by DAVID B. COE
Damn him! she thought as she walked. Who was he to speak to her so? Whatever there had been between them ended long ago. Hadn't she made that clear again and again? And still he spoke as if he had some claim on her. If ever she had loved him-and she wasn't certain that she had-she didn't anymore. And next to her desire to take back Deraqor and its surrounding lands, the one true home the Onjaef family had ever known, her feelings for Enly Tolm were nothing.
Tirnya was still in a rage when she reached the training grounds, but she did her best to mask her anger as her soldiers greeted her. Oliban and the other lead riders had already arranged the men in training groups and were awaiting her first instructions.
Seeing them now, though, she realized that Enly had made at least one valid point. These soldiers would be going with her to Deraqor, risking their lives, so that she and her father could realize their dream of taking back the city. It would be up to her lead riders, as well as Stri's and those of Jenoe's other captains, to carry out whatever plan she and her father decided on. Didn't she owe it to them to reveal at least some of what they were planning?
"Is there somethin' wrong, Captain?" Crow asked, watching her closely as she pondered all of this.
"No," she said, shaking her head and making her decision. "But I would like a word with the eight of you."
She turned to walk off a short distance, though not before she saw her lead riders exchange glances. She heard Oliban shout to the men that they should relax. A moment later her lead riders joined her.
"I wasn't entirely honest with you the other day," she began, speaking to Oliban. "I haven't been training the men harder because I'm angry with any of you, but there is some purpose behind it."
The men waited, saying nothing, but eyeing her keenly. Now that she had them there she wasn't entirely certain how to tell them. She couldn't bring herself just to come out and admit that she and Jenoe intended to attack the Fal'Borna, and once more she found herself thinking of Enly and all that he had said.
"Captain?" Oliban finally said, the frown on his face mirrored on the faces of his fellow riders.
"How many of you have heard about the plague currently striking at the Fal'Borna?"
Oliban glanced at the others once more. "We all 'aye, Captain."
"So you know that it seems to strike only at white-hairs; not at our kind."
"Hadn' heard tha'," Crow said
"Well, it's true. It strikes at their magic and it leaves their cities in ruins. Most recently it struck at S'Vralna."
She took a breath before continuing. "The marshal and I have been to see His Lordship. We believe-all of us do-that this white-hair plague presents us with an opportunity. We've already begun to form a plan to take back Deraqor and the lands around the Horn."
Silence. None of the men so much as moved.
At last, Crow narrowed his dark eyes. "Ya mean t' say tha' ya're considerin' an attack on th' Fal'Borna?"
"That's right."
Tirnya sensed Crow's incredulity, but to the man's credit he merely nodded at this. "When?" he asked a few moments later.
"We don't know yet. Soon, but not before our strategy is ready."
"Can ya tell us wha' tha' strategy is?" Qagan asked.
She shook her head. "Not yet. My father and I have been working on it for days," she added quickly, ashamed of herself for misleading them, but even more ashamed to admit how little they'd come up with thus far. "But we don't want to reveal any of it until we can reveal all of it."
Qagan nodded. "Tha' makes sense."
If anything, this made her feel worse.
"I'm sorry I can't tell you more," she said. "But I thought I should at least prepare you, let you know… what we've been talking about and why we've been training so hard in recent days."
They nodded, and after a moment Oliban said, "Yes, Captain." He sounded subdued, though.
"How can we help, Captain?" Dyn asked. Of all of them, he seemed the least daunted by what she had said. He and a few of the others, including Crow, were from families that had come to Qalsyn from Deraqor with the Onjaefs. It might take them time, but they'd come to support this idea soon enough.
"I'm not sure you can right now," she said. "You must not mention this to anyone else, not even your men. Not yet at least. The fewer people who know what we have in mind, the better our chances of catching the white-hairs unaware."
"0' course," Dyn said, clearly expecting more.
"And the training of the men must be kept at the level we've established in the last few days."
"We'll see t' it," Oliban said crisply. He seemed to have recovered from his initial shock.
She nodded, forced a smile. "Very good."
They stood there a few seconds more, the eight men still watching her as if waiting for her to say more. When they realized that she had nothing else to tell them, they shared looks again.
"Well, then," Oliban said. "We'll get back t' th' men."
"Thank you," Tirnya said.
The lead riders started to walk away. After only a few strides, however, Oliban paused, turned, and walked back to where she stood.
"Forgive me, Captain," he said, sounding unsure of himself. "I was born an' raised here in Qalsyn. I've never seen Deraqor or th' Horn."
She smiled nervously. "Neither have I."
"No, o' course not. But I realize it's yar homeland, th' city o' yar family. There's lots o' families here tha' can trace their lines back there. Bu' no' mine."
"I know," Tirnya said.
"Is tha'.." He frowned and shook his head. "I'm tryin' t' understand. This is a… a huge undertakin'. We'd be riskin' a great deal."
"Are you trying to ask me why we're doing this?" she said.
He stared down at his feet. "In a sense, I suppose I am. It's been over a hundred years since yar family… since th' Onjaefs and the others were driven from Deraqor. As ya say, ya've never even seen th' city. Do ya… do ya hate Qalsyn tha' much?"
Tirnya winced at the question. "No," she said quickly. "This is the only home I've ever known. How could I hate it?"
"But then-"
"You have to understand, Oliban. My family was once like the Tolms. We ruled Deraqor. My father would be lord governor for all the lands between the Thraedes and the K'Sand were it not for the white-hairs. But instead of being one of the leading families of Stelpana, we're a family in exile. We live with the constant shame of having lost our ancestral home."
"I don' think anyone in Qalsyn thinks of ya or th' marshal tha' way," he said.
Her first thought was that Maisaak certainly did. She kept this to herself, though, saying instead, "I appreciate that. But in a way it doesn't matter how others think of us. This is how we think of ourselves. The loss of Deraqor is a stain on our family's past, and now we have an opportunity to win it back, for ourselves, for Stelpana, for all the sovereignties. My feelings about Qalsyn are beside the point. This is about redeeming my ancestors and also about giving something wondrous to my children and my grandchildren."
Oliban appeared to consider this for some time. "From all tha' I've heard," he finally said, "Deraqor was a glorious city."
Tirnya smiled. "I've heard that, too. I can't wait to see it." She started walking back toward the soldiers and the other riders. "Come on," she said, gesturing for him to walk with her. "We have work to do."
He followed, though reluctantly, his eyes still fixed on the ground, his brow creased in thought. "If ya succeed," he said after a few moments, his voice lower now, as they approached the men, "will ya expect all o' us t' stay with ya in Deraqor?"
Tirnya stopped, taken aback by the question. Her distress must have shown on her face.
"Don' get me wrong, Captain. Servin' under ya has been an honor, and I'll do all I can t' help ya win back those Onjaef lands. But then…" He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "As I told ya before. Qalsyn's th' only home I've ever known. I wouldn' want t' leave it forever."
"No, of course you wouldn't," Tirnya said, finding her voic
e again. "That's a long way off still, but I'm sure we'll work out something." She tried to smile. "If this works, His Lordship will need new captains. I can't think of anyone better suited to taking my place than you."
Oliban smiled at that. "Thank ya, Captain."
She nodded, then turned and walked on.
Tirnya and her soldiers spent the rest of the morning training. After the ringing of the midday bells, they resumed their patrols along the lanes outside the city walls. With her company's victory over the brigands, the attacks on merchants and travelers had fallen off greatly, but even in the best of times, road thieves remained a problem. On this day, her soldiers captured three men they spotted loitering along one of the side paths and then chased into the forest. There wouldn't he any reward this time, but as they returned to the city her men were in high spirits anyway. They were gaining a reputation as the best company in Qalsyn; this day's success would only enhance their status.
Tirnya tried to share in their good humor all the way back, but she was preoccupied with her conversation with the lead riders, and, she had to admit, her exchange with Enly as well. All of her men had seemed overawed by what she told them, though just as Enly had expected, not one of them expressed any reluctance to follow her. In a way, though, their faith in her and Enly's doubts led her to the same place: She needed to think of something-anything-that would work against the white-hairs. She had no intention of failing in this and giving Enly the chance to gloat. But more to the point, she refused to throw away the lives of the brave men under her command, the men who had saved her life and who would march into Fal'Borna lands risking their lives, simply because she and her father asked it of them.
Enly might well be right: His Lordship probably was expecting them to fail. Tirnya's own father had questioned the wisdom of taking on the Fal'Borna just as had Enly. Why were they all so afraid?
Yes, the Fal'Borna had won most of the battles late in the Blood Wars. They had pushed the sovereignties back across the Thraedes and the Central Plain, and finally across the Silverwater. But in her long history Stelpana had also fought battles against the Aeleans and the Tordjannis, winning some and losing others. No one in Qalsyn was afraid of them.
It all came down to magic, then. Yes, the Fal'Borna were said to be fearsome warriors, but it was their magic that made them such a formidable enemy. Obviously.
So, how could an Eandi army overcome Qirsi magic and prevail in a war? Surely it had happened. The Blood Wars had gone badly for the sovereignties at the end, but for a time the Eandi clans had more than held their own against the white-hairs. What changed? What had happened to turn the tide of the war so strongly against her people?
The question occupied her mind for the rest of the day and into the night, when their patrols finally ended. Rather than heading directly back to her home, Tirnya went to the Swift Water for an ale.
She should have known better. Enly was there, and he sought her out immediately.
"I've come to apologize," he said, stopping just in front of her and swaying slightly. His breath stank of whiskey, and he spoke with too much precision, as if trying to avoid slurring his words.
As angry as she had been with him earlier, she couldn't help but be amused. "Apology accepted," she said. "Now go home and get some sleep."
But he shook his head and stepped up to the bar, blocking her way. "Another whiskey for me." He glanced back at her. "And an ale for the lovely captain."
The barkeep grinned, then winked at her. A moment later Enly had both drinks in hand and was leading her to a table at the back of the tavern.
"Come here and sit," he said, beckoning to her with the hand that still held her cup, and sloshing ale onto the table. He stared down at the stain for just an instant. "Sorry 'bout that."
She took the cup from him and sat. "Why don't you just sit, before you hurt yourself?"
"Good idea." He lowered himself into his seat, sipping his whiskey as he did. "Now then," he said. "How can I help?"
"What?"
"Well, obviously talking you out of this didn't work. So, if I want you to live and bear my children, I'll have to find some way to keep you alive, won't I?" He raised his cup to her, as if toasting, and then took another sip.
She laughed. "You arrogant bastard! I thought you were a horse's ass when you're sober, but give you a few whiskeys…" She shook her head.
He blinked, clearly surprised by her response. "What did I say?"
Tirnya laughed again. "Never mind," she said sipping her ale. "You don't really want to help. This is just another feeble attempt to get me to change my mind."
He put down his cup and smacked the table with his open hand, the sound echoing loudly through the tavern. He started at the noise, glancing around self-consciously. "Not true," he said a moment later. "Not true at all."
"So now you think it's a good idea?"
"No," he said, frowning. "It's a terrible idea. Worst I've ever heard. But like I said, you'll never listen to reason, particularly if it comes from me. So, I want to help. I don't want you to die, Tirnya." He looked away briefly and took a long breath. "Yes, I'm drunk," he said, facing her again. "But I really… I care about you. Surely you've figured that out by now. I don't want to lose you. But if you're going to leave me, I at least want to know that you're safe and living happily in your precious Deraqor."
"Shhh!" she said sharply.
He looked around again, nodded, and took a quick drink. "Right. Sorry."
Tirnya ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head once more. No one appeared to have noticed what he said. And, for all his tortured logic and drunken nonsense, he had managed to touch her heart just a bit. "Fine," she said. "You want to help me? You can help me."
He patted her arm. "There you go! Good girl. I knew you'd come around." He leaned closer. "How?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
"I haven't any idea."
Enly scowled at her and she laughed.
"You enjoyed that," he said.
"Yes, I did."
He turned away and took another drink, looking hurt.
"I'm sorry, Enly. But I really don't…" She trailed off, thinking again of her conversations from earlier in the day. "What do you know about the Blood Wars?" she asked after a brief silence.
He gave a short high laugh. "What do I know about the wars? Everything. My father wanted both of us-" His smile faded. "Berris, I mean. Berris and me." He drained his cup. "Father wanted us to know everything about the wars," he went on, grim-faced now. "Like you, he didn't believe this peace could last, and he wanted us to be ready when the fighting started again." He looked at her. "Why?"
"There was a time when the sovereignties enjoyed some success, wasn't there?"
Enly shrugged. "I suppose you could say that. It wasn't the sovereignties back then. We were still fighting as clans. But if you mean the Eandi, yes, we won our share of victories early on."
This time she was the one who leaned closer. "How, Enly? How did we beat them?"
He smiled and nodded. "Ah, yes. That's the question, isn't it? If we knew that…" He opened his hands. "Anything would be possible."
"You don't know then?" she asked, sitting back and frowning.
"No one does. The secret's been lost to the ages."
She took a pull of ale. "Damn," she muttered.
"It could have been anything," he went on, paying little attention to her. "It might not have been anything the Eandi did. The Qirsi might have been weaker then, or their leaders might have been less clever. They might have had fewer Weavers. Or maybe our leaders were smarter." He looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "Do you think that's it? Do you think we're just not as good as the people who came before us? Not the soldiers, but the captains and marshals and lords. I'd wager my father doesn't like that idea very much." He chuckled.
"No," Tirnya said, not liking it either. "I don't suppose he does." She sat staring at the table for several moments, while Enly tried to catch the eye of the barkeep so that he co
uld order another whiskey. "What did it mean that we weren't fighting as the sovereignties?" She looked up again meeting his gaze. "I understand that the various nations hadn't been created yet. But I'm asking what that meant in terms of how we fought."
Enly's eyebrows went up. "I'm not really certain. I'd imagine that it meant we were more unified. We hadn't split off into separate armies yet." He shrugged. "Then again, some of the clan rivalries were pretty bitter, so that might not be the case. I don't know."
"Did all the clans fight in those early battles?"
"I think so. The old histories list the names. It's been a while since I read them, and even then there were some I didn't recognize. But they were there, fighting the white-hairs. I don't think our kind were ever so united as we were in the early years of the wars."
Tirnya nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Certainly that would help when it came to waging war. But could that kind of unity make enough difference to…?"
The realization came to her with such force that for several moments she could hardly breathe, much less speak.
"Tirnya?" Enly said, eyeing her with concern.
"Could it be that simple?" she whispered.
"Could what be that simple?"
"You just said that we fought not as sovereignties, but as clans, that our people had never been so united."
He nodded, his forehead furrowing in concentration. "Yes."
"And do you think it's likely that all of our people fought the white-hairs?"
"Well, that's-"
"All of them, Enly. All of them!"
He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Think for a moment!" Tirnya said, her voice rising. She noticed that others in the tavern had started to look at her. She leaned closer to him, and when she spoke again it was in a whisper. "What is it that we fear most about the white-hairs?"
"Their magic, of course."
"Yes!" she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "What if you're right and we were more united than we've been at any time since? What if the Eandi of that time were so united that they were even willing to fight alongside the Mettai?"