“I should have heeded your counsel.” Zhan Tin-Tsu smoothed the wrinkles of the map with his open palms. “What more can we do now? Can we move troops from more eastern strongholds?”
Rhog-Kan took a breath to pause before speaking, surprised that Zhan Tin-Tsu admitted to error and curious how far he might now be pushed from his previous stance of abeyance.
“If we shift our troops from their defensive positions in the strongholds along the Old Boarder Road to the east, we risk inviting further incursions from the Tanshen in that region, my zhan.” Rhog-Kan stepped forward and drew a finger across the area of the map, indicating the northern territories of the Daeshen Dominion. “We can call no more men-at-arms from the tahns in the north. They have already sent all the men they can south and for far more years than expected. We can, however, call a draft of able-bodied men to form new militias, and leave them in the north where they may continue to work the farms and tend their duties in the cities, but bed down in company and train together. This will send a signal to the usurper of the south that we stand ready to escalate the war should they not retreat after their inevitable defeat north of the border.”
Zhan Tin-Tsu sighed and looked from the map out the window to the shadow-drenched palace gardens. Rhog-Kan wondered if the guileless man would ever realize the depth of his error in leaving the castles along the border empty enough to invite attack by the Tanshen armies to the south. Would it ever dawn on him that the men-at-arms from those castles now stationed at strongholds farther north could have dissuaded this military incursion they now needed to rectify? The soldiers had been stationed two days’ march from the border as part of a truce negotiated with the Tanshen army a year prior. A truce whose terms had ended months ago. Rhog-Kan doubted such thoughts would ever cross the man’s feeble mind. No doubt Kao-Rhee understood the reasons for their current quandary and the necessary remedies. It sounded as such when he spoke.
“Might I suggest, my zhan, that if you do call a draft, that you hold off until after the royal wedding?” Kao-Rhee smiled as he stepped closer to the table to once more stand beside Rhog-Kan. “The people will be more open to serving their nation after a great festivity, which will allow you to call a greater range of men into service.”
Kao-Rhee understood the needs of the situation exactly. Would the man-child-priest grasp things so quickly, or would he need to be dragged to the conclusion like all other matters placed before him?
“Should the wedding be postponed?” Zhan Tin-Tsu asked.
“I think not, Your Ascendancy,” Kao-Rhee replied. “It would display a lack of confidence in our forces’ inevitable victory.”
“Yes. A militia draft announced after the wedding, then.” Zhan Tin-Tsu looked back from the gardens. “Draw up the papers that I may sign them. I assume this will require an increase in taxes to pay for the new militias?”
“Unless you wish to borrow more money from the banks of Punderra, Your Ascendancy.” Kao-Rhee indicated through his tone which alternative he found preferable.
Rhog-Kan agreed with the prime councilor. The nation already carried too great a debt to the Punderra usurers. The tax would be a strain, but Kao-Rhee would spread it around to bear less weight in one place.
“Let it be so. Show me the papers when you have finished with them. Is there more, gentlemen?” Zhan Tin-Tsu looked between his prime tigan and his prime councilor.
“No, Your Ascendancy.” Rhog-Kan wondered if the man rushed them out to get back to his prayers. They could use prayers, but they more urgently needed a zhan who made his fortune rather than relying on divine intervention for salvation. This thought brought his mind back to the events of the coronation. If Zhan Tin-Tsu could call down divine assistance, why did he not request it for the resumption of the whole Shen nation and the end to the indeterminable war?
“I will bring you the papers when they are ready, my zhan.” Kao-Rhee bowed and made to leave. Rhog-Kan mimicked him, but Zhan Tin-Tsu raised a hand.
“Tigan Rhog-Kan, remain for a moment.” Zhan Tin-Tsu nodded to a curious Kao-Rhee as the man closed the door to the study.
“My zhan?” Rhog-Kan arched an eyebrow in curiosity. What could Zhan Tin-Tsu want of him alone?
“We have, both of us, been reticent to take necessary action, Tigan.” Zhan Tin-Tsu stood and walked to the open window, beckoning Rhog-Kan to join him.
Rhog-Kan followed the younger man to the window, saying nothing, knowing it best to hear the zhan’s complaint before making comment on it. What action had he not taken? Could the feckless man-child have seen some tactical advantage that escaped his own greatly experienced eyes? He nearly laughed aloud at the idea.
“It is sometimes difficult to admit the things we must do.” Zhan Tin-Tsu held his hands behind his back as he looked out at the herons standing in the shallows of the garden pond, illuminated by lanterns set along the path. “Often it is because what we must do goes against our training and our natural inclinations. I had hoped that sending signals of restraint would be seen as potential openings toward peace rather than as weakness to be exploited. I misjudged the situation, and now men will die to rectify my errors.”
Zhan Tin-Tsu fell silent as they watched the long-limbed birds standing motionless in the still pond, the light of the torches casting elongated shadows over the water — a nocturnal version of an ancient Shen landscape painting come to life. Rhog-Kan wondered at the man’s words. Could this zhan be turned from stubborn ignorance and educated in the ways of the state and of war? Did Rhog-Kan need to proceed with the plan he had set in motion after the failure of his first endeavor before the coronation?
“Other times, we avoid action because of uncertainty. Uncertainty in our minds or our hearts.” Zhan Tin-Tsu turned from the window to stare at Rhog-Kan. “My sister informed me some time ago of the nature of your relationship with her and of your intentions. Now either you hesitate to ask for her hand in marriage because your mind tells you this would be improper, or that it would distract from my own marriage, or you evade action because your heart does not allow you to move against its true desires. Which is it to be? Do you wish to wed my sister or not? Do you follow your head or your heart?”
Rhog-Kan swallowed, resisting the twin urges to either step away or slap the man before him, the heat in his face feeling hot enough to light the room. Dju-Tesha had spoken to her brother. When? What had she said? She had been distant from him of late. Not in words, but in deeds. Where she once seduced him at the faintest opportunity of solitude together, she now merely held his hands. And while she had once spoken of marriage and repeatedly intoned her desire for him to approach her family with the official request, she had not broached the subject in some time. If she spoke with her brother, it likely occurred before her recent reticence. What must she think of him, having secured her brother’s blessing in advance while he sat silent and inactive before her like a common stable boy lacking confidence in asking for the hand of a farmer’s daughter? Moreover, what must Zhan Tin-Tsu think of him? Did the former priest consider him indecisive? Had he guessed at the more carnal nature of his relations with the man’s sister? Did he suspect unromantic intentions behind the overtures toward the only other heir to the ascendancy? What could he say to explain himself? Why had he failed to ask for Dju-Tesha’s hand? Why did he procrastinate?
“My zhan…” Rhog-Kan realized he had begun to speak before knowing what to say. “…I love your sister and wish to make her my wife.”
“We are both prompted to action this day, and for our betterment.” Zhan Tin-Tsu smiled. “I would be honored to count you among my family, Tigan.”
“Thank you, my zhan.” Rhog-Kan found his head unexpectedly light. He had avoided the entanglement of remarriage after his wife’s death, and now he begged a man he hated to allow him to be engaged. The senseless irony of existence in the world numbed him.
“I grant my blessing to you on two conditions.” Zhan Tin-Tsu’s smile dimmed a little.
Rhog-Kan blinke
d at the notion of conditions. The suggestion surprised him.
“What conditions, my zhan?”
“Firstly, you must never mention to my sister that I broached this subject with you rather than the other way around. It will not go well with either of us if she suspects that.” Zhan Tin-Tsu’s smile brightened again. “Secondly, with your wedding, you must think of me as your brother. You have no siblings, and I have lost a brother. It is good to have family bonds. Those you can depend upon. Those you can trust beyond doubt when others might turn against you.”
Rhog-Kan held the swallow in his throat. How could the man not see his dislike for him? How could he not sense the lack of respect between them? How could Zhan Tin-Tsu wish to be brothers? He experienced a slight pang of guilt mixed with a sense of pity for the hapless former priest. But he would take this new opportunity and use it to serve his ends, and serve the nation, as best he could.
“I would consider it a great honor to think of you as a brother, my zhan.”
Rhog-Kan found he believed these words, even as he knew he would, if necessary, take his new brother’s life to assure the future of the dominion.
To continue reading the Throne story arena follow this link.
THE CARNIVAL
SHIFHUUL
FLETCHING FEATHERS hummed in the still night air, the black shaft sailing through darkness to find its mark, a soft, distant thud telling of its success. A second arrow departed string and bow a moment later, another quiet crack indicating its accuracy. Shifhuul watched the two human militia guards in the field fall to the ground, arrows sprouting like branches from their heads. Tarak’s marksmanship exceeded his assertions. While Yeth likely held claim to being the superior archer, her feeble night vision rendered her useless for the task. Shifhuul identified the human males easily enough in the dark, but his bow simply did not have the draw necessary to strike with sufficient force at such distance.
“Quickly.” Tarak motioned to those assembled atop the wall as he tossed one of two long ropes over the edge of the parapet.
Yeth threw the second rope over the wall as Shifhuul slung his strung bow over his back and began to shimmy down the first. Two humans followed him. Men from the carnival. He should have known their names, but did not remember them. One had been standing on the wall when Tarak came up with his strategy. The second had volunteered when the roagg later explained the idea to Leotin and the others. A risky idea, but necessary given the circumstances. The besieged occupants of the castle worked tirelessly to enact Shifhuul’s plan to barricade the gate, but the task required more hours and more hands than were available.
Shifhuul’s feet touched the ground, and he stepped away to make room for the humans sliding down the rope behind him. He looked over to see Tarak and Yeth descending the second rope. He marveled at the dexterity of their controlled falls. While the ease with which the yutan rappelled along the wall did not surprise him, he had not expected the roagg to be so nimble.
As the humans touched down, they each ran in opposite directions along the base of the wall to take up the positions of the dead militiamen. They would be the decoys, impostor militia guards to deflect suspicion from the dead men’s comrades. Tarak dropped the last two paces from the ground, the rocky earth vibrating with the impact of his massive boots. The outlanders ran across the tall grass north of the castle and into the field of corn. Tarak crouched low, leading the way, the stalks separating before him — a green sea parting before a rolling boulder.
Shifhuul let his larger companions clear the path. They headed straight north for several hundred paces, then turned westward, curving toward the nearby forest. They wanted to avoid all possibility of detection by the real militia guards, especially if any hid out of sight. Shifhuul thought the precaution unnecessary. The humans possessed woefully poor night vision for a supposedly higher people. Nocturnal by nature, the wyrin saw perfectly well in the shadowed dark of night. For this reason, he took the lead as they silently marched into the woods, the yutan behind him and the roagg at the rear.
He padded quietly through the vegetation, sliding between trees and under low-hanging branches. He noted that Yeth made little to no noise in his wake, but that Tarak could not avoid rubbing against closely set trunks. The roagg lived among mountains, not forests. Shifhuul thanked the spirits of his ancestors for keeping the roagg’s boots from breaking any twigs.
It did not take long for the outlander scouts to reach the town and the encampment where the militia worked by the light of two bonfires to fashion the battering ram for their assault on the castle gate. Shifhuul and his companions snuck from the forest and through a shadowed garden to crouch down beside a brick house with a thatched roof. They spread out, each moving to their assigned task, taking cover behind separate houses.
Tarak disappeared around a barn as Yeth crept beneath the edge of a stone fence, carrying a canvas pack in her hands as she worked her way closer to the staging area of the battering ram. Shifhuul took up a position behind a house near the open street where the humans worked. He quietly unslung his bow from his back and drew an arrow from the quiver, nocking the shaft on the string. He peeked around the side of the house, squinting his eyes to better conceal them, knowing they reflected like jewels in the firelight, easy to spot in the shadows.
He counted the men as he waited for the signal, noting their locations and estimating the time it would take the closest of them to reach his position. Fifteen human males worked to fashion a battering ram from the fallen logs strapped across three wagons. The commander of the militia moved among them, giving orders. A small group of seven men clustered near one of the fires, talking and drinking. Earlier in the day, from the top of the wall, he had calculated that there were at least fifty militiamen in the town. A few would watch the castle, but he suspected the remainder rested in the townspeople’s houses, catching some sleep before the expected slaughter. He wondered how many of them had the pilgrim dreams. To speak of it would mark them for death at the hands of their comrades.
He felt thankful he did not have the dreams, did not possess the human sickness. He knew the roagg did. He heard the creature mumbling in his slumber. He could not tell if the yutan did. Her reserved nature made reading her moods and intentions difficult. He placed the thoughts of the dreams aside and drew the arrow back to his cheek, aiming at nothing in the sky. While he could easily hold the draw for a minute or more without loss of accuracy from muscle fatigue, he doubted he would need to wait that long.
A cry rose from one of the houses on the main street. A man fell through the doorway of the building, clutching his back. Tarak burst through the door a second later to roar in the middle of the street before dashing behind another house. As the militiamen near the partially constructed battering ram spun their heads toward the commotion, Shifhuul swung from behind the wall of the hut where he hid, took careful aim, and loosed his arrow.
The shaft struck true, a stalk of feathered wood erupting from the militia commander’s bloody eye. Shifhuul nocked and released another arrow before the commander fell dead to the ground. His second shot found home in the throat of a human just reaching for his sword. The man’s hands clutched instead at his neck.
The remaining men yelled and charged down the road as he slipped behind the house and ran through the small vegetable garden to the next dwelling. He heard the crash and crack of clay on wood and knew Yeth had begun her portion of the plan. Her idea to throw clay jars of lamp oil at the militia had been revised to target the battering ram instead.
Shifhuul jumped to the top of a stone wall beside a brick house, running along the narrow surface to leap up and clamber atop the thatched roof of the home. The humans below would be looking for him. Standing atop the roof of the house, he nocked another arrow and took aim at a man running, sword drawn, toward where Tarak battled two militiamen. He released the arrow and drew another, noting as he searched for a new target the motion of the first man falling to the ground. He let fly three more arrows, brin
ging two certain deaths and a wound that would claim its owner by morning. A human called out and pointed to the roof.
Shifhuul took this as his signal to find new ground. He slid down the side of the roof, rolling as he struck the ground, holding a hand out to keep his sword from jamming into the soil. He leapt to his feet and raced to a nearby barn. He saw the street easily, hiding only twenty paces from the rear of the battering ram. He heard no more shattering clay and knew Yeth must have exhausted her supply. The plan had been for her to set the logs of the battering ram ablaze with The Sight, once doused with oil. She had claimed not to be strong enough to burn the ram with The Sight alone. The sound of clashing steel told him why she had not yet lit the oil-soaked wood.
He slid from behind the barn and released an arrow, taking down one of the three men Yeth fought near the battering ram. She held the sword of a fallen militiaman in her hand, using it as best she could. Deadly with a spear or bow, the yutan had little understanding of how to use a sword effectively. Only her size and speed kept her from losing ground. Tarak roared again from down the street as Shifhuul reached back to draw another arrow. Why did she not use The Sight to defend herself?
His hand never made contact with the arrow shaft, his instincts overriding his desired motion in reaction to the shadow on the wood-planked wall beside him. Shifhuul ducked and rolled as a militiaman’s sword bit into the side of the barn. The man screamed in shock at the sight of him. Shifhuul bared his teeth and drew his own curved blade.
The man yanked his sword free of the wall, but Shifhuul rolled beneath the swing of the long, heavy blade, coming up well within the reach of the human, thrusting his own sword into the man’s chest. The man’s eyes went wide as blood gurgled from his mouth and his legs collapsed beneath him. The man fell forward onto Shifhuul, who tried to roll and push the human while extracting the blade from his chest.
The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 53