Rise of a Hero (The Farsala Trilogy)

by Bell, Hilari

  “I was planning to leave the others here,” Jiaan assured him. “And they’re true deghans, not like—” He stopped abruptly, and the commander smiled.

  “You think I don’t know that High Commander Merahb’s heir is a toddler? Though he’s not going to be inheriting much now. The Wheel’s turning with a vengeance these days. Nehar’s not the only one to fear where it might stop.”

  “It will stop here,” said Jiaan. “Because we’re going to stop it.”

  “Ah, but the Wheel never stops,” said the old commander. “It may turn fast, it may turn slow, but it’s always in motion.”

  Jiaan knew his peasant mother, had she survived the fever that had taken her when he was a child, would have said the same. Deghans blamed the workings of the djinn for all that went wrong, and struggled to defeat them, but peasants saw both good and ill as part of a natural cycle, to which man must adapt as best he could.

  “All right, maybe we can’t stop Time,” said Jiaan. “But at least I can leave you some deghans to prop up the governor.”

  “If he stands firm for just a few months, I’ll have the townsfolk behind me,” said Siddas. “Once I have that, we’ll be able to hold out even if a third of the guard folds.”

  “The townsfolk?” Jiaan remembered the grim, fearful faces in the crowd that morning. How they’d fought one another, just to get through the gates a bit sooner. “What have they to do with it?”

  “In a siege, it’s the townsfolk who count for most, in the end.” The commander’s lined face was suddenly sad. “They’re the ones who’ll put out the fires on the roofs and pull survivors out of smashed buildings when the Hrum bring up the catapults. They’ll cook for the soldiers and give them shelter that’s warm and dry. They’ll tighten their belts and take to the walls themselves, with clubs, if it comes down to that. They may not be warriors, but anyone can wrap a bandage, or push a ladder off the wall with a forked stick. Walls like Mazad’s can hold for years, if we can get supplies and the people have the heart for it. And I have plans for getting supplies.”

  “Umm,” said Jiaan.

  Siddas laughed. “Don’t look so dubious, Commander. Mazad’s walls are thick enough to last out the Flame for a few turns.”

  “Well, when I’ve got an army assembled, I’ll find a way to support you,” Jiaan promised. “Though if I’m not to know the route in, how can we communicate?”

  It was evidently the last question he’d needed to ask, for Commander Siddas smiled and rose, holding out his hand to grip Jiaan’s wrist. “I’ll have the man who takes you out show you a place where you can leave a written message. And don’t go lingering nearby once you’ve left it—it won’t be picked up till after you leave. Just mention where you can be found in your note, and I’ll send someone.”

  Jiaan frowned. “I’m not asking for details, but if you can come and go so freely, how can you be sure that the Hrum can’t come in the same way?”

  “We’ll be guarding it, for one thing. But it’s a secret long forgotten, even by most of the townsfolk. If the Hrum spies had learned of it they’d have used it themselves, and there’s been no sign of that.”

  Probably an escape tunnel, built by some long-past governor—or even by the gahn who’d ordered the walls’ construction. Jiaan had heard of such things, in ballads, at least.

  “All right.” He’d turned to go when another question occurred to him. “What did you do with the Hrum spies, anyway?”

  “Kicked them out the gate and told them not to come back.” Siddas smiled at Jiaan’s sagging jaw. “Why not? Now that we know how they’re marked, they’re easy to spot. Or are you thinking like Nehar, that I should have hanged them off the battlements? Or worse? They’re just men doing their jobs, when all’s said. Well, and one woman. Doing it bravely, too.”

  “But they’ll go straight back to the army and report! They’ll tell them everything!”

  “You think they haven’t told them everything about our defenses months ago? That cursed, clever bitch sent out reports in every shipment of goods.”

  “But . . . but they’re spies!”

  “So they are,” said Siddas. “And by most folks’ laws of war, I’d be entitled to kill them. But I’ve a hope that if I’m sparing them, then maybe the Hrum will show a bit of mercy to my spies if they catch them.” He laughed again at Jiaan’s expression. “Oh, come, lad. How do you think I found out how their spies are marked, except with spies of my own? Do you think your father never used spies?”

  “I know he did,” said Jiaan. “Though he didn’t talk about them much. But he told me once that they were the bravest men he knew.”

  “And so were the Hrum I turned loose,” Commander Siddas agreed. “At least, I hope you aren’t fool enough to think that our spies are brave heroes and theirs are all scum.”

  “No,” said Jiaan, rapidly changing the comment he’d been about to make. “I don’t think that.” After all, a loyal Hrum spy wasn’t the same as a Farsalan traitor.

  But the conversation lingered in Jiaan’s mind as he bid the commander farewell and returned to the governor’s house.

  He found the young deghans drinking a final cup of wine in Fasal’s room, and the talk stopped so abruptly when Jiaan entered that he knew they’d been talking about him. It made his tone more curt than it might have been when he told them they were to remain in the city.

  “You think we need you to tell us our duty?” Markhan asked.

  Kaluud snorted and reached for the wine without even bothering to speak. Fasal was scowling.

  Jiaan clung grimly to his temper. “I think it would be best if we all understand clearly what must be done. If the governor doesn’t stand fast—”

  “We understand,” said Markhan with exaggerated patience. The tone was rude, but his expression was serious, and Fasal nodded.

  It was probably the best Jiaan could expect, and all that he needed, so he nodded in turn and left them. But it was a long time before he slept.

  HE WAS AWAKENED BEFORE DAWN by a hand shaking his shoulder. “Forgive me, sir, but Commander Siddas thought you’d be wanting to see. The Hrum are coming.”

  The speaker was a kitchen boy, judging by his rough tunic—thin, grubby, and no older than twelve. His voice shook with the same combination of excitement and terror that flooded Jiaan’s veins.

  Jiaan summoned a reassuring smile. “I certainly do want to see. And so should you, lad! Mazad’s defeat of the Hrum will become history—you’ll be telling your grandchildren about it.”

  The boy’s expression brightened. Jiaan sent him off, and hurried into his clothes and his padded silk armor without stopping to wash.

  The sun hadn’t risen when he emerged from the governor’s house into the street, but the sky was gray with its approach.

  Word of the Hrum’s arrival was spreading. People poured out of their homes. Some wore only a nightshirt and cloak over their shoes, but all were hastening in the same direction. Jiaan followed.

  He wouldn’t have seen the stair that spiraled up to the top of the great wall without them, tucked as it was beneath the walkway’s shadow. Up on the wall, the cold wind tugging at his loose britches, he struggled through the press for almost a dozen yards before he could elbow through the gawking crowd to look out over the plains.

  It was lighter now, light enough to see a distant cloud of dust rising from the road.

  “Well, it’s not a cart train,” a man muttered. “Not traveling at this hour.”

  “Not even a huge shipment would raise that much dust,” another man agreed. “It’s an army, all right. It’s them.” His voice held the same excited fear as the boy’s, but there was a note of proud determination in it as well. His father would have tried to work with that pride.

  “Take a good look,” Jiaan told them clearly. “That’s what Mazad is going to beat!”

  There were grins on the faces around him when he left to search for Commander Siddas.

  Jiaan found the commander on the wall, not f
ar from the gates. Several men in the tabards of the town guard, with the lean alert look of message runners, lingered nearby, but at the moment the commander stood alone, watching the rising sun strike sparks on the Hrum’s helmets.

  “Where’s the governor?” Jiaan asked softly, coming up beside him.

  “Probably still dressing. I sent for him just before I sent for you.”

  “He’s dressing?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t do for him to show up all rumpled and unkempt-like, now would it?” His expression was sober, but his eyes, taking in Jiaan’s appearance, were alive with amusement. Jiaan wished he’d taken the time to comb his hair.

  “How many of them?” he asked, turning back to the approaching army. They were marching five abreast, and the dust obscured the end of their line. Dust . . . or distance? A chill brushed Jiaan’s heart.

  “Only two tacti,” said Siddas. “Two thousand men, and assorted officers.”

  “How do you . . . oh.”

  “Yes, spies again.”

  “Only two thousand? How many men do you have here, sir?”

  “Almost eight hundred guardsmen,” said the commander. “Within walls like this that’s plenty, but you’ll be understanding why I don’t want to deal with a split command.”

  “Yes,” said Jiaan. “But I know the three I’m leaving you. You can count on them to fight to the end.” You couldn’t count on them for brains, or even simple common sense, but for courage and honor they could be relied on. It wasn’t such a bad thing. Especially since Jiaan no longer had to deal with them.

  “At all events, it’s time you were going,” said Siddas, almost as if he was reading Jiaan’s mind. He gestured to one of the messengers.

  THE STREETS THROUGH WHICH the guardsman led Jiaan were so empty they echoed. He brought Jiaan to a wheelwright’s shop, in the north side of the city. The shop appeared to be empty, but the gate from the alley into the work yard opened when the guardsman pulled the latch string. The yard was full of workbenches, sawdust, and the clean scent of fresh-cut wood.

  “I’ll leave you here,” he said, pulling a large cotton square from his belt purse and flipping it expertly into a roll. It looked like the kind of cloth peasant women tied over their hair, but old and ragged. “I hope you don’t mind waiting blindfolded?”

  “Not at all,” said Jiaan, though he wasn’t sure it was true. “I see you’ve done this before.”

  The guard looked flattered. “Only once,” he admitted. “And I never take anyone past this point. I don’t know where the entrance is, but most of the guards don’t even know there’s a . . . way.”

  Which was sensible if Siddas wasn’t certain of their steadfastness.

  Jiaan turned his back and allowed the guard to tie the cloth over his eyes. He’d never been blindfolded before, except for childhood games. Now he realized that the indulgent adults who’d tied those blindfolds had deliberately left them loose enough for a child to see the ground at his feet. The tight-tied cloth pressed on his eyelids. When Jiaan opened them a crack—as wide as he could, without the cloth getting into his eyes—he saw nothing but darkness.

  “All right?” the guard asked.

  “I . . . Yes, it’s fine,” said Jiaan firmly.

  “Then I’ll leave you. You shouldn’t have to wait long,” he added kindly.

  Jiaan heard the yard gate open and close. He hadn’t noticed that it creaked when they came in.

  It was unexpectedly disconcerting, being sightless in a strange place. Even though Jiaan was certain Siddas would send only men who would help him, he found himself thinking about how vulnerable he was. Anyone could take him out with a single blow from a club, and Jiaan wouldn’t even know it was coming. No doubt that was why he’d been left in this enclosed space, so no ill-intentioned bypasser could take advantage of him.

  He thought about taking the blindfold off—or loosening it—but he knew that if he was caught doing so, the guides would take him no farther. So he kept his hands down, as the moments dragged by. He wondered what the Hrum were doing now. Had they reached the city yet?

  He was almost ready to start groping for a bench to sit on—why hadn’t he noted their location before the guard blindfolded him?—when he heard the gate creak again. He stiffened in alarm, even as a man’s voice said softly, “Ready to go, sir?”

  “Yes.” Jiaan knew he sounded curt, but it felt strange to talk to someone whose face he couldn’t see.

  The man tucked Jiaan’s hand through his elbow, as though he was blind in truth. The cloth of his sleeve was warm, and had been coarse, but it was now soft with wear and washing. He led Jiaan out through the gate, but instead of turning back toward the street, they headed farther down the alley. Jiaan tried to keep up with the man’s walking pace, but the stones were rougher than on the main streets. The man seemed to be leading him carefully, but Jiaan still stumbled several times.

  Carefully, but confusingly. After a score of turns, Jiaan became certain the man was walking him in circles—yet another precaution Jiaan approved of, though he couldn’t help but try to remember their route, to attempt to determine their direction in the rare moments when he could feel the sun on his face and hands.

  They walked for what felt like a very long time, but Jiaan guessed they were no more than a handful of streets from where they started when his guide came to a stop. “A moment, sir.”

  Metal clashed softly, and stone grated on stone. The sound echoed, and Jiaan frowned. They hadn’t entered a building—he could feel the breeze—but he also sensed some sort of enclosure. How was that—

  “Here’s the ladder, sir. Hold on here, and feel down with your foot.”

  Both the uprights and rungs of the ladder were made of iron, cold and rough. The draft that blew up past him was filled with the sound and scent of water. Not an escape passage, an aqueduct like they had in Setesafon, doubtless bringing water from the Sistan River. But how could such a thing be kept secret from anyone? The townsfolk must know where the water came from. Setesafon had bragged of its sewer system, but Jiaan had heard only of Mazad’s deep wells.

  He counted sixty steps down before his groping toe found a flat surface beneath it. He stepped onto the floor and moved to one side to let his guide descend, though he kept a good grip on the upright pole. He didn’t think this was just a ledge, surrounded by an even greater drop, but if he was wrong he didn’t want to find out the hard way. The sound of water wasn’t loud, but Jiaan had a feeling that a lot of it was running very near.

  “Right then,” said his guide. “You can be letting go, sir; we’re down. But keep your right hand to the wall. It’s a bit narrow.”

  A walkway, then, following the watercourse. At least here the guide couldn’t lead him in circles. They walked straight ahead, the slight uphill slope yet another confirmation of Jiaan’s surmise. What was the point of the blindfold, when all this could be deduced so easily? Jiaan hoped the entrance was well hidden.

  They traveled for what felt like a long distance before the guide stopped. “Last ladder. You’re almost there.” Was there a note of approval in his voice? Jiaan had almost become accustomed to not seeing his face.

  The trip up the ladder was shorter, only forty-three rungs. This time the guide went first, telling Jiaan to wait when they reached the top. Jiaan heard the mechanism grate and squeal—louder than the first. The warm air that wafted down smelled of dust, and of the small, leafy trees that dotted the hills around Mazad.

  Jiaan heard the guide start to climb again and needed no urging to follow him out, half crawling over a stone lip and onto the rocky, grassy soil. The sun was warm on his hair and shoulders, but when he reached for the blindfold, a hard hand gripped his wrist. “Not yet! Sir.”

  “All right.” Jiaan took the guide’s arm again, but he wanted to be done with this—to see, djinn take them!

  Perhaps it was only his impatience, but it seemed as if the guide led him in circles even longer this time, and the rocky, root-strewn ground was rough
going. He heard no sounds of battle, not even in the distance, though the Hrum must have reached the city by now. Was that smoke he smelled? Finally the guide came to a halt.

  “You’ve done well, sir. Put out your hands.”

  The rustling leaves had already told Jiaan he faced a tree. He reached out and touched rough bark.

  “Good. About two feet above your hands is a hollow. That’s where you can leave a message, if you’re wanting to contact Commander Siddas. Don’t—”

  “Don’t wait to see who picks it up, I know.” Jiaan was beginning to be impatient with Siddas’ security precautions. On the other hand, he couldn’t have found his way back to the aqueduct hatch he’d just emerged from, nor could he have described the entrance to it in the city, except for a guess that it was somewhere near the north or west wall. Perhaps Siddas’ precautions weren’t as inadequate as they’d seemed.

  “Right then.” Definite amusement in the man’s voice now. “I’ll ask you to wait for a slow count of thirty before you take off the blindfold. Then find the hollow, and make sure that you can find this place again. Once you’ve done that, go south. Your horses aren’t far.”

  “Thank you,” said Jiaan.

  “Thank you for behaving yourself. I’d have hated to . . . Well, never mind that now.”

  Listening to the retreating footsteps, the back of Jiaan’s neck prickled. Siddas had let Hrum spies go unharmed; surely he wouldn’t have ordered Jiaan’s execution, even if he had seen too much. No, not his execution, but Jiaan would probably have been dragged back to the city, and held until the siege ended.

  Jiaan abandoned the notion of cheating on the count, and even went to thirty-five before he yanked off the blindfold.

  The sun was too bright; it made his eyes water. The tree before him was larger than most, but other than that it was perfectly ordinary. The leaves were a bit dusty. It looked wonderful.