And as she looked at the Hezzan Shul Dramm, she saw in him something she had not seen before. For the first time in her life, she felt she was in the presence of a man who might truly be worthy. She felt a strange desire to give back, a desire to repay such an act. But she had no idea how.
The Drammune language had no word for romantic love, not as it was expressed and practiced in Nearing Vast. And the word as used by the Vast held no meaning for Talon. In the beginning, she simply respected the Hezzan, to whom she had been wed. She felt him to be worthy of honor. He was worthy of her time and attention. That was all.
He was different, yes, but only in degree. She had met many men in her life, and she respected some of them in some ways. Scat Wilkins was fearless, for the most part, and he knew how to lead, how to act, how to make men accomplish great feats. But he was also in many ways a boy, a child who had to have his own way. When Scat threw tantrums people tended to die, but otherwise the comparison was apt.
John Hand certainly was no child. Talon respected his mind, his craftiness, his creativity at sea. But he had no feel for the fight. He did not know how or when to be savage. He did everything in his head first, and sometimes failed to execute it later. Hand’s associate, Lund Lander, the Toymaker, had brilliance, and honor, but lived in fawning obedience to his masters. The slave-ship captains she knew were strong and fearless, focused by necessity, but tended toward needless cruelty, cruelty that became their hallmark. All the other captains and leaders she had met had something worthy of respect, but much that was not.
The Hezzan Shul Dramm, however, struck her as a complete man, more so than any she had ever known. He was fearless and wise. He was patient. There was in him something that the Vast might call kindness, but there was no weakness bound up in it, no sweetness. No blindness. He could be brutal; he certainly relished the fight. But he was not rash. He wanted war with the Vast, and believed that war could be won. He knew men; he knew what motivated them, and he led them. Men wanted to follow him.
Without allowing a moment’s doubt about who held the power, he gave those in his circle room. She saw how he gave them the freedom to do his will their way. If they did not do his will, of course they were disciplined. They might be put outside the circle, jailed, or hung, depending on the extent of their disloyalty. But he allowed each one to make the Hezzan’s desires his own, to execute them with pride, to become one with the movement of the great ship that was the governing force of Drammun.
The Supreme Commander of the Glorious Drammune Military, Fen Abbaka Mux, might have been a superior emperor himself. The High Commander of the Glorious Drammune Navy, Huk Tuth, was almost twice the Hezzan’s age, but served him dutifully, gladly. Others in positions of direct power were the same: the leader of the Infiltrators, who did the nation’s spying, and of the Coinage Forces, who created and managed the Drammune currency and ran the central bank.
Only the Twelve were excepted. These men Talon did not respect; their conniving was beyond any man’s ability to ennoble. This was a traditional body of advisors, a worthy group in the past, but they had no direct power and so had become mere politicians who schemed for their master’s attentions and sought power through influence and, Talon firmly believed, treachery. They seemed to her hollow men, unable to see the quality of the emperor who led them. Fear kept them in line, when admiration should have been their prime motivator.
Talon’s admiration for the Hezzan only grew. He had not required marital rights as she had assumed he would. Nor had he ignored any attraction as she had then assumed he would. Rather, he had come to know her and to understand her as she worked alongside him, as she learned how he thought, and how he ruled.
They spent, at first, just the same few minutes a day together that they had before the marriage. Nothing had changed, except that she now had his protection. She was one of many advisors he would seek out for discussions on various subjects. He spoke to her of Nearing Vast, of that kingdom’s likely response to the crushing of their Fleet, and of the readying and fitting of his own Armada. The minutes they spent together grew as the weeks passed, as he learned the subtlety and the fearlessness of her mind. One day he took her to the docks to show her his preparations there, and to have an audience with the supreme commander.
Her first substantial meeting with Fen Abbaka Mux was the turning point in her fortunes, in both love and war.
It was deep into the year, and the weather had turned bitter. The Vast Fleet had lain at the bottom of the harbor of Hezarow Kyne for more than three months while plans for an unprecedented frontal attack on Nearing Vast, scheduled for the spring, were being made. Now the enormous and detailed preparations for this undertaking were underway. Almost the entire military might of a nation was to be transported en masse over the seas, in order to obliterate the defenses of their great rival.
In all these plans the Court of Twelve had played little part; it was a military operation, and being as huge as it was, it was also extraordinarily risky. As Talon pointed out to the Hezzan, politicians by their very nature would always and only shrink from such a bold and decisive move. They would oppose it, and news of the effort would leak; the Urlish would learn of it, and then the plans would need to be scrapped. No enemy could know what small percentage of the Drammune forces were to be left behind as protection. All and everything hung on secrecy. That a military undertaking was planned could not be hidden, but the size of it, the nature of it, could. So only a few, even among the armed forces, could know.
As the Supreme Commander of the Glorious Drammune Military, Fen Abbaka Mux was fully immersed in every detail.
“Abbaka Mux is of the old order,” the Hezzan said as they walked the docks toward the flagship of the Armada. By this he meant that Mux was a Zealot, numbered among those who held in highest regard only the oldest teachings, those of the original Rahk-Taa, and who considered all additions since then to be illegitimate.
The Hezzan was covered in a wolfskin coat that reached to the ground, and wore a matching hat. Talon disdained such accoutrements for the lack of mobility, and therefore lack of defense, they guaranteed. She wore only her leather robe with her hood pulled tight against the bitter air.
“But he is a good judge of men,” the Hezzan added. Talon remained silent, wondering at the wisdom of this meeting. In her experience, few men were good judges of other men, and even those who were had trouble seeing backbone if it was clothed in female flesh. Zealots, much like the pious of many religions, tended to be the worst judges of female character, fleeing from their own lusts into prejudice and calling that prejudice purity.
Talon knew she was hated by many of them. The nation as a whole was predictably shocked by the Hezzan’s marriage. Women were either wives or weapons, but never both. But to the Zealots, the emperor’s actions regarding her were beyond scandalous. They were an affront to the kingdom, to all that was right. Here was proof that the ancient values had been undermined by the elevation of the Mortach Demal to equality with men two centuries ago. The old teachings were simple and clear, defining the limits of what a woman might or might not do. Now, just as the Zealots’ forebears had predicted back then, the doors had been thrown open and things were going from bad to worse. It was bad enough that the Hezzan had married her. But now it was far worse—he was treating her as an advisor, not just equal to, but superior to the advisory council demanded by the Rahk-Taa, the venerable Court of Twelve. This was offensive in the highest degree.
To the ultradevout leaders of the Zealots, the four men known as the Quarto, it was against all morality, all convention, and all decency. It could hardly have been more revolting if their leader had married a Vast.
Talon had little concern for the opinions of others, particularly the masses whose opinions ebbed this way and then flowed that way. But as she approached the supreme commander’s ship, these thoughts weighed on her. She hesitated at the gangway. The Hezzan stopped, turned to face her. “What is it?”
“My lord. Tell me why you
want me to meet with Supreme Commander Mux.”
He looked at her with piercing eyes. “You do not fear him, do you?”
Her eyes were colder than the air. “I fear no man.”
He smiled, doubting it not one bit. “You know ships.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the Armada’s flagship, the Rahk Thanu. It meant “the fist of the Law.” He gestured toward it. “Tell me about this one.”
She glanced at the cut of its prow, assessed its beam, the length between perpendiculars, the masts, the hull at the waterline. “Is it fully loaded?”
“No. I’d guess its hold is half-empty.”
“A standard keel?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “It’s a strong ship. Faster than most. The cargo will need to ride very low to keep it steady at full speed.”
“That’s why I want you to meet the supreme commander.”
She stared at him. “I’m sure he knows his ship better than I do.”
“I don’t want you to tell him about his ship. I want you to tell me about him. In precisely that manner, and with the same boldness.”
She waited for more explanation.
“He has grown more and more devoted to the Rahk-Taa. He has become a Zealot. I need to know what he will do in battle. I want to see him react to you, and to me. And I want you to see the same. He may be an excellent judge of men, but I find your judgment better.”
Talon felt a surge of confidence. She had assumed the Hezzan was testing her. But it was the other way around; he was testing Mux. “Of course I will tell you whatever I see, whatever I learn, as always, my lord.”
“Good.” He smiled. She felt a strange warmth within her.
The Hezzan entered Mux’s quarters unannounced, a tradition among Drammune military commanders that kept all men on their toes, regardless of rank. It discouraged unworthy activities. He found the supreme commander with his back to the door, a leather glove on his hand, and a large brown falcon perched on that glove. Mux was feeding the bird raw meat.
“Can that bird make the trip from here to Nearing Vast?”
Mux turned, surprised to see his Hezzan, more surprised to see the Hezzan’s infamous wife standing behind him, her eyes as searching and cold as any falcon’s.
“No, my lord. She doesn’t know the way.” He answered the Hezzan, but he was looking at Talon.
Talon studied Mux. That he was a Zealot could be seen immediately. He wore the red sash around his waist under his clothing, with the telltale end visible at his right hip, cut and sewn at an angle, a red triangle. His beard was untrimmed, his hair as well, falling down around his shoulders as the Rahk-Taa commanded. Mux was a broad, strong man with deep-set eyes. He exuded a sense of peace and assurance and intelligence. He was a leader. He was worthy. He was Drammune through and through.
“It is my great honor to have you aboard the Rahk Thanu.” He put a knee to the floor, bowing deeply to the Hezzan. But he did not look again at Talon.
The Hezzan took him by the shoulders, raised him up, locked eyes with him. “The honor is mine. This is my wife, the warrior Talon.”
Mux nodded quickly in her direction but did not make eye contact. His discomfort was evident. “What would my lord have of me?”
The Hezzan walked to the falcon, admiring the bird as he spoke. “Talon has penetrated deep within our enemy’s citadel and in single combat killed the Traitor, Senslar Zendoda.” Talon watched Mux as Mux watched the Hezzan. The Supreme Commander did not even glance her way now. He knew all these facts; who didn’t? His face was blank.
“She has brought us much honor.”
Mux knew he must speak. “And for any honor brought to you, I am grateful.”
The Hezzan nodded. “So what is the purpose of having a bird of prey aboard ship, if she can’t fly to Nearing Vast?”
“She can fly from our enemy, from Nearing Vast, and return here with information. She can deliver messages to you, my lord. She is but a bird. That is all she should be asked to do.”
The Hezzan shot a quick glance at Talon. Her face was calm, impassive, but her eyes danced. She caught Mux’s double meaning. The Hezzan looked back at Mux and smiled. “Sit, please. We have wars to plan.”
Mux obeyed, relieved to be past the niceties. “Yes, my lord.”
“The Trophy Chase must be taken whole and her captain and crew alive. We cannot lose the knowledge they have gained.” Talon spoke to the Hezzan as they walked back along the docks toward the horses they would ride to the palace.
“Do you think it will not happen so? Those are the very orders I gave Abbaka Mux, as you are witness.”
Talon paused. “Fen Abbaka Mux does not like the idea of taking prisoners.”
“It is a point of pride with him.”
“It is also a point of faith.”
“Faith? What do you mean?”
“I mean that his zeal for the Law is his religion.”
The Hezzan shot a glance at her. She did not return it. “You have not become religious in your time with the Vast, have you, Talon?”
Unsummoned, the image of Packer Throme hung before her eyes, his arms outstretched. “The Vast believe that their God handed down their religious laws. And yet they keep them with much less devotion than a Zealot does his.”
The Hezzan walked as he waited, but Talon did not elaborate. “A Zealot takes the Right of Transfer quite literally,” he said in agreement. “It is a stark teaching as originally written, brutal and merciless. The qualifications added by Hezzans over the centuries to soften it are ignored by the Zealots. However, it is a powerful tool for an emperor at war.”
“Powerful, but capricious,” she warned. “The Worthy takes the life of the Unworthy and owns his titles and property. Simple enough when the Drammune is taking the life of the Vast in the name of the Hezzan. You then own all. But the Quarto also claims that they determine how Drammune a man is, or is not. They decide the degree of his Worthiness, as compared to the Rahk-Taa. Therefore, they alone can grant the Transfer of titles and properties. They are setting themselves up to claim that you, my lord, are not worthy to be Hezzan.”
“Yes. Their followers already speak against me daily on the street corners because I am not Drammune enough for them. And that is why I need to understand the man who commands my forces, and follows these teachings.”
“Yes,” was all she said.
He glanced at her again. She was still reluctant to reveal her thoughts about the supreme commander, which made him all the more anxious to know them. He looked up at the ship they now walked past, captained by their naval leader, Huk Tuth. It was a ship called the Kaza Fahn, named for a particularly bloody commander of the Drammune past. “If our supreme commander were a ship, what would you say about him?”
Talon thought a moment. “A ship will sail the way it is built to sail. Handled properly, it will do more than expected. But a man-of-war will never be a cutter.”
The Hezzan said nothing. She had offered him nothing yet.
Talon chose her words carefully. “Abbaka Mux is a man-of-war. He has little ability to be quick or nimble. This is not his way.”
He stopped, looked at her. “Go on.”
She turned to him, spoke face-to-face. His eyes were both piercing and calm. “So long as the seas are not too high, my lord, he will do his duty both to you and to his beliefs.”
“And what would high seas look like?”
Talon looked away, so as not to be distracted. “Difficult choices. He will want to win the current battle in honorable combat, in accordance with his reading of the Rahk-Taa. He will want to crush his enemies.” She looked back at him, and thought she saw something faraway, as though he himself were distracted. But it was gone in a moment. “If circumstances require him to choose the Trophy Chase over one of his own ships, my lord, then he will be a loaded freighter in a storm.”
The Hezzan nodded. That was what he needed from her. But he wanted an equally straight answer to one
more question. He stepped in front of her so he could look her in the eye. “Do you believe he will obey my commands?”
She looked at him for just a moment longer than was necessary. “I want to tell you what you want to hear. But I cannot. The longer the fetch, lord, the higher the waves.”
The Hezzan looked out over his docks and pondered her answer. The fetch was the distance that wind and weather travel over open sea. She meant that the farther Fen Abbaka Mux ventured from the shores of Drammun, from his Hezzan, the less he could be counted on to make the correct choices. The obedient choices. He looked back at her. “Thank you for your honesty. You know ships, and you know men.”
Ultimately, the Hezzan would trust Fen Abbaka Mux with his Armada, but only after several more war councils and many more explicit, written instructions. He was more than satisfied with his new wife’s cautious candor, and so he began to ask her advice on a wider range of matters, taking her into his confidence on judgments regarding civil disputes, construction projects, and finally the intrigues of his own court. As Talon’s confidence in her role grew, she began to point out to him the weaknesses of the Court of Twelve, individually and collectively. She believed they were irrelevant, and a dangerous hindrance to him. She did not counsel him to discard them, but to relegate them to a mere formality.
The more time Talon spent with the Hezzan, however, the more often her attention wandered. She found she was not always able to keep herself from thinking about him while she discussed the subject at hand. She found she liked to watch him as he made decisions, as he weighed matters carefully.
And finally, he caught her doing it.
“Talon?” he asked, with the smallest trace of a smile behind his eyes. And she realized she had not followed his train of thought; she had allowed her attention to drift to the man reclining regally before her. She was angry with herself. “Many apologies. Please repeat your question.” And he repeated it patiently, as though nothing had happened.
The Trophy Chase Saga Page 52