hear that the army had dragged them to a halt before the Tatvan border.” Samir looked to his father, double checking this. “Unless you heard something more from that man? Right, that’s the last we heard, then. No one’s sure exactly where, just that Madani had been ravaged and Tatvan hadn’t been quite invaded yet.”
That told Darius a great deal, actually. He hated to think Madani completely lost, though. Hopefully that information wasn’t quite accurate. Word of mouth rarely was. “Good enough for now, at least. If they can hold that line until I get there, maybe we stand a chance.”
Tunheim seemed to take this as a cue of sorts and stood. “Come, friend Darius, let us ride and talk.”
Darius instantly gained his feet, glad at the invitation, as somehow working Tunheim to this point of negotiations would prove to be ungainly if the man didn’t feel inclined to cooperate. He waved his family down, silently telling them to relax, as he stepped outside.
At some point, Tunheim had passed a signal to his own family members, as two beautiful mares stood just outside the door, already saddled. Darius looked them both over with a keen eye, letting out a low whistle. “Beautiful, my friend.”
Pleased, Tunheim admitted, “These are two of the ones that I wish to breed Sohrab with.”
No one would accuse Darius of being an expert when it came to horses but even he could see the possibilities of such matching and nodded without thinking about it. “They would have beautiful offspring, graceful and strong.”
“See her gait for yourself,” Tunheim encouraged, gesturing toward the bay.
Darius didn’t actually want to get back in the saddle again today, but he didn’t hesitate, just swung himself on board, waiting for Tunheim to lead the way out of the camp before following along. The mare had a smooth stride to her, easy, and (unlike a certain stallion) liked to have guidance. She had a bounce to her step, so her spirit had been left intact, not broken. The idea of a colt or filly like her made Darius’s greedier side perk up with interest.
Then they moved into a trot and Darius fell in love. He’d been searching for a good horse, something for Amalah, and hadn’t managed to find the perfect mount. I just found her. The ride away from the camp might have influenced his decision a little as the scenery out here with the setting sun made it a spectacular view. Insects chirped in a low song and the smell of grass and cooking food drifted in the wind in a heady aroma. When they slowed some distance away from the camp, where nothing but wind and grass and horses could hear them, Darius pulled up alongside Tunheim and stated bluntly, “I love her. She has good spirit and step to her.”
Tunheim practically beamed, as if Darius had waxed poetic about one of his children, which to a Baijian, he practically had. “My daughter raised her from a foal. Please say those words to her, she will be thrilled to hear them.”
Daughter, eh? That might make the negotiations Darius had in mind a little trickier. “How would she take the idea of someone else having the mare?”
Dark eyes narrowed, Tunheim asked, “You want her?”
“For Amalah,” Darius responded forthrightly. Then, remembering the rules of bartering with a Baijian, really did try to wax poetic for a moment. “She has grace, beauty, spirit, as spellbinding as a starry night sky. I have been searching several seasons for a mount for my beloved wife, and now that I have ridden her, I cannot imagine any other for Amalah.”
This satisfied Tunheim and he clapped a hand against his thigh, pleased. “You have a good eye, my friend. She is all of that. Perhaps we can negotiate her into our price?”
Darius knew very well that they would have to come to an agreement about Sohrab’s breeding rights before he could even think to discuss war. Baijians had their priorities.
So they sat there, discussing it calmly back and forth for several minutes, each offering praise for the other, before Tunheim actually came out with an offer. “The mare and three foals of my choice.”
Knowing better than to take the first offer, Darius countered, “The mare and five foals of my choice.”
Without batting an eye, Tunheim responded, “The mare and four foals, two of which you can choose.”
More than acceptable. Darius extended a hand and the men clasped them in agreement. “I’ll leave her here for now. When I come back from the northern campaign, I’ll drop Sohrab off for the season, take the mare the rest of the way home.”
“A fine plan.” Tunheim straightened, the light leaving his eyes as they got down to more serious matters. “How bad is it, my friend?”
Darius shook his head grimly. “Bad. You’ve lived closer to the Sovran’s borders than I have, I’m sure you know better than I do the state they’re in.”
“They haven’t even been able to come and try to force us back under their rule,” Tunheim admitted. “You said they wouldn’t be able to, that battle when we met, and I wasn’t sure if you were right or not. But the past eighteen months proved you were. The Sovran is spiraling out of control. You would save it?”
“No, well, in a way I will. I have a plan.” Darius gave him a mischievous smile. “You know how well my plans work.”
“Some better than others,” Tunheim drawled, which made them both laugh. “Alright, what is it this time?”
“My wife suggested this.” Darius never tired of telling people that, because he was completely enthralled that his Amalah had the intelligence to strategize like this. “She said that this might be the path we need to make the Sovran let go of some of its countries. It needs to downsize, take only the countries that are integral to its survival. If I barter with Baros, exchange my help for his agreement that only the countries that want to stay part of the Sovran do, then I might be able to free others in a bloodless revolution.”
Tunheim’s jaw slowly dropped. Breathless, he choked out the words, “Like Baiji? Honorably and legally free us of the Sovran? Remove the threat of the Sovran entirely?”
Darius gave him a single nod. Even if the Sovran had ignored Baiji for the time being, that state of affairs couldn’t last forever, and they both knew it. Either the Sovran would find the manpower to eventually make it back here, try to force the country properly under rule again, or if the Sovran fell, then they were open to some other invading force with the same goals. Either way, Baiji would be between a rock and hard place if something didn’t change.
Unexpectedly, Tunheim’s eyes filled with tears, making them bright. “My friend. You would go to war to save Baiji?”
A little uncomfortable, Darius shifted in the saddle. “Well, and Arape too.”
“You would save my people along with yours and you are unsure if I will send men with you?” Tunheim demanded, voice growing in strength and volume. “You think of my people as your own; you wouldn’t be planning to make demands of King Baros otherwise, not like this. You could just save Arape if that was your only goal.”
Odd, how that thought hadn’t crossed Darius’s mind even once. It hadn’t occurred to Amalah either. They both had thought of every country that wanted free of the Sovran.
“We have eight thousand horsemen,” Tunheim abruptly announced, head up, spine straight, as if he had just mentally geared himself for war. “I can’t pull them together today. We’ll have to catch up with you on the road.”
For a moment, just a split moment, Darius didn’t quite understand what he meant. Then his eyes flew wide, words spluttering in his mouth. “Wait, you’re coming with me? That’s it, you don’t have any other questions, any other concerns, you’ll just march with me?”
“If you want to free Baiji, then you have a plan, and I know you, Darius Bresalier. You are not a man who fails. If you have come to me for help, you need that help, but you will not fail. If it means true freedom from the Sovran, then of course we will ride with you.” Tunheim held out a hand.
This time Darius felt tears prick the back of his eyes because no matter what Tunheim said, this was a selfish request he was making,
to embroil Baiji in a battle that technically wasn’t theirs yet. Still, this willingness to go back into the fray warmed his heart. Darius clasped that hand, warm and callused, and blessed Shaa for such amazing friends. “Thank you.”
When they returned to Tunheim’s tent, Darius took all of three steps inside before his mother snagged his arm and promptly towed him the other direction. “Yes, Matre?” Darius drawled, not even fighting the hold, just going along with it.
“I asked our hostess if we might have a private space before sitting down to dinner, and she gave us a lovely tent to set everything up in.” Yasmin sent him a triumphant smile, still towing him down the row of tents.
For a long moment, Darius had no idea what his mother could be up to. It took an embarrassingly long moment to click. “Wait, you set it all up? Here?!”
“We had almost everything we needed in the wagon,” she explained happily, “and what I didn’t have, I was able to borrow.”
Darius caught her head with both hands and planted a sound kiss to his mother’s forehead. Yasmin smiled up at him for a moment before her expression morphed into one of suspicion. “You have been properly praying, haven’t you?”
That matronly face never changed, not since he was three and understood what it meant. “I have been praying, yes, but I didn’t have the equipment to do the full ritual. I sort of managed it once, just before Parisa was born. I wanted all the good wishes I could for Amalah’s and Parisa’s sakes before the labor.”
There was a silence. It was horrified.
Feeling like he needed to defend himself, Darius said, “Matre, you know how far away Niotan is from Arape!”
“And you couldn’t have ordered anything, you, a lead general from a country?” she demanded, stopped dead in the path and drilling him with her eyes. “Do you mean to tell me you fought the Sovran without properly praying?!”
“Ordering things takes time, Matre, which I didn’t have. I found a prayer rug, eventually, but back then the best I could manage was four candles.”
That did not satisfy her. Grumbling irately, she grabbed his arm again, stomping off toward the tent and towing him with her.
Darius wisely didn’t even try to argue.
The tent they ducked into didn’t have the sprawling dimensions that the family tents did. A low table with several bundles shoved to the side said this was usually a workspace, some communal spot for sewing or repairs. Now, however, it had been repurposed with his mother’s hands and looked very Arapeen in spite of the blue canvas walls. A full prayer rug—one specifically for fortune and health—lay in the center, four white candles at each corner, a pitcher of cold water with a cup sitting at the top of the rug, and three bowls of water at the other edges. A brazier burned at full strength nearby, giving both light and heat, which Darius would need very shortly. The prayer robe was not known for its thickness or warmth.
Yasmin led him to the basin of water resting near one wall, thrusting a bar of soap and a towel at him. With a pointed look, she stepped back out again and shut the tent flaps firmly behind her. Stripping everything off, he washed as best he could, even his hair, and felt much better for it. It had been days since he could wash properly and even this quick affair felt blissful.
A little cleaner, he slipped into the white, intricately embroidered robe hanging nearby, the cloth loose and smooth against his skin. He did tighten the belt enough it wouldn’t part in unseemly ways at every shift, but enjoyed the comfort of it otherwise. Something about this ritual always put him at ease, as if for a moment he could put his strength and control aside, and look to a higher power for help.
Carefully stepping around both candles and bowls, Darius sank into the middle of the rug and poured a full glass of water, which he drank right to the last drop, the liquid cool and blissful against his parched throat. In fact, he enjoyed it so much, he poured another and drained it as well. Only then did he sit back, crossing his legs, and stretching both arms to the sides so that he could rest his hands lightly into the bowls of water. He bent his head slightly in prayer, and stayed there for a long, indeterminate time.
No new ideas came to him while he lingered there in prayer but he felt better for observing the ritual. More focused, less stressed, and the familiarity of it kept a semi-permanent smile on his face as he finally did get dressed again and leave the tent. He might not have experienced any flashes of inspiration now, but he had no doubt that when he really needed it, the ideas would come.
Stepping outside, the cool air ruffled his damp hair a little, sending an errant shiver down his spine. He retraced his steps back to Tunheim’s tent and ducked inside, finding most of his family gathered around a series of low tables already eating. He joined them, picking up naan bread and curry, rice and paati. The spices lingered pleasantly on his tongue, not quite a burn, but enough to get his mouth tingling.
Tunheim settled back with a satisfied burp and gestured to Darius. “You owe me a story, my friend.”
For hosting all of his family with excellent hospitality? Of course he did. Darius immediately ducked his head in agreement. “What story would you have?”
“Tell us the story of how you won your wife.”
Darius frowned at him in bemusement. “Now wait, I’ve already told you this story.”
“Yes, but I tried to retell it to my family, and I was informed I botched it.” Tunheim’s dark eyes held a twinkle suggesting he didn’t disagree with this assessment. “Tell it again.”
Yasmin shifted at his side and gave him a pointed look. “Do tell it again, Darius. The version we got from you was very brief.”
He knew that look. The consequences that followed disobedience were never pleasant. Strange how that one look made him feel like he was twelve instead of thirty-two. “Right. Ah, let me start at our first meeting.”
“A fine place to start any telling,” Amin agreed.
Darius cast a glance around the tent and found that he had every eye trained on him. So, not just Tunheim and his parents interested in this telling, eh? Donning his metaphorical bard’s hat, he shifted a little so he could put some volume into his voice.
“My first week in the Niotan Palace, I decided to explore the place, get my bearings in it. It’s something of a labyrinth and only the natives can navigate it without becoming hopelessly lost. I finally did get lost, so thoroughly that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to even get out of the hallway—” he gave them a rueful smile when several chuckled “—yes, yes, I know, it’s funny that I can go across the width and breadth of the Sovran with no trouble, yet a building defeated me. And I see you smirking, Bohme, quit it. At any rate, I needed help getting myself untangled, so I followed my ears until I found a pair of women in a private garden.”
For a moment he relived it, the scene that had unfolded in front of his sun dazzled eyes. Since he was telling this to a largely Baiji audience, he allowed himself to wax poetic for a moment. “She was sitting under a tree, bathed in sunlight, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.”
He got quite a few sighs at this romantic statement. Biting back a grin, Darius continued the story, going through their somewhat unusual courtship—because looking back, it had been exactly that, despite Amalah being betrothed to another—and how he had bargained with Tresea for the right to fight for Amalah. Of course, the climax of the story was when he actually did duel for her, winning the right to marry her. “I gained Roshan at the same time,” he added with a wink at his student. “Which is something I didn’t expect.”
“My father knew you’d win,” Roshan told him forthrightly.
Darius hadn’t heard this before and he paused in the story, turning a little to face the teenager. “Did he, now.”
Roshan heard the invitation in Darius’s tone and leaned forward, elbows on the table, pitching his voice a little louder so everyone could hear him. “I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but my parents talked about it the night before. Father knew you’d win. No one really doubted it. He regretted betrothing
Amalah to Grygotis, he just couldn’t find a way out of it without dishonoring her and our family. He was relieved that you came and challenged him so strongly.”
Amalah had hinted at this, once, but he had never been told it all so forthrightly. “I’ve always wondered, did he think to apprentice you to me at the fight?”
“No, he planned it ahead of time with Mother,” Roshan corrected with a wicked smile. “You’re the best general Niotan’s ever seen, of course he would want me to learn from you.”
Darius preened a little. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”
“Wasn’t he worried, just a little?” Yasmin asked him, blue eyes darting between the two brothers-in-law. “At that point, Darius’s position in the court couldn’t have been very stable.”
“It wasn’t, not entirely, but he was clearly Queen Tresea’s favorite. He’d already kept us from being conquered by the Sovran by that point, too, buying us the time we needed to fortify ourselves against the next invasion. Half of the court was willing to accept him for that alone.” With a sly look at Darius, he added, “And Father was confident that by him marrying into the Sebresos family, we’d solidify his position adequately enough that it wouldn’t be an issue anymore.”
Opening his mouth, Darius intended to say something blithe but those days came back to him, the way the court had functioned after his marriage, the firm split in loyalties among the upper echelons of the military, and his jaw stayed dropped, words failing to form.
“You just realized it, didn’t you,” Amid guessed wryly.
Darius cleared his throat and cast his father a severe look. “To be fair, I had a lot on my mind at the time.”
“Uh-huh.” Patting his shoulder, Amid encouraged, “Then what?”
Not sure how he felt about this new view he’d been handed, Darius shook his head, returning to his story, finishing with his marriage to Amalah and moving into a house that needed more than a little work.
Tunheim praised him for the story, then offered one in return, which led to other stories from different people. As the night progressed, parents got up with sleepy children and put them to bed, and some of the adults decided they’d quite like to see their own beds too. Darius and his parents lingered at the table, now cleared of food, not willing to part with each other just yet. This might be the last time they could see each other for a good number of months, after all, and he still felt the separation they’d already lived through weighing heavily on him.
Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2) Page 6