The Horsemen's Gambit bots-2

by DAVID B. COE

  No doubt he thought this would help her feel better. And perhaps in some small way it did. She wasn't the first commander to lead men to their deaths, she knew, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. But grief clung to her like the scent of blood, and even as the days passed and her wounds healed and her strength returned, still her sorrow lingered.

  Poljyn's family lived in the countryside, a good twenty leagues from the city. But Kherry had been born and raised here in Qalsyn, and on the fourth day after the fight, Tirnya felt well enough to make her way to the west end of the city, where his parents lived. She dreaded this task, but she remembered her father making similar trips to the families of lost men; it was one of the responsibilities of command.

  She was still sore and a bit unsteady on her feet. Oliban offered to ride with her, and even to let her share his mount, but Tirnya felt that she needed to do this alone. She rode Thirus, holding him to a gentle walk. Word of her victory over the brigands and her wounds had spread through all of Qalsyn, and people in the streets called greetings to her the entire way. She waved in return, but said little.

  Qagan, who had been Kherry's lead rider, had described for her how to find the Swylton home. It was a modest house on the back of a farrier shop near the end of a narrow, dusty lane. On the other side of the road there was an overgrown paddock where a few horses grazed. Otherwise, all was still.

  Tirnya dismounted gingerly, walked to the door, and knocked. She had no idea what she was going to say to them. She might have asked for advice on that from her father, but she chose not to. She leaned on him for enough. This she'd do on her own.

  No one responded to her knock, and she began to wonder if she ought to leave. But then she heard footsteps inside and at last the door opened, revealing a plain-looking woman in a worn shift. Her hair was black, just as Kherry's had been, and Tirnya saw hints of Kherry's features in the woman's bony face. Kherry had never spoken of a sister, but this woman appeared too young to be his mother.

  The woman stared at Tirnya for an instant. "Captain Onjaef!" She took a step back and then called over her shoulder, "Chran! Come quickly!"

  "Are you Kherry's mother?" Tirnya asked.

  The woman offered an awkward curtsy. "I am, Captain. I'm Sholi Swylton."

  A man appeared beside her, also dark-haired and dark-eyed. He was tall and thin, and he looked so much like his son that it took Tirnya's breath away just to see him.

  "Captain," he said. "I'm glad t' see ya up an' about. When we heard ya'd been hurt… well, we feared fer ya."

  "Thank you."

  "Please," the woman said, stepping aside and gesturing for Tirnya to enter the house.

  After a moment's hesitation, Tirnya walked inside. The house looked larger within than it had from the street, though it was still tiny compared to her parents' home. It was clean and tidy, and it smelled of fresh bread.

  "Would ya like t' sit?" Kherry's father asked her.

  "No, thank you. I can only stay for a moment. But I wanted…" She took a breath, her throat suddenly tight. "I wanted to say how sorry I am."

  "Ya's nothin' t' be sorry far, Captain. It were an honor far 'im t' serve under yar command. Said so hisself, he did." The man smiled, though there appeared to be tears in his eyes. "I don' know if'n he told ya, but I served under yar pa." He pointed to a scar on his arm. "An' ya see this?"

  She nodded.

  "Yar pa give me tha' in th' tournament one year. Sixth round." He nodded, looking proud, and wiped at his eyes. "We shared that, Kherry an' I did. We both fought in th' service o' th' Onjaefs. Men like us could do far worse."

  "Kherry was a fine man," Tirnya said. "The others all liked him, and I think he would have made a fine lead rider in another year or so. He was brave and smart."

  "Yar very kind t' say that," Kherry's mother said, crying as well. Tirnya shrugged. "It's the truth."

  They said nothing. As the silence grew, Kherry's parents looked at her, smiling through their tears.

  "Well," Tirnya said, feeling uncomfortable, "I should probably be going."

  "Course," Chran said, nodding once. "Ya've got things t' do. But we's grateful t' ya far comin' by."

  "Oh, I almost forgot." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins. "This is Kherry's share of His Lordship's reward for capturing the brigands. The men and I wanted you to have it. It's not much: about three sovereigns. But it's yours." She handed the pouch to Sholi, who merely stared at it.

  "Tha's kind o' ya," Chran said. "An' th' men, too. Ya'll thank 'em far us?"

  "Of course."

  They walked her back to the door and Kherry's mother pulled it open. "We was hopin' ya'd win th' tournament this year, Captain," Chran said. He winked at her. "We even had a bit o' coin on ya."

  "Thank you," Tirnya said, smiling. It still bothered her to hear people speak of her match against Enly, but somehow she didn't mind this time. "Ya'll win it next year. Ya wait an' see. Them Tolms can' keep it forever."

  "Chran!" Kherry's mother said. "Ya watch yarself!"

  "It's a'right, Sholi. Th' captain knows. We Swyltons, we came from th' Horn too, ya know," he said, nodding to Tirnya. "Came with yar family. We'd follow th' Onjaefs wherever ya led us."

  Tirnya made herself smile, but she was a bit unsettled by the turn their conversation had taken.

  "There's them tha' get wha' they deserve, and them tha' don't. An' tha' cuts both ways. Both th' Onjaef an' th' Tolm, they's them tha' don't, if ya understand me. Them Tolms has go' their city. Th' Onjaefs deserve th' same."

  "Ya've said enough, Chran!"

  He frowned at his wife, but then nodded. "Yeh, I have." He held out a hand, which Tirnya took. His hands were rough, callused, and very large, and when he covered her hand with his other one, it seemed that his hands had swallowed hers. "Thank ya, Captain. An' may th' gods bless ya."

  "We're grateful t' ya far comin' t' see us," Sholi added.

  "It was my pleasure." Tirnya winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

  Sholi shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "We understan', Captain. Bless ya, an' go in peace." The woman took Tirnya's hand in hers for just a moment.

  Tirnya nodded to them both before walking back to where Thirus was tethered. She knew they were still watching her and she had to make an effort not to seem to be in too much of a hurry.

  She untied her mount, climbed slowly into the saddle, and nodded once more to Kherry's parents. Then she started back toward home.

  Before she was halfway there, she realized that the only person waiting for her at the house was Zira. She turned and went in search of her men, who were training under Oliban's direction just outside the city walls. When the men saw her coming, they let out a cheer and stopped their training to gather around her.

  "How're ya feelin', Captain?" Oliban called, as Tirnya dismounted.

  "I'm fine," she said. And for the moment, away from Kherry's parents, away from her mother, surrounded by her soldiers, she truly was. "A bit sore still, but I'm better than I was." She looked around at all the smiling faces. "I owe you boys a bit of thanks, from what I hear."

  "We was just afraid another captain would work us harder," Crow said with a grin. "They say Stri is pretty tough on his boys."

  Tirnya laughed. "You just earned yourself an extra couple of hours out here, Crow. And your men, too."

  The men in Crow's company groaned.

  "That is, unless Crow cares to use the gold he got from His Lordship to buy me some ales."

  "Gladly," Crow said with a laugh, as the men cheered again. "All right, youse," Oliban said. "Back at it with ya."

  The men grumbled a bit, but not for long.

  "It's good to see ya, Captain," Dyn told her.

  And Qagan said, "Welcome back."

  Tirnya thanked them and watched the soldiers get back to work. Oliban stood beside her and for a long time neither of them said anything. But once all the men were working again, he asked in a low voice, "How was it with Kherry's parent
s?"

  She shrugged. "About like you'd expect."

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  Tirnya hesitated, wanting to say more, but unsure as to whether she should.

  "Her father said something strange."

  Oliban glanced at her. "Oh?"

  She started to tell him more, but then stopped herself. "It was nothing really. He's… he must be having a hard time."

  Her lead rider was watching her, looking curious.

  Tirnya shook her head and looked away. "I shouldn't have said anything. Please forget that I did."

  "Course, Captain."

  They watched the men for a time.

  "Has there been any more word on the pestilence in Qirsi lands?" she asked.

  "The pestilence? Not that I know of, Captain. But I can have someone ask for ya. Perhaps someone in th' marketplace might know."

  "No, that's all right. Thank you."

  She watched her soldiers for another few moments and then turned to Oliban. "I'm getting tired. I should get back home."

  "Yes, Captain. We're glad t' see ya."

  Tirnya left them there. She wasn't really tired, but she realized that she needed to speak with her father. No one else would know what to make of what Kherry's father had said to her. And probably no one else would understand why she was so consumed with tidings of the white-hair plague that the merchant had told her about the day of her battle with the brigands.

  At home, she looked for her father, but Zira said that she hadn't seen Jenoe in hours. She then looked outside the eastern gate, where Stri often trained his soldiers. He wasn't there either. She finally found her father in the marketplace, of all places. He was speaking with a Qirsi trader, who was selling baubles and blades, but he left the man when she called to him.

  Tirnya approached him, her questions about Kherry's father and the pestilence forgotten for the moment.

  "What are you doing here, Father?"

  He shrugged, looking uneasy. "Nothing, really. Just… just looking around." He frowned. "Can't a man come to the marketplace now and again?"

  She'd rarely heard her father lie. He wasn't very good at it. "Are you buying me a gift?" she asked, smiling coyly.

  "No," he said, seeming to dismiss the notion as foolish.

  "Mother, then?"

  He shook his head.

  Tirnya's poor relationship with Zira notwithstanding, she felt a sudden rush of outrage. His discomfort, his transparent lies. Could it be?

  "Father! Are you keeping a mistress?"

  "Absolutely not!" he said, his outrage a match for hers. "How dare you even think it! I would never betray your mother!"

  "Then why are you here?" she demanded.

  Jenoe started to answer but then stopped himself, looking around the marketplace. Tirnya glanced about as well. People were watching them. Too late, it occurred to her that they'd been speaking in raised voices here in the most crowded part of the city.

  He pulled her aside to a narrow lane just off the market.

  "I would have preferred that no one hear that," he said, his brows knitted, his deep blue eyes searching the marketplace.

  "I'm sorry," Tirnya said. "But I want you to answer me. What are you doing here? Why are you lying to me?"

  "I haven't lied!"

  She gave him a doubtful look. "You want me to believe that you're just here looking around?"

  He avoided her gaze, running a hand over his dark beard, and for a long time, he said nothing.

  "Father?"

  "It's your fault," he told her, still staring off toward the market. "Mine?"

  "You got me thinking the other night." He looked at her. "The night you were wounded. You probably don't even remember all that you said." Actually, she did. She recalled every word of it. "You mean about Deraqor? About my dream?"

  "In part, yes. I was thinking more about the pestilence." He nodded toward the stalls and carts in the marketplace. "That's why I came here. I wanted to hear more about what's been happening on the plain."

  "What have you learned?" she asked, trying to mask her eagerness.

  "Not a lot. Though there are rumors that there was an outbreak in S'Vralna."

  "S'Vralna!"

  "It's just rumors."

  "But if it's true," Tirnya said. She faltered, not certain what she had intended to say next.

  Her father eyed her, a slight frown on his face. "If it's true, what?"

  "Why are you so interested in this?" she asked, not ready yet to answer his question.

  Jenoe shook his head and exhaled heavily. "I don't even know. Our family hasn't had any claim to that land in generations. This is all… idle curiosity."

  "Is it?"

  "What else could it be?" her father asked pointedly.

  She looked around again, then pulled him farther down the lane. "I don't have to tell you, Father. You know already. That's why you're asking questions of merchants. That's why you're still thinking about the ramblings of a wounded soldier, even if she is your daughter."

  "What else did you say that night? Something about a dream."

  "Deraqor."

  Jenoe nodded. "Right, Deraqor."

  "You've heard what this pestilence does?" Tirnya asked. "It kills white-hairs. It attacks their magic and drives them to destroy themselves and their homes."

  Her father looked troubled. "It's not right to revel in the suffering of others, even white-hairs."

  "No," Tirnya said, "it's not. But they're the enemy. Yes, there's been peace for more than a century, but you know as well as I that the Qirsi will never be anything more or less than our enemy."

  "So the fact that they're dying like this-"

  "That they're dying like this is a tragedy. Make no mistake." She leaned closer to him. "But perhaps it's also an opportunity."

  He shook his head. "I know where you're going with this, and I think you're mad."

  "Am I? Is it wrong of me to want to take back Deraqor?"

  "Deraqor is lost, Tirnya. It's been lost for a long time now."

  "And you think we should give up on it forever?"

  Jenoe looked hurt, as if insulted that she would suggest such a thing. "I never said that. Of course we shouldn't give up on it forever. It's our ancestral home. Someday we'll take it back. I want that every bit as much as you do."

  "Then let me ask you this, Father," she said. "When will we have a better chance?"

  He didn't answer and Tirnya pressed her advantage.

  "Qirsi are dying. Their cities are being destroyed. They must be terrified. This may be the best opportunity we'll ever have to take back not only Deraqor, but all the lands between here and the Horn."

  "You're talking about starting the Blood Wars again. People here aren't ready for that."

  "They never will be. It's up to us to convince them that this is the time." Jenoe didn't say anything, and Tirnya wondered if he'd had enough of this conversation. But a moment later he surprised her.

  "Actually, it's not up to us. It's up to the sovereign. And it's up to His Lordship to present the idea to him. We'd just have to convince Maisaak."

  "Do you think we can?"

  "I don't know, Tirnya." He shook his head again, his lips pressed thin. "You haven't convinced me yet, and there's no one in Qalsyn who wants to take back Deraqor more than I do. My grandfather used to tell me stories about the city that his grandfather told him. I've dreamed of leading an army back into Deraqor since I was a child." He looked at her and smiled. "Just as you did the other night."

  "We could do it, Father. We could do it together. I know that my men would follow us all the way to the Thraedes, and I'm sure Stri's would, too. With you leading us, I don't think there's a man in this city who wouldn't fight beside us."

  "I need to think about this more," Jenoe said. "The Fal'Borna won't give up Deraqor easily, and even if we take it, they'll just turn around and try to take it back. There's a good chance we'd be starting down the road to another hundred years of war. It'll start with Deraqo
r, but before long they might well be fighting in Naqbae, and down along the Ofirean shores. This could spread through all the land. Are we really going to risk that? The sovereign would be mad to let us."

  Tirnya wanted to say that she was willing to risk it, that she'd ride to Ofirean City herself to convince the sovereign. At that moment she would have done nearly anything to make her dream come true. Now that she knew her father was even considering this she was ready to ride to war immediately, never mind her healing wounds. But she knew that her father had a point, and that a mature leader had to look beyond warlust to examine the possible consequences of every battle. And she knew as well that he was watching her now, gauging her response to what he'd said, measuring her abilities as a commander.

  "I'm aware of the risks," she said. "And to be honest I don't know if they're worth the reward. It may be that I can't think about this with an open mind. I'm an Onjaef. I want Deraqor back and I'd lead an army across the Silverwater tomorrow if the sovereign and His Lordship gave me leave to do so, regardless of the consequences."

  He smiled at her, looking proud. "That's a more candid answer than I'd expected."

  Tirnya arched an eyebrow. "I'm not certain how I should take that." Jenoe laughed, but then quickly grew serious once more. "His Lordship will think this is folly."

  "What about the sovereign?"

  He shook his head. "Over the years, the Kasathas have usually deferred to their lord governors in such matters. And Ankyr is still new to his power. I think if we can convince Maisaak, the sovereign will follow his recommendation. Even in this. But I'd be very surprised if His Lordship entertained the idea at all. He'll see it as a waste of men in pursuit of our family's ambition and desire for vengeance." He grimaced slightly. "He probably wouldn't be far off the mark."

  "I'm a soldier, Father," she said. "I don't claim to know as much about such matters as you or Maisaak. But there's more to this than our ambition. We'd be taking back lands that ought to be held by the sovereignties. And not just any land. The plain around the Horn and along the banks of the Thraedes is some of the most fertile, valuable land in all the Southlands."

  "True."

  "And I think we might also consider how long this peace will last even if we do nothing."