by Bell, Hilari
“It’s not over for him,” said the tactimian quietly. “It can’t be until he stops grieving for the men he lost. For him it may never be over, though fighting would ease his heart for a time.”
Jiaan remembered that this man, too, was a commander.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said shortly. He wouldn’t discuss Fasal’s grief with their enemy. Privately, though, he agreed with the man’s assessment—the sooner he gave Fasal a chance to fight the better. Jiaan cut the rope that bound the Hrum to the post, then drew him to his feet. “I’ll post a guard for you,” he added. The man’s expression was still composed, but beneath Jiaan’s hand his muscles quivered with the shock of relief. “Men I’m sure of,” Jiaan continued. “This won’t happen again.”
“I thank you,” said the Hrum officer.
“Don’t bother,” said Jiaan. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know,” said Tactimian Patrius. His face was still pale and stiff, but his eyes were full of curiosity—and dawning respect.
CHAPTER NINE
SORAYA
CITIZENS OF MAZAD,” said Governor Nehar, in a voice that carried for blocks without sounding like a shout. “You have fought long and courageously for your city, and never failed it. You have proved worthy of the highest honor any man might receive, and I honor you!”
He paused, clearly expecting a burst of applause. But except for his own household, and a handful of guardsmen who stood at the front of the crowd, most people greeted his announcement with something that sounded more like a mutter of suspicion.
The lady Mitra had offered Soraya a place on the balcony, from which the governor spoke to the mob that filled the square on the south side of the manor and spread into the narrow streets beyond. It was one of the highest honors the lady could offer, and Soraya felt more guilty than ever as she declined. “I’m not a member of your family, Lady Mitra, for all your kindness. It’s your place, and your daughters’, to stand beside him today.”
Despite the cold that seeped from the cobbles through the soles of her shoes, Soraya preferred the place where she now stood, among the upper servants and the loyal guardsmen. She hoped her own silence wasn’t too obvious—she thought it would pass unnoticed, for in truth, even the stewards’ cheers were halfhearted. The grooms, cooks, and maids who stood in the next rank back were almost as subdued as the citizens. Only the guardsmen cheered with enthusiasm.
“But for all your courage, my citizens,” Nehar went on, sorrow somehow tingeing that booming voice, “the land outside our walls has fallen. Yes, we might hold out for a full year and more—but what then? Our gahn is dead, and his child heir is the Hrum’s prisoner, as are all the natural rulers of Farsala except for my own family, standing before you. We have dedicated our lives to fulfilling the ancient bargain—to your protection!”
He allowed less time for applause now, which was just as well, since even his own guardsmen could only summon tepid cheers. Governor Nehar had never gone near the walls, so it was pretty cursed clear who was protecting whom.
Even little Armina seemed to understand that much. Her expression grew more sulky—and she had been sulking all morning, ever since her father had told her that he had no choice but to negotiate with the “wicked Hrum,” and that she could stand beside him and support him like a true deghass or spend the next month confined to her room! So there Armina stood, but her expression and posture made her own views on the matter clear to anyone who looked at the child.
Mitra and Nayani, in contrast, displayed the distant, queenly dignity that Sudaba had tried so hard to instill in Soraya. If Nayani knew what her father had planned, she was too shrewd to reveal it to Soraya, and in more than a week of eavesdropping, all Soraya had heard Nehar tell his wife was that his “purchasing” was going well.
“My citizens,” said Nehar, “I fear that the time has come for Mazad to acknowledge the reality that exists outside our own stout walls, so well defended by your stout hearts. It is time to negotiate with the Hrum.”
The reality that existed outside the Walls was that the rest of Farsala was rebelling as hard as they dared. They were depending on Mazad to hold out—and the townsmen knew it.
Soraya struggled to keep the contempt out of her expression. She might feel bad about betraying Mitra and Nayani, but Nehar deserved it.
The governor raised both hands to quell the rising babble of protest.
“It distresses me as much as it does you,” he cried. “More than you, for mine is a deghan’s heart! But I didn’t say surrender; I said negotiate! I intend to demand—demand!—the return of our gahn’s heir, and all of our people, in exchange for allowing the Hrum to move their armies through Farsala.”
Which was a lie. Soraya knew that the Hrum only negotiated such terms with independent, allied realms—never with those they had conquered. And as for Nehar’s “deghan’s heart” …
The governors of strategically important cities such as Mazad had been exempt from the imperial summons that brought all the deghans in Farsala to the Sendar Wall. But most of the governors had left a deputy to rule their cities and joined her father anyway.
“I will not betray you, my citizens!” Nehar shouted. “I will never betray Mazad. I will negotiate our lives and freedom out of the Hrum’s iron fist, or I will die trying! My own family will remain within these walls to govern and defend you. And if I fail, if the Hrum seize me as hostage, then I bid you, fight on! Fight on even if they slay me, for in the end it is your courage on which my success depends!”
Which made no sense whatsoever, since he couldn’t succeed if he were dead—but it sounded good as long as you didn’t actually think about it. Soraya’s lip curled in a sneer that Sudaba would have approved. There was no chance of the governor seeing it, for he had chosen to end his speech on that lofty note, and left the balcony swiftly, perhaps hoping that if he did so the crowd’s silence wouldn’t be too obvious.
If she’d been in their shoes, Soraya thought, she’d have cheered when he talked about the Hrum slaying him! Contemptible traitor. And without the peddler’s excuse, either. Soraya sighed. She had nothing to report, but maybe she ought to report that? It was the best excuse she had to approach Master Tebin and Commander Siddas—to discover what was going to happen, and perhaps, somehow, find a way to help. Some other way, for as a spy she had failed.
She told one of the maids that if the lady Mitra asked for her, she had gone to the Suud, to explain the situation and reassure them of their safety. But she doubted that Mitra would notice her absence. The governor had left his wife in charge, not only of the city but of his own plans, whatever they were. The poor woman was so tense, Soraya thought she’d snap like an overstressed bowstring if anything went wrong
She’d been forced to choose between her husband and her honor. A year ago, Soraya would have despised her for the decision she’d made. Now …
She sighed and set out for Tebin’s smithy. Like Lady Mitra, she had made her choice.
The citizens of Mazad, judging by their comments as Soraya walked through the crowded streets, did not consider themselves to be Nehar’s citizens.
“We’ve fought and worked and bled, and that soft bastard’s going to give it all away!” proclaimed a furious man in a cobbler’s apron, who seemed to be trying to rally his own crowd. He had no more success with that than Nehar had had with his speech, which didn’t surprise Soraya. The terms of that ancient bargain—peasants to serve and farm; deghans to rule and fight—were deeply ingrained in the Farsalan soul. All Farsalan souls, deghan and peasant alike. Except for the peddler, who in his anger had broken that ancient bond.
No, she couldn’t forgive him. But she was beginning to understand.
It was that understanding, when Tebin’s servant woman ushered her into the small, warm kitchen where Tebin and Commander Siddas sat with the treacherous peddler, that let her step forward in silence and take a seat. Though she sat as far from him as the table allowed.
“Are you certai
n you saw no rams, lad?” Siddas asked. “Just the ladder’s you mentioned, and no more?”
“Yes,” said the peddler. “Though they might have had rams in some other part of the camp, or concealed in a tent—or even being constructed elsewhere, ready to ship in like they did with the towers. But the soldiers I talked to didn’t think they were planning on using rams either.”
Thunder rumbled, heralding the rain, and Soraya shifted uneasily on the hard bench. But as long as she was indoors when they started, she’d found that the winter’s milder storms seemed to ignore her—Azura be thanked!
“Maybe,” said Siddas, turning his tea mug in slow circles. “A ram is a simple thing, not like those towers. It’s just a big log with handles attached. There aren’t any large trees in the immediate vicinity, but there are some that would do within a day’s march. If the Hrum wanted a ram, they’d have it, so they’re not planning to ram. But how do they intend to get through the walls, then?”
It was clear that he didn’t expect an answer.
“You went into the Hrum camp?” Soraya asked the peddler, impressed despite the fact that she knew he’d done it before—he was marked as one of their own, after all.
“Yes, but I learned no more than you did,” the peddler replied. “Well, a bit more. It seems our Garren’s in a tight spot. I’ll tell you about that later. You’ll enjoy it.”
“He did fine,” said Siddas. “And I’ve to thank you for adding to our knowledge as well, Lady. But I’ve already received both your reports. I just came today to find out when the next batch of those new swords would be ready, and thought I’d see if I could pry a few more details out of Kavi here. Are you certain, lad, that all the Hrum carpenters were working on scaling ladders, and nothing else?”
“I saw nothing but ladders,” said the peddler patiently.
Soraya turned to Master Tebin. “Batches of swords?”
“Batches,” he confirmed. His expression remained serious, but a spark of delighted pride lit his eyes. “We finally figured out the trick of ‘making everything swim the right way,’ as the sorcerer here puts it. You have to cool the center of the blade slowly and let the edges cool faster. Mind that’s easier said than done, and I’d give a year off my life to know how the Hrum smiths do it, but having learned that, we’ve got every smithy in the city making watersteel swords now. The Suud lads are wandering from shop to shop, giving the blades a final touch of Speaking as they cool.”
“They’ve armed most of my guards,” said Siddas. “And we even smuggled a load to young Jiaan and his army. The next time the Hrum throw their ladders up the walls, our swords will match theirs. But they’ve tried coming over our walls before, and even when our swords couldn’t hold up we beat them off. I can’t believe their only plan is to try the same thing again.”
The front door banged open. Tebin’s brows rose, and his servant went to see who it was. If Tebin, even assisted by all the smiths in this metal-working city, had armed the whole guard with new swords, then Soraya understood why both he and the peddler had dark circles under their eyes.
“When did you find time to go to the Hrum camp?” she asked.
“Almost a week ago,” said the peddler. “Under the circumstances, I’m surprised it’s taken Nehar this long to make his move. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything, anything at all, no matter how trivial it—”
He was interrupted by the entrance of two young men in the black and green tabards of the Mazad guard—tabards that were bordered with the gold insignia of the governors household. Soraya shrank instinctively, though she had a perfectly good excuse to be here. Unless, of course, the lady Mitra thought to ask a few questions and discovered that there wasn’t a Suud tribesman in sight. Soraya was groping for some way to distract them from this awkward fact when Siddas spoke.
“Ah, the last of my spies. Commander Jiaan loaned them to me, for which I owe him a great deal more than I expected at the time! Lady Soraya, Kavi, have you met Markhan and Kaluud?”
“Yes,” said Soraya. “In passing.” They were part of the governors staff—of his loyal guards! They were spying for Siddas?
“No,” said the peddler, looking at black deghan hair and young deghan faces suspiciously. “No, we haven’t met.”
“Then meet them now,” said Siddas. “Markhan, Kaluud, Kavi is another of my spies. He’s the one who brought back that last report from the Hrum camp.”
And why did that make them look at the peddler with such startled respect?
“A pleasure,” said the one Soraya thought was Markhan, though in truth she’d paid them as little attention as they’d paid her. “But we probably don’t have time for that, Commander. After the governor rode out for the Hrum camp, Commander Birzan—finally!—told all the squadron commanders about the governors plan.”
Soraya’s heart leaped and began to pound.
“So we’d be prepared,” Kaluud added bitterly, “and not carousing in a tavern when the time comes. That’s what most of them do. Well, you know, sir.”
“I do,” said Siddas gently. “And I know how hard it’s been for the two of you to listen to my men sneering at you. I honor you for it, and they will too, once they know the truth.”
They both looked grateful, and proud, as well. Soraya suddenly remembered that Kaluud and Markhan had once been among her father’s aides. Clearly they had transferred their loyalty to this lowborn man. But Siddas was worthy of their loyalty, Soraya knew, just as her father had been—and they had proved worthy of his training. Pride in her heritage, a pride that Nehar’s treachery had tarnished, glowed more brightly. These were real deghans.
The peddler frowned, but at least he was listening. He should, for they’d succeeded where he had failed!
“Well,” said Markhan awkwardly. “Anyway, the governor plans to negotiate with the Hrum for three days. He’ll say he’s negotiating for the city, but what he’s really negotiating is a position of wealth and rank for himself. On the morning of the third day he’s going to send a message that the negotiations have gone well, and that he wants his wife and daughters to ‘honor the Hrum with their presence’ at a state dinner to celebrate their success.”
“Remembering the limitations of Hrum army cooks, I hope the lady isn’t expecting dove hearts in saffron,” Soraya murmured. The peddler’s lips twitched. Kaluud shot her a repressive look.
“When the lady Mitra and her daughters ride out,” Markhan continued, “the Hrum will send an ‘honor guard’ to meet them—a big honor guard. Commander Birzan says they’ll carry scaling ladders, disguised, though I don’t know how they’ll do that. They’ll get as close to our walls as they can, salute the lady and her daughters as they pass through their ranks, then turn and charge, hoping to take us by surprise.”
Siddas was frowning. “That’s not much of a plan.”
“That’s not all of it,” said Kaluud. “Birzan is going to arrange for the governor’s guard to be assigned to the gate at the time.”
“He’s not in charge of assigning units,” Markhan added, watching Siddas stiffen, “but he knows the commander who is, and there’s no reason for him to object if the guardsmen wish to see their governor’s lady and his daughters safely out. It will look suspicious if he refuses. They’re going to wait till the battle is well started and everyone’s attention is fixed on their opponents—then they’ll open the gates. The Hrum who are nearby will be ready for it, and they’ll rush in and hold the gates until the centris the Hrum have been holding in reserve can charge across the open area and into the city. After that, their whole army will be able to come through.”
Sorayas heart chilled at the thought—Hrum soldiers sweeping through the cobbled streets, slaying any who tried to fight. All the people of Mazad had resisted their conquest. The Hrum would take every man, woman, and child into slavery … including her Suud friends. Thunder cracked and Soraya flinched, then willed herself to calm, shutting off her prickling awareness of the storm.
“But what Comman
der Birzan and Governor Nehar don’t know,” said Markhan, “is that Kaluud and I have been talking to some of the other guardsmen—very quietly.”
“You could tell who wasn’t happy with the way the governor was handling the defenses,” Kaluud added, “though they couldn’t complain—all the squadron commanders are loyal to the governor. Markhan and I were careful to approach the guardsmen slowly, but a lot of them have come over to our side.”
Markhan nodded. “Almost a third of the men Nehar thinks are loyal to him are actually loyal to Farsala. Nehar never pays any attention to his inferiors, so Kaluud and I were able to gain their trust. They’ve pledged themselves to our—to your command, sir. When that morning dawns we will hold the gate, for Mazad and for Farsala!”
His voice rang with deghan steel and deghan pride, and Soraya’s eyes blurred. The peddler, she noted, looked sour. Well, let him! It was deghans, true deghans, who had discovered Nehar’s plans—and would thwart them too!
“Your loyalty,” said Commander Siddas, “and that of your followers, is a fine, rare gift, and I accept it with pleasure. But you say that only a third of the governor’s guard will side with us?”
Kaluud and Markhan exchanged glances. “Not quite a third,” Kaluud admitted. “But almost.”
“We can’t be sure how many of us will be assigned to the gate, either,” added Markhan. “Kaluud and I will be there, because we’ve pretended to be the governor’s men from the start. But the others … we approached those men because we could see they weren’t pleased with Nehar’s attitude, and I’m afraid Commander Birzan noticed them too. He has to assign some of our people to the gate, or he might not have enough men to open it and hold it till the Hrum get there. I think he’s betting they’ll obey their officers, since they won’t have time to think. But few as we may be, our swords are yours to command, and we will die to a man before we fail you.”
This is honor. Soraya’s heart swelled. But still …