Fires of Aggar

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  “Hope for what?” Llinolae pressed. “For land to farm? I can give you that! For seeds? New water holes? New skills for forest farmsteading?”

  Camdora stood there, shaking her head despairing and incredulous. “You would give us that? With no questions, no concerns of what we would be doing to ourselves in accepting it? No! You’d be shredding our most fundamental foundations of self-respect. Charity earns debt, not independence!”

  “You’re wrong,” Llinolae countered, stepping near. The flushed brown of her skin deepened in it’s rich color as she shook her head with a grim scowl. “There you are so very wrong.”

  “Yet you do understand? Giving us land will not succeed.”

  “Taking it will do you no more good in this circumstance,” Llinolae warned. “The land that your militia tramples and burns won’t do you much better than the Plateau’s wastes; the militia destroy your folk’s livelihood before they even settle you.

  “Hear me, Clan Lead! Both our folk need this truce. Mine because yes, your militia has forced Khirlan to the negotiating table. And yours, because you’re right — you have run out of time!”

  “When there is nothing left to lose, the impossible suddenly becomes viable…,” Camdora stated with a dulled calm.

  “What?” Llinolae drew back with startled confusion.

  “It is the rally of a desperate people.” Camdora admitted. “It’s the cry of our militia.”

  “It’s suicidal.”

  Camdora moved a shoulder in a listless shrug.

  “And so everyone follows them? No one will dissent? None care for the waste and the pity — that this will only bring a new legacy of hopelessness — of no trade, no trust? If the Clan persists in following the militia’s insanity!”

  “Follow? Follow the militia?” Camdora scoffed at the idea, until outrage kindled again. “Farmers and crafters do not follow militia commanders, Min Llinolae.”

  No, Llinolae thought sadly. Brit had been right. The Clan folk weren’t ready to forge paths through simple talking.

  “I may be a Clan Lead,” grimaced Camdora. “And I want a better way for my folk… but once the Clan Leads listened carefully to a young woman of the militia. She was persuasive. She was impressive. Many of us found sense in what she could offer.” Eyes dull with regret lifted to Llinolae. “We were wrong. Or perhaps we were right, but we — like you — have grown less eager for the bartering in blood and lives. Perhaps my great-grandchildren might be able to answer that question — I no longer try.

  “She was placed as commander above the others, until…. We gave her so much desperation to feed upon. Popularity became omniscience, beliefs became dogma. Cooperation — sheer blind obedience! Now, she’s got the support and loyalty of the militia, strong with its weaponry, and it’s fanatics are among her elite. She is commander to this day and she will remain Clan commander. As for her orders…. Brutal times lead to brutal measures.”

  “Do only her elite carry fire weapons?”

  “Not quite,” Camdora’s smile held no humor. “Still, close enough. They’ve first choice of goods.”

  “Yet some of you are expecting this commander to begin using those weapons against your own?”

  “We don’t have to anticipate anything, Dracoon. She and hers have been quite willing to demonstrate whenever needed.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” Camdora paused and glanced about to include Gwyn as well. “Do either of you? Because — it’s not simply a matter of her anymore.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Gwyn interjected soberly. “The threat to the Clan’s survival is very real. She didn’t create that — she’s only capitalized on it.”

  “You do understand.” Camdora paused and then, “After so many generations, the Clan’s prowess and technology has declined, especially because of our isolation. Our farmers have harvested more dirt than crops. Our children know more of drought than metals. All our resources keep pouring into expanding territories. But it is not from greed! That’s only what your Council and kings will say.

  “Even today, most of our farmers have no sense of mutual dependency among crops and honeywood — nor among grazers and predators. So the land’s erosion has forced them to continually pick-up and move on to new plots. Yet as fast as they ready the new farmlands, they lose the old! And now they’re running out of plots. We’re all running out of land!

  “Yes, we’ve seen it coming. But we were — we are — afraid that if we reach out to the Council or Court they’ll disperse us across the two continents. We don’t want that. We don’t want to lose our sense of belonging, our sense of self — of heritage. We want to leave the Plateau, not each other!”

  “So this commander,” Llinolae spoke quietly, “she’s taken your hopeless and created heroes. She’s founded a dream for folk to cling onto — to escape into!”

  “And she’s monopolized our weapons power to prod our folk — to terrorize them — into overcoming any and all opposition.”

  “But if someone disposes of her,” Gwyn elaborated flatly, “she’ll become the Founding Martyr of a New Era.”

  “Yes!” Clan leader paused, then tipped her head in respect. She approved of the understanding she saw in the two women before her. “This leader of ours, she’s taken the cause and built a mystique.”

  A measured glance of agreement passed between Dracoon and Amazon, the faintest of nods prompting Gwyn to continue.

  “Tell me, Camdora,” the Amazon’s voice rang low with the challenge, “even if the woman and her terrorizing were to simply disappear, would the Clan Leads choose to press folk to different path? Or would you prefer to seek another fanatic to fill her place?”

  The Clan Lead assessed that question warily. Oaths and duty cautioned her. “I have always preferred a word to a blade. But sometimes — expediency is a necessity.”

  The woman hesitated again, clearly weighing the risks of her next words. Then a thought sealed her lips in a tight smile.

  “Aye — when you have nothing left to lose…,” Llinolae left the rest of that militia’s rally unsaid.

  Her grin widened as her dilemma resolved — Camdora met the Dracoon’s gaze again. “You implied the cost of this bloodshed has grown too high for you and Khirlan. Emotionally — ethically? There are many of the Clan outside the militia — and some of us who are enlisted as well — who’ve found our costs have grown too high.”

  “I’d not meant to imply you would or wouldn’t,” Llinolae allowed quickly. “I freely admit, we of Khirlan have had enough of death and pillage. I’d not presume to know you and your people so well that I’d assume anything.”

  Camdora acknowledged the reassurance politely with a nod. “The Clan Leads and folk are occasionally willing to entertain the possibility that expansionism may not be so very profitable.

  “However—” her words slowed in a grim, deliberate emphasis, “the militia is not. If you do truly seek to negotiate with words instead of blood, you will have to force the militia to the table. There will be no other way.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Brit glanced up as Sparrow came through the vine curtains into the waterfall’s canyon. Gwyn entered behind her. Llinolae gestured to the empty two chairs — the camp table had been brought in when Camdora had retired for the evening. The midnight moon had witnessed a weary Llinolae lose her first argument of the new day. Brit had flatly refused any discussion among the four of them until Llinolae had finished something more substantial than tidbits of bread and cheese. So Llinolae had dutifully obeyed, and as Gwyn encouraged her now with a quick smile… she realized the break had done both of them good.

  “We’re set,” Sparrow dropped lightly into the seat across from Brit. “Camdora and brother are bedded down. Ril’s still keeping her hidden watch over them, but I don’t think he’s going to be any trouble now that his sister — and patrol commander — is here.”

  Gwyn accepted a mug of cider from Llinolae, adding, “Ty’s having no problems of any sort with Camdor
a’s scouts either. Apparently, they’re veterans with faith in her judgment and some acquaintance with her orders, even if it’s ‘no questions, just do it.’ I think we can trust them to stay put for the full five days she’d ordered.”

  “Good, we’ll need the time.” Llinolae drew a deep breath and looked to each of them. “We knew that this venture, this attempt, has always held incredible risks and serious considerations.”

  “I know we’d all done a lot of thinking, before we set foot in Khirlan,” Sparrow returned. Her usual mischievous humor had vanished. Her somber demeanor underlined their acceptance of the commitment all of them had taken on from the beginning.

  Llinolae nodded briefly. These daughters of dey Sorormin were brave women. “Let me explain how I see things and then, I’ve a plan to propose.”

  At their general murmur of consent, she started. “Given my talk with Camdora, I think there’s more hope than was once seen… but it is a dangerous hope. And though our original tack when Camdora agreed to come was to spend the next several days in talking and exploring mutual needs, it’s clear at this point that the Clan Leads aren’t free to pursue negotiations, unless something is done about the Clan militia and their commander. Still, any solution we might try, must be beneficial for both Clan and Khirlan, or we’ll merely be fueling the fires for more trouble later. Although I admit, this makes a difficult task.” She glanced around as she sat back in her seat, steadying her nerves with a conscious effort. “Though the driving impetus for the Clan’s aggressions is survival, it’s clear the militia’s commander is a forceful catalyst. So this becomes the part that’s the hardest for me — perhaps for you, it’s the newest piece. I found it among the amarin webs the other afternoon and recognized it as a haunting piece of Palace treachery that’s been teasing me all my life, but…

  “I suspect,” she held Gwyn’s gaze openly and her voice gentled for a bare moment. “No — I know it was Gwyn’s strength that finally made it safe enough for me to face the implications of my mother’s assassination.”

  Surprise caused Sparrow a slight gasp, but she made no attempt to interrupt further.

  Llinolae went on. “For a great many seasons, I’ve Seen Taysa’s passions. There are immense depths of purpose and commitment which she draws upon to tackle her challenges. I’ve always drawn my own strength from within, from an absolute intensity of need. Father instilled it in me along with a sense of priority to aid and honor, to lead and protect our District folk. Taysa’s passions are not so compassionate. Only I hadn’t Seen that. Instead, I was blinded by our similarity of extremes. Recently however, even I’d begun to question her ambitions. Since Brit and Sparrow arrived, my assessment of Taysa has decidedly shifted. I’ve become better able to See and sort the pieces of Taysa’s political abuses, and I’d thought her betrayal and motives had become clear….”

  “Until your last mediations,” Brit pressed softly as Llinolae’s pause lengthened, “when you found even worse is true?”

  “Yes,” Llinolae responded crisply. Self-pity would have to wait, and duty returned the even resolve she required. She needed no more prompting. “Taysa is more than a traitor to Khirlan’s cause. It’s she who actually leads the Clan against us. She is the militia commander who decided the priority of the Clan should be to usurp Khirlan’s entire district. She is the one who enjoys the terror her power has come to wield, with her Swords and Scouts armed with fire weapons.

  “As for her reasons? Some of them I can piece together myself, without the Sight’s more explicit images.”

  “I’d be interested in hearing those,” Brit muttered, arms folding in a gruff matriarchal shrug of insult. She was suddenly taking this traitor’s doings as a very personal insult. Brit had come to think of Llinolae as her own adopted kin — like Gwyn. She didn’t like those who hurt her kin.

  “I believe,” continued Llinolae, “Taysa initially expected to use her relationship with my mother to gain Court confidence. Then she found an ambitious alliance with my uncle to be even more profitable. I suspect — no, the Forest amarin are too clear — I know Taysa eventually instigated the deaths of my uncle and, later, of my father.

  “Back in the beginning when she left the Clan’s settlements, she was one of an organized handful of Clan and Khirla courtiers who plotted to ruin Mha’del. However, as her power in Khirlan grew and her success in silencing blackmailers solidified her station — the problem of food and resources among the Clan was also worsening. Taysa became more and more pivotal to the Clan’s survival.

  “Eventually,” Llinolae concluded with a weary shake of her head, “she convinced the Clan they’d win the whole district, if they’d follow her campaign of pillage and politicking! She’s rallied them into a fanatical blind fervor. When she orders the fire weapons to silence even the Clan’s own dissidents, the folk accept that it’s done for the good of the cause — Taysa has bound the Clan’s desperation to a militia’s fanaticism. All who aren’t enlisted follow her rule because they literally have no other hope, and no other choice.”

  “Then it’s time to dethrone her little delusions,” Sparrow snapped bitterly. “The Prince’s troops from the northern campaigns would root her and her militia out. Their skill and sheer numbers would destroy her, despite the fire weapons — her cache of them in Khirla and Clantown have already been destroyed by us. But if we don’t strike before she gets more weaponry through the Unseen Wall, then she will become invincible!”

  “No, Sparrow, I’ve got to agree with Camdora.” Llinolae paused for only a moment, weighing all her thoughts one last time. “If we do what you say, we’d only make Taysa into a martyr and prejudice more of Aggar’s people against the Clan — which would force the Clan to be even more wary of Ramains and Council.”

  “Which would merely force them back into a desperate corner and return them to their pillage and plunder tactics.” Brit nodded. “It wouldn’t solve their economic and agricultural problems either. Wouldn’t solve anything.”

  “All right then,” Sparrow saw the sense in that. “Going to Churv for help won’t work. So what would?”

  “We do need to contact the Crowned Rule and ask that she send us the Prince with his troops. But it wouldn’t work for them to come and take on the Clan’s militia. Taysa’s Swords make the better target.”

  Brit put out a hand in puzzlement. “How is that different from targeting the Clan’s militia?”

  “There are three factors.” Llinolae counted them off on her fingers as she went. “First, Taysa and her Swords must be dealt with in Khirla. Her role as Steward and the Swords’ position of tyranny must be displaced. Second, Taysa and her power among the Clan’s own militia must also be eliminated. Throwing her out of my Palace isn’t enough, if she can come running back to the Clan’s militia and her stockpile of fire weapons. However, it would work if we drove her out, and the Clan’s militia weren’t ready to back her anymore; then she’d only have a renegade’s group behind her, armed with a small batch of fire weapons left over from Khirla.”

  “But we destroyed those!”

  Brit’s gentle touch stilled Sparrow, and she reminded her shadowmate, “There would have been individual pieces scattered among the Swords’ personal gear.”

  “But those weapons would be limited in number,” Gwyn interjected quietly. “And once their fuel cells were drained, Taysa would have no replacements to draw on.”

  “Precisely,” Llinolae nodded. “She and her renegades would probably refuse to ever compromise. But their numbers would be cut, their access to information from the Palace would be closed, and eventually I could contain them and there’d be peace again.”

  “That’s only,” Brit warned again, “if the Clan itself doesn’t decide to launch another young hot-head to scavenge land from your district.”

  “That’s the third piece to be considered. If Taysa’s power falls, then we have to be ready to offer the Clan Leads another path, and we’ll have to do it quickly, while the shock of the crisis can giv
e the Clan Leads the impetus they’ll need in order to sway the middle ranks of those militia left in Clantown.”

  “But the Clan folk need a treaty that addresses so much!” Sparrow protested, setting back in her chair. “Enough land for their community? Is that even viable? They’ve no gist of trade skills, Ramains or Desert Tribunal law — most of ’em don’t even speak Trade Tongue!”

  “Aye,” Llinolae was undaunted. “And if we truly want to take away Taysa’s power, our plans must account for the Clan soldiers as well. In any militia there are honorable fighters who only want what is best for their people. Yet after seasons of warfare, they have no other skills and they have pride in their strength as protectors. No one can expect all veterans to contentedly shed a sword and take a plow. Whatever truce the Clan Leads negotiate for, there must be contingencies for everyone. Remember, Taysa’s power was built on the Clan’s need to survive, and the border scouts such as Camdora joined her cause as soldiers because Taysa said a larger militia was necessary for the good of the Clan. ”

  “Could you see it? A treaty that gives both farmer and soldier a respected Clan place! I can just see Taysa sputtering objections as her veterans all leave her!” Sparrow gloated with a gleeful slap on the table. “She’ll be out there in the forests by herself! Just running around, all by her lonesome!”

  “Mae n’Pour! Sweet Sparrowhawk — you’ll be the death of me!” Brit roared half-rising from her chair. “Don’t these things get complicated enough without you flinging tangents every which way. Now sit down…”

  “So we can get on with it!” Finished Sparrow undauntedly. “Yes, I want to know too, Llinolae, how’re we to do all this?”

  “Aye.” Gwyn’s quiet voice cut gently through her Sisters’. Her copper-bright gaze turned to Llinolae, and her calm spoke only of a confidence in what Llinolae would propose. “What is your plan, Soroi? ”