“One of the strings broke,” she said as he came close. “Among musicians, there is a belief that when a string breaks, it means there is a hidden listener. Were you listening below, my lord?”
“I was not able to. Lord Vaina became quite animated when describing his strategy for the coming battle, and amid his excited words, the sound of your timbal is that of a dandelion seed blown by the spring breeze.”
“An interesting metaphor, my lord,” Miri said tranquilly. “The accomplished timbal players have another belief: that when they play a piece of music, a good listener will understand what they are thinking of. I am not very accomplished, but will you try to guess my thoughts from my music?”
Sandun sat down in front of her. “I will.”
As Miri played her song, the boat gently rocked in the river’s current. A small oil lamp illuminated her elegant dress and her fingers as she plucked the strings. When she bent over the instrument, half of her face was hidden in shadow. As the piece progressed, Sandun watched Miri stretching her body over the flat harp in a sensuous performance, her arms and upper body in dance-like motions, swaying over the strings. He thought about music, notes in a pattern, pleasing to the ear and the mind. As he listened, he also heard the other noises in the night, the croaking of the frogs in the reeds by the shore, the sound of hidden cicadas counting out the short hours of their lives.
What is she thinking? Sandun wondered. Is she happy? Sad? Indifferent? Homesick? He could not tell. What was her music saying? He had little clue. He had to admit to himself that he had been distant with her since the journey up the river, in fact since they had married. In his heart he blamed Miri for her reserve, always comparing her to Ashala. It was unfair; she was a different woman; his expectations were unreasonable. Here she was trying to reach out to him, and he hadn’t even told her about his encounter with Ghost Wolf. Yet now was not the time; later he would show her the golden dragon-circle, resting in his money pouch with the glowing orbs.
She stopped playing and sat there, waiting. He looked at her hands and then her face; she looked back at him, faintly smiling.
“You were thinking about water,” he said, making his wild guess with confidence.
Her face lit up, and she said, “Verily! The tune is called ‘Sailing to Sorabol.’ Just as we are sailing to the old capital of the Water Kingdom.” She leaned over and brushed her hand through his hair, an intimate gesture that she had never made before.
“Will you try again?” Sandun held her hand briefly and kissed it.
She played a new tune while Sandun lay down on the carpet covering the decking and looked up at the night sky. Smoke from the many campfires had turned the air hazy. Even the Fairy Wanderer in the sky was dim and distant. The notes of Miri’s timbal drifted into the evening like little curls of incense, sweet but ephemeral.
“And this time?” she said to him softly.
“I cannot tell you. My thoughts are formless, like the void, but the music was as beautiful as you.”
Miri smiled again and gently touched the strings. “You may have guessed my thoughts more deeply than the tune itself. Perhaps the void was on my mind, though I was thinking about the beach and docks of Pomoz. You need sleep now. Who knows when we shall sleep again?”
They went down to their little cabin together.
In the morning, Sandun and Renieth followed Lord Vaina as he rode up and down beside his marching troops. The lord of Tokolas’s energy was unflagging, and his enthusiasm was contagious. In every one of his battalions, he talked to at least one man, asking him about his home and about the food. Lord Vaina seemed to know everyone or at least knew every town. Sandun noticed that he said more or less the same thing to each unit. Each time, he explained that they were sticking close to the river, like a hedgehog or a porcupine heading to its burrow, unstoppable. Over and over he told his men that they were going to rescue their comrades in Kemeklos and then return home. He always closed with, “Nilin Ulim and his ragtag, makeshift army can’t halt us. We have secret weapons of the Water Kingdom on the ships. The Fire Sword is with is, and the Keltens are with us—warriors from a warrior nation that has never been beaten by the Kitran are with us. We will not be defeated!”
By the end of the day, Lord Vaina had spent time with twenty different battalions, almost all of the men under his direct command. Sandun knew the current strength of the Red Crane Army of Kunhalvar: General Erdis leading the vanguard with 1,800 men. General Modi in command of the rear guard of 2,100 men. Lord Vaina in the center with 2,700 men. Kun the Younger with 1,100 cavalry.
Sandun took his leave of Lord Vaina and went to have dinner with the Keltens, taking Miri with him. A light rain started, becoming heavier by the hour. Wind blew in gusts that rocked the boat. Sandun had seen the sky growing dark but hadn’t thought rain at all likely. On board the Dragon of Mur, the Keltens all commented on the rain. In the summer months, steady rain in Kelten was almost unheard of. However, the Serice warriors acted as though the downpour was completely normal. The soldiers on guard duty put on conical hats two feet wide and wrapped their weapons in oilskins. It seemed that in Serica, showers in the ninth month were as common as the sun rising.
After their dinner, the Keltens sat under a sail turned into a canopy and compared the Kunhalvar army with the army of Kelten.
“Our army could use more men like Renieth,” Sandun told the others. “With his attention to detail, his prodigious memory, his ceaseless activity, things would go much smoother. Though I must admit, my knowledge is drawn from King Pandion’s rebellion, and I daresay no man would call that army well organized.” Padan and Sir Ako both nodded in agreement. “Any way you look at it, the logistics here are impressive.”
“You read the signs rightly,” Sir Ako replied. “I’m not impressed by the ordinary Serice footmen; even the cavalryman are not warriors to inspire much fear. But the supplies, the wealth of food and hay…by the Spear, they are not relying on food found along the way!” Sir Ako said this as though it was as improbable as rain making things dry.
“Every time I’ve been on the march,” Padan added, “we relied on forage or buying from the yeomen farmers with the king’s script. Though few were happy to take the king’s promise for their cows or pigs.”
“What I’ve noticed,” Sandun said slowly as the thought came to his mind in pieces, “is that so many men in the army can read. Not only are there hundreds of scribes like Renieth who can read and write as fast as a man can talk, but thousands of ordinary men can read and perhaps write a bit as well. Messages, orders, requisitions—all these can be sent rapidly across the land, and people read these documents and respond.”
“Having a thing written is better by far than having an order repeated by word of mouth three or four times,” Farrel said.
“Remember the fat?” Padan began grinning like a dog expecting a beef steak. “Sir Ako, you were so wroth, I thought you could have spat fire at the wagoner.”
Sir Ako leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Oh, would that I could have.” He looked at Sandun and recounted the story. “We had run out of feathers for the fletching of arrows. When you run out of fletching, you soon run out of arrows. I dispatched an urgent message by word, as no paper was about. But the messenger? A fleet-footed lad from the hills of Chrysilofos.”
Sandun smiled as he guessed how this story would turn out. Everyone knew the folk of Chrysilofos spoke a strangely distorted Kelten, as though they grew up with pebbles in their mouths.
“A week goes by, and arrows are indeed in short supply, but what rolls into camp? A wagon with five buckets of tallow! Instead of feathers, they sent fat! The wagon master I sent on his way with oaths for payment. Who was it that rode off, posthaste, and brought back the feathers?”
“Twas Olef,” Damar stated.
“Aye, so it was. She could ride like the Black Terror was on her heels when need arose,” r
eplied Sir Ako. “But how is it that so many men know their letters here in Serica?”
At this, Miri spoke up. “You are talking of reading and writing, yes?”
Sandun nodded; he was surprised she’d understood that much of the conversation.
“In Serica, as in Shila, there are schools. I was taught that the Water Kingdom made intense efforts to educate the people and, as a result, every town had a school, some more than one. We have an expression: In Serica, every man can read the king’s edicts.”
“That can’t be true!” Sandun said with amazement.
“The Water Kingdom was conquered many years ago and, so you say rightly, it is not that way any longer. However, in my country, most men can read and write,” Miri said, choosing her words carefully. “Of course, slaves are not taught. But, yes, most men and many women know their letters. The Water Kingdom was an inspiration to us in this, as in other things.”
Sandun explained what Miri had said to Keltens who didn’t understand Serice. They all went quiet as they considered her words.
Lathe spoke up. “I think what Lady Miri says is true. Every small town around where I was born had an old building called ‘the school.’ Usually they were just for storing grain, but in a few places, the farmers joined together and hired a man to teach all the children using the school building. I was taught at home by a traveling scholar my father hired; this was in the years before my master took me as his student. Teacher Boethy—I mean Valo Peli—once told me the schools were were built by the Water Kingdom, but I assumed they were only built in the provinces closest to the capital city.”
“I wish we had more schools in Kelten,” said Padan. “I didn’t learn my letters, and as I got older, I wished I had. Sheets of paper are being posted with printed writing even in small towns near the border. I keep meaning to set my mind to learning, but it’s hard when you’re no longer a youth.”
“And harder still when your mind has been addled by a hundred barrels of beer,” said Farrel, slapping Padan on the back.
“Aye, though beer has addled the wits of finer men than myself,” the man said with a smile.
“Thank you, my lady,” said Sir Ako to Miri. “You have solved a mystery that has been puzzling us since we first came to Serica seven months ago.”
“Welcome,” she replied, using the Kelten word, and then she smiled and hid her mouth behind her hand.
The rain was a light mist the following day, and a thick fog settled over the river valley. Lord Vaina again rode up and down his army with a small escort and Sandun and Valo Peli by his side.
“This is fine weather for the army,” Lord Vaina said expansively. “If the fog were to stay with us, we could reach the very walls of Kemeklos before anyone knew our army was on the doorstep. But it won’t last. The local farmers guess the fog will vanish before tomorrow morning.”
Throughout the day, enemies were reported to the north, east, and west. Small fights occurred when cavalry detachments encountered one another. A few prisoners were captured; they were interrogated and then sent downriver to Jupelos.
It was undeniable that Nilin’s army was near, somewhere in the forests and low hills that lay between them and Kemeklos. Now that the Kitran knew where the Red Crane Army of Kunhalvar was located, no attempts at deception were made. For the previous two days, Lord Vaina had rejected all suggestions from his civilian advisors about splitting up the army, moving away from the river, or redeploying to the west side of the river. Politely but firmly, they were all vetoed.
“I want my men to know what is going to happen,” Lord Vaina said, over and over. “The river and the battleships are on their left. The enemy is ahead of them or on their right. Every day the same. Every night they camp, and a lines of stakes is driven into the ground, pointing away from the river. No surprises, no changes. We are driving forward like a spear carried by eight thousand men. Can the enemy stop us? They know where we are; let them try. It shows confidence. It shows I have no fear of the Kitran. No tricks are needed. Remember, we win this battle by not losing.”
Lord Vaina’s officials went away disappointed. Lord Vaina had their elaborate plans thrown into the fire after they left his cabin.
In the afternoon, Valo Peli told Lord Vaina, “I believe this is the right approach. We are rescuing a beleaguered city. We don’t need to fight a battle to win the campaign.”
Lord Vaina smiled at him and said, “Now you are going to tell me this is just like another campaign conducted by a general I’ve never heard of during the time before the Fire Kingdom.”
Valo Peli laughed. “You know me too well, Governor. It is as you say. But, instead of recounting the story for you, I think I’ll go and check on my weapons stored on each ship. My bones tell me they will be used tomorrow.”
In the evening, Lord Vaina held a big ceremony for his officers. Roughly seven hundred men were assembled beside his flagship, Heaven’s Lightning. Lord Vaina went around to each of the tables. Sandun was convinced that Lord Vaina knew every officer’s name. He seemed very much at ease with his officers. Most of the senior officers were men he had known for ten years, from their days in the Red Prophet’s band of peasant warriors.
After dinner, Lord Vaina stood before them all and gave a speech.
“You all know that the Water Kingdom’s laws held that soldiers were of the lowest class. That a soldier’s word counted for nothing in the courts and before the magistrates. That even generals were treated with contempt, held in prison for years on trumped-up charges or executed—like General Frostel because he was too successful.
“I say to you, I swear this oath to heaven right now: those days are finished. Ended. Gone forever. Soldiers defend this land at the risk of their lives, and I swear that they will no longer be looked down upon like actors or thieves. From now on, officers in the army of Kunhalvar will be elevated and accorded the same status as scholars. From this day forward, only military courts, with military men as judges, will punish officers and soldiers. Further, I promise you that the only people I will appoint to the Ministry of War, from this day forward, are men who have spent at least three years in the army. No more flimsy arrows, no more swords that shatter when you land a solid blow! The Ministry of War will only buy weapons worthy of your hands and armor that defends your lives!
“Now, we all know that it takes months for water to flow the down the length of the Great Mur to reach the sea. In the same way, it will take time to fix things. But when you lead your men against Nilin’s soldiers in the coming days, remember this: you are fighting for the future. After this battle, you and your soldiers will be respected throughout Kunhalvar. Your names will be written in the histories, and your sons and daughters will be sought after by matchmakers.
“You must go back to your soldiers and convince them that victory is possible. That Kunhalvar is worth fighting for. But that’s not all. Think on this, and let the dream fill your spirit with fire. This is but the first step on a path that, if heaven approves, will see you honored not just in Kunhalvar, not just in Zelkat, but in Vasvar, Kisvar, Dombovar, Monavar, Anenohad, Torsihad, Godalo, Sakhat, and Buuk! Win here and, one day, all of Serica will acknowledge you as the finest army in our country’s history.
“Serica once had mighty warriors, heroes who conquered all the lands between the Tiralas and the Great Sea. Shila, Rakeved, and Murkathaz—their kings bowed before us, recognized our nation as the most powerful. The blood of heroes flows in your veins. Your hearts pump the blood of your ancestors. What they did, you can do as well! The land that nurtured the heroes of yore is unchanged. The tree may have been cut down, but its seedlings grow the same.
“King Banatar the Glorious led armies of Serice warriors and crushed all the Sogand tribes underfoot. What was done before can be done again. You are—you will be—the greatest soldiers in Serica’s long history, but first you must fight. You must fight as hard as you ever have before.
“What are you going to tell your men? We are going to hold the line. That’s it. Hold the line. Say it with me: hold the line!
“We will hold the line when the Kitran come. We will hold the line when they pretend to run away. We will hold the line when they come back. That’s all we have to do. Hold the line. What are you going to go back and tell your men? Hold the line! That’s right. Tell your men.”
In his mind, Sandun could not help but compare Lord Vaina’s speech to the speech Pandion had given before the battle of Agnefeld. They were so very different. Pandion had invoked Sho’Ash and the law and justice with every other sentence. Pandion had listed the crimes King Oniktes had committed and stated, with absolute certainty, that he was the divine agent and that, as king, he would bring justice and righteousness back to the land. Sandun and his friends in Pandion’s army believed everything that he said. Pandion’s appeal made perfect sense to them at the time and subsequently, when they had won, it was obvious to everyone that the will of Sho’Ash had been made manifest.
But Lord Vaina made hardly any reference to religion in his speech. He made no reference to Eston, or the Mavana, or any god. He mentioned heaven once or twice but no more. It was a speech that would not have convinced many Keltens, yet the Serice officers and generals responded loudly and with real emotion. Some of the older generals were in tears at the end.
As with so many things in Serica, the more Sandun learned, the less he understood. What did Lord Vaina believe, and why? Sandun was satisfied that Lord Vaina no longer believed in the Mavana, if he ever had. It was striking also that despite Lord Vaina’s years in the Yellow Dragon Monastery, he usually expressed contempt for the priests and monks who followed Eston. Although Lord Vaina clearly appreciated the virtues of his administrators who followed the teachings of the Great Sage, he also criticized them and blamed them for many problems in Serica—not least their shocking treatment of the warriors who defended the land. Sandun knew there were more than a few Kulkasen in Serica, but Lord Vaina never talked about them, and Sandun had learned little more than what Master Donath had told him two months past. The master of the Great Sage Temple had said Blue Frostel was a Kulkasen, but after spending some days with the man, Sandun couldn’t tell if Frostel followed any religion at all.
The Fire Sword Page 36