by CJ Brightley
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t believe him.” The king spoke quietly.
“Why not?”
“As usual, his letter was measured and calm. It tells of advances, losses, everything I could possibly want to know about the war. He’s a brilliant strategist; my father should have used him years ago. He predicts a settlement in a month at most. But it reads like a farewell letter! And that one to you; have you ever heard him so affectionate when he’s here?”
“He’s lonely, Hakan.”
“I know. Read mine if you want and tell me if I’m wrong.”
“He wouldn’t lie to you.” There was a very long silence, and then the queen spoke again. “You don’t think he’s getting better?”
“Do you think he’d tell me if he wasn’t?”
“Recall him to Stonehaven then.”
The silence drew out before the king said, so softly that I barely heard it through the door, “I don’t know that he’d come.”
“You think he’d lie to you and openly defy you? I think you misjudge him.”
“If he thought it served me? Or Erdem? Sure, he’d lie, and feel no guilt for it. I don’t know, Kveta. I don’t know.”
26
Kemen
Yori tried to smile as he died, and he looked like Hakan. Noble, brave, young. I tried to give him courage, but he didn’t need mine. He only wanted company as he faded.
I loved him. I hardly knew him, but I loved him. He was Erdem’s pride; brave, handsome, bright, pure of heart.
Blood in the snow.
I’ve never questioned whether it’s worth it. Perhaps if I were Yori’s father or mother, I would. I’ve spilled my own blood often enough in the king’s service. Someone must guard the borders. Someone must enforce the king’s peace. Someone must ensure that the king’s word is carried out. If the king says, “here is the border and past this the Tarvil will not come,” someone must wield the sword that makes it true.
This time, I have no more blood to give. I have done what I could for you, Hakan. I hope it was enough.
I couldn’t leave immediately after the ceasefire agreement with Otso because I was so ill I couldn’t stand, much less ride in the biting wind. I sat shuddering by the fire and vomiting into a bucket at intervals, cursing the vile Tarvil drink, and when Amets changed the bandages on my shoulder, I was so dazed I barely noticed the pain. The second day I began dictating another letter, that one to Yoshiro Kepa.
After me, he was the ranking officer in the north, but it was clear he could not direct the men if the peace disintegrated. My letter was an analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of Eneko and the other young officers under me and concluded with recommendations of how best to use them. Kudret was the best tactician, a suvari, with a sharp, fast style well suited to the open tundra. But he needed confidence, and would falter in the face of argument even when he was right. Eneko was growing as a strategist, and he was the one who had best understood my feints against the Tarvil and how I pushed them away from the grazing ground their herds would miss in the summer. He also needed experience. I expected he would be pushed into the commander’s role sooner than he wished, but I was confident he would rise to the challenge quickly enough. The truce would give him a little time.
Kudret wrote the letter for me, waiting patiently as I tried to sip a little water or diluted ale and then heaved it back into the bucket again.
“Trust Kudret’s instincts, especially when he seems too aggressive or too willing to risk his men. Question him and make him think, but don’t fetter him too much. Don’t give him too many men; he works best with ten or twenty. He and Eneko are a good team, stronger when they work together, but both will need your confidence and support.”
He smiled a little as he wrote it.
The letter took me two days, not because it was especially long but because it was so difficult to focus my thoughts into coherent, useful advice. But at last I finished, and Kyosti made a copy of it. The original went to Kepa, of course, and I would carry the copy with me for Hakan on my journey back to Stonehaven. I should have dictated a letter to Hakan about the Tarvil, but I wanted to speak to him myself. Somehow, in my mental fog, it didn’t occur to me that if I died on the journey, as I fully expected to, that Hakan would not receive the analysis of the Tarvil that I wished to give him. I suppose I knew, even then, that he didn’t need me, but I had the irrational desire to die with my face set toward my king.
Kudret accompanied me with a small escort. We left the fourth day after my meeting with Otso, and Eneko bid me farewell as if he did not expect to see me alive again. I stopped at Fort Kuzeyler only long enough for one of the healers there to change the bandages on my shoulder. It was no longer quite so inflamed, though it hadn’t really healed. The infection was deeper and the weakness had worsened. Kepa treated me with grave and solemn courtesy, and when he bid me farewell it was with an air of finality.
The journey south was slow. Kudret seemed to have appointed himself my personal assistant, and though I would have protested at any other time, I was grateful for his help then. During the summer, the journey would have taken about two weeks with good weather, but in the dead of winter it was easily a three-week trek, provided there were no serious obstacles.
The snow was thick around the horses’ hooves. The wind blew it into our faces and made it difficult to see the road. For the most part, we huddled within our cloaks, little islands of humanity in the great northern forest. It was too windy to talk most of the time. I don’t remember much of the journey, though I do remember that it seemed eternally long, a never-ending ride in wind that cut through our cloaks and whipped away the pathetic warmth of our bodies. I couldn’t keep track of the days, but later I heard that it took us a little over a month, slowed by both the weather and my weakness. Sometimes I found myself dozing as we rode, my horse simply following the one in front. I shivered for days, which hurt my shoulder terribly, but finally my body gave up, and I sat a cold still mass atop my horse, only half-aware of those around me.
Once I woke face down in the snow. Hands helped me up a moment later, and someone handed me a cloth. I didn’t know why until I saw blood dripping into the snow; my nose was bleeding from the fall. After that, Kudret rode close by my side, and more than once caught me by the shoulder as I slumped to the side and nearly fell again.
The men set up the tents each night, only three, for we slept huddled together for warmth, each body between two others. The men on the end suffered the cold in silence, and they rotated the duty because whoever slept on the end most likely didn’t sleep much.
I slept on the end. I wanted no sleeping man’s elbow or movement anywhere near my wounded shoulder. Rather, I tried to sleep. I dozed, and probably got more rest than I had in weeks, but I could feel the fever fading in and out, the pain ever present. The men threw thick heavy blankets over the horses; the cold was brutal for them too. One unfortunate horse, a different one every night, went without. Kudret put the horse blanket around my shoulders the second night as I sat by the fire. I don’t normally enjoy luxuries that the rest of the men cannot, but I had neither the strength nor the inclination to argue.
We were over half way to Stonehaven, the wind much abated and the snow drifts much smaller, when Kudret spoke to me one night as I sat huddled morosely near the fire. He brought me dinner, a thick stew and a bit of old bread. The warmth was more welcome than the food; the pain made anything difficult to stomach.
“Sir. We can camp here a few days.” He sat by me.
“Why?” The stew was good, and I suspected that he’d picked out a few extra pieces of meat for my bowl.
He shrugged slightly. “To rest. The message can wait a little.”
“We would get to Stonehaven in nine or ten days then.”
“Yes, sir.” He glanced at me with a sudden plea in his eyes. “You must rest.”
I stared at the fire. I was weary to my bones, long past the end of my strength. I no longer wished fo
r warmth, to hold Hakan and Kveta’s child, barely even for Riona.
I wished only to lie down and not move. I would watch the snow flutter past, stick to my eyelashes and glint like diamonds.
I would close my eyes. My breath could slow and stop. Peace.
But I had to speak with Hakan about the Tarvil. There was hope for them, for us, with a shrewdly made treaty. There was hope for the women they had taken and hope for a peace along the border. They needed it, and we could give it to them. We needed it almost as much as they did. Though the raids cost Erdem little, Hakan’s legitimacy would suffer if he could not protect his people.
Someone else could negotiate the details; Hakan was more than competent to set out the parameters without my voice. But I wanted to convey the need, the potential, myself. Later, I realized this was only the reason I used to push myself on, not reality. Hakan did not need me, and Eneko rose to the challenge of leadership in my absence quite capably.
I shook my head. “I may not have that long.”
He sighed and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. “Sir, you know the king will blame us for your death?” He glanced at me sideways.
I smiled then. “That’s a low blow. The king will blame no one but me.”
Because I was in command, we did continue, though they were none too pleased about it. The weather warmed suddenly as we approached Stonehaven. The capital is at a lower elevation and it was the beginning of a beautiful spring. It was still chilly, of course, but there were no more snow flurries, though I did see some forlorn patches of old snow in the shade. I was always cold, and even when the rest of the men threw back their hoods to enjoy the brilliant sun I dozed under my hood. In the afternoons, the sun warmed my face and gave me a tentative hope.
I wondered if I would see Riona, whether she would smile at me. I dreamed of that, her smile, her beautiful eyes. I felt more apprehensive that I would see her as we drew closer to Stonehaven. Waking, I expected her disappointment, not knowingly cruel, for she was never that, but disappointment that would cut me more deeply than any intentional unkindness.
Yet in my dreams she smiled, and I was more often in dreams than in reality when we approached the gates of Stonehaven. With some effort, I managed to sit straight and proud as we rode in, and I hoped it wasn’t obvious how much it cost me.
That first day, I pretended, out of pride, that I was stronger than I was, and Hakan pretended, out of compassion, that he believed me. We spoke first of the changes I had made, not the treaty. Hakan asked perceptive questions about Kepa’s leadership and lack thereof, and I tried to answer as best I could. Sitting close by the fire, I could almost believe I might live after all. We ate lunch and dinner together, mostly in a companionable silence. He didn’t push me to speak much, and I didn’t then appreciate his courtesy or kindness. He saw more than I realized of my exhaustion.
I didn’t realize how bad I must have looked until I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Go get a hot bath and some sleep.”
I’d fallen asleep, or half asleep, my head against the back of the chair. I’d been staring dazedly into the fire, flames dancing, and then, then what? A dream of battle, blood-soaked snow, groans of dying men.
“Right.” When I stood, the room spun and everything faded.
Hakan caught my sleeve. I remember stumbling down the hallway to my room. Hakan himself escorted me and ordered a manservant to draw the water for my bath once we arrived. At the time, I was so dazed that I didn’t appreciate his concern, but he spoke quietly with the man before he left. I didn’t want him to see the wound, so I waited until he’d gone before undressing.
Getting the bandage off was a challenge. After a minute, the servant helped me with quiet fingers and I nodded my thanks. He grimaced at the wound but helped me into the bath without comment. I nearly screamed when the water touched the wound. It felt like fire, and I clutched at my shoulder gasping and shaking with the pain. It bled a little and let out some pus, but after some time it adjusted to the hot water, which pleased me because the rest of my body soaked up the warmth desperately.
I was too tired to really wash, and in any case, the thought of soap entering the wound was more than a little unpleasant. I fell asleep in the water, my head drooping forward until the servant woke me.
I didn’t rebandage it, and when the servant asked me if I wanted help, I shook my head. It wasn’t worth the trouble. All I wanted was rest.
Clean, dry, and warm, I slept a little, but soon enough the pain woke me. I no longer paced at night when the pain wouldn’t let me sleep; I didn’t have the strength. I stared at the ceiling for several hours and thought about what else I wanted to tell Hakan. It was hard to concentrate, but I’d turned over the questions so many times in my mind that I was reasonably sure I wouldn’t miss anything important.
Eventually I got up and sat at the little table looking out at the darkened courtyard. I fell asleep for a while, waking with an ache in my neck that was almost a welcome distraction from the more familiar agony of my shoulder. I stretched my legs gently because I was badly out of shape. Not that it mattered anymore, but it relaxed me a little.
I met Hakan at his office at dawn. There was no point in pretending I was sleeping. He was grim, more upset than I realized; I was locked in my own small world of pain and fatigue. I spoke to him of the Tarvil, and I was astonished to hear what almost sounded like a defense of them when I said the words aloud. I didn’t mean it to sound that way, and I condemned the kidnappings of the border women without any excuse. But I wanted him to understand the barbarians.
When you fight, there is an intimate understanding of your opponent. Most of all, you understand his fear. You smell his fear and taste it, hear it like a thrumming in the air, and you know him in a way no one else ever can. It’s tragic that this understanding so often comes just before death, but in a way it’s also glorious, a meeting of souls. It’s a kind of love, a love that destroys, but love nonetheless. Hate can never produce the same deep understanding.
The Tarvil were Hakan’s opponent. I knew them, better than he did or any of his other advisors anyway, and I wanted to tell him everything he needed to know to defeat them. Not to annihilate them; that wasn’t necessary. He could make them no longer a threat, strengthen the border and protect his people. By protecting his people, he would solidify his own reign. Of course, he understood things about them that I didn’t know, and those things too he would take into account when designing the treaty.
He heard me out, even taking notes on what I said. The scratching of his pen on the parchment was soothing, and I found myself staring into the fire for long minutes as I thought. I sat close by the fire, soaking in the warmth. Hakan fed the fire throughout the morning, though he kept his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
I dozed once, waking with a sudden painful jerk when the door opened. Riona brought our lunch, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at her face. I was ashamed. I felt like a coward, and I wondered if, in addition to failing her, I had also been unforgivably selfish in my flight north.
Maybe it looked that way, but I don’t think I was, for I had no expectation she would be hurt by it. Certainly my departure would have caused her no heartache. My heart was lost far more irrevocably than our time together justified, but I’d had no expectation she would feel the same. I thanked her quietly, wishing I had the courage to meet her eyes. I looked after her when she left. Even the way she walks is beautiful, graceful.
It was after lunch that Hakan and I argued. The manservant who helped me the night before with my bath had reported to him about my wound. It was this that had so upset him and made him grim and unsmiling all morning, though he was more than kind.
It began innocently enough.
Hakan said, “Kemen, I would speak to you of another matter.”
I nodded.
“I want Saraid to look at your shoulder. Forgive me, I should have had her do it immediately. I didn’t know how badly
it was paining you.”
I shrugged. “To no purpose. There is nothing she can do.”
“Do you wish to die?” His jaw was tight.
“I don’t much care.”
“Are you so unhappy?”
“Does it matter? I’ve done my duty. I have nothing left for you, Hakan.” It grieves me now to remember the bitterness in my voice. It wasn’t fair; I had served him in honor and love, not with bitterness.
“I need you. Erdem needs you. You do not have the right to pursue death this way.” His voice was low and angry. Later I realized he had deliberately changed tactics. He wasn’t asking anything of me, but he knew me well enough to understand that duty had a stronger call than hope, at least at that moment.
If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have reacted better. I was blinded by my own frustration and fatigue, and too irrational to recognize his concern.
“You, of all people, ought to thank me! You would have no peace on the northern border if I didn’t go. Kepa couldn’t do it. He’s a good man but a bad commander. The men needed someone they could trust. Who else could lead them now? Who else could have brought you a treaty with the Tarvil?”
“I’m not questioning the value of what you have done!” His voice rose. “I am requesting, nay, ordering if necessary, that you take more care in how you pursue Erdem’s interests. You do not have the right to die for one boy, regardless of your own feelings about it. You do more good for Erdem in command than on the field.”
“Would you tell me the same if you were on the field? Should I have stood back, the better to command, when you fought Taisto? Or do you deserve life more than Yori did?”
He turned away then. Now it shocks me to realize how unfair I was, but I can plead only my exhaustion. It is no real excuse, but it is the only one I have.
“He was your age, Hakan! Eighteen! He died with four arrows in his chest. Should I have left him to die alone? How many more volunteers would you have then? Even in this I serve you, and you don’t see it.” I was so angry I could barely breathe. I tried to catch my breath, calm myself, but I was too tired to see clearly, much less rein in my grief.