Part 4

Civilized Warfare and Other Misnomers

           Plaster-grey light suffused through the walls of Yhedhasa Aurkoan's tent with the sharp cold of dawn. Her lieutenant was absent; her camp was quiet. She rolled over and pawed for the knife underneath her pallet, then came up to a crouch, her dingy morning robe spilling at each side. Aurkoan's noble sigil waved on her tent flaps; she brushed past it and stepped out onto the dewy ground. Early morning fog was everywhere. It hung thick and cool; it slunk over the tents and the ground, curled around her feet and clung to the grass.
           "Captain!"
           Young Raidi Yoichi, her lieutenant, jogged toward her from farther within the encampment. His face was caught in a penetrating but empty expression. "Sabotage, ma'am - nearly the whole detachment is deathly sick. I can't find ten men who aren't dry-nosed and weak-kneed." Yhedhasa scowled.
           "You're well. I'm well. I suppose that the night's sentinels are also?" Raidi's ears dropped. "Of course. They, like us, didn't dine with the others. Our favorite heretic must've spoiled the food or slipped them something another way. Bastard's cagier than I'd thought. You know he's not going to wait much longer."
           "No, Captain." He waited expectantly. So aristocratic; so youthfully exuberant; so obviously out of place in a soldier's world. If his last name had been anything else he would've been a footman.
           "Tally our forces. What do we have?"
           "Omitting ourselves, six are ready to fight, and as many could probably either ride as simple cavalry or shoot from on foot, though probably not both. The others: no good at all."
           "Then we won't waste the men. Lieutenant, why wasn't I woken hours ago?" Raidi shied back, his tail lashing.
           "Apologies, ma'am. I knew nothing until a few minutes ago, when I left for morning inspection. The sentinels weren't sick, so they didn't come to ask for replacements; the men all seemed to have thought that their ailment was specific to their partners and themselves. The doctor herself said that she thought she'd only had a bit much to eat - all of the symptoms arose while we slept."
           "I see. Well, we're going to have to move fast - he'll probably circle around and hit from the side, and he's probably already on his way. Tell the others to find their weapons and mah'sur; I want them up here, saddled and in line, now. Half our force is probably still enough, but we'll have to move quickly."
           "Mah'sur, ma'am? We're leaving?"
           "I don't want to fight in my own camp."
           "What about the others?"
           "Vauhya won't kill them if they're hapless and bedridden. Besides, if he's left, that leaves the village undefended. We can take hostages enough to trade our men for and raze the rest. No such guarantee in a straight fight."
           Raidi dipped his head.
           "Yes ma'am."
           Yhedhasa pulled her robe around her more tightly. Better to move while they still could - she did not have the heart to fight, because she had little desire for either of the possible outcomes. But there was duty - duty to the province and to her lord, but more importantly, to Raidi and her soldiers. It probably would've been distressing, had she not already been completely numb.
          

---v---

           The stable door creaked and two pairs of ears twitched. It swung open and young Skie stepped softly into their room. "They're awake and ready, milord," she said softly. Atra watched the entrance as she ground her whetstone down the edge of one of two long, curved carving knives, scraping the dullness out. Vauhya looked up from the bow in his lap; he had been whittling finger grips into a pile of the newly made weapons for about half an hour, passing the time as the villagers roused and assembled. He was simply dressed: cloak, breeches, his rapidly deteriorating shirt. Rallan had given him a tattered leather cuirass from some long-dead predecessor's army days, but it hadn't fit, so he'd given it to Atra. Made her look like a desert highwayman. He rumbled as he carved out the thumb groove on the last bow.
           "Good. We'll take these bows and pass them out to anyone who doesn't have one. I assume they've already rationed out the arrows?"
           "They have."
           "Then tell them to meet in the square."
           "They are already there, milord." Vauhya nodded.
           "Well, then we need to join them." He blew the wood dust out of the thumb groove and pocketed his knife, then stood, stretching out one last time. His quiver lay full next to Atra's; the two slung them on and checked each other a final time. Then Atra flicked an ear to Skie. The young woman bobbed her head and retreated; they gathered bows and followed in her morning shadow with anxious determination. The path passed under their feet, and then they were in the town square, in the dust, among the villagers.
           Vauhya couldn't help but sink a little as he saw them. Far from the fire in the Aurkoan woman's eyes, they were a moribund group. Some stood; most sat in the dirt, sketching idle patterns in the soil or staring at bare walls. The mist of the morning softened their edges; they were all in black, brown, and other drab cloth, and so with the fog they appeared as shades, echoes of men and women. He felt very little conviction himself, and less mirth at the prospect of battle, but set down his precious bow collection and strode to the center of the listless pack nonetheless. They stopped to listen.
           "I know that in keeping with good historical tradition I ought to give a speech, but I don't think we have time. I'm sure no one expected that we'd be moving so soon, and for that I'm sorry. The truth is that yesterday I realized that we weren't moving quickly enough to make each day we waited a day to our advantage. If we fight now, we'll have something like the element of surprise with us, and that's the only real advantage we ever had a hope of gaining - I think that if we'd waited further we'd have risked losing that single sure footing. So we go today.
           "I want you to know too that last night Atra and I took leave of the village to visit our local Yoichi detachment." There was some stiffening and bristling of fur at that. "It was my first and last attempt at talking their swords back into their scabbards. It didn't work. However, I did meet the captain who'll be leading the fight against us - she's competent, likely formidable - and while I was conversing Atra took the opportunity to poison their rations." Another round of surprised motions and gestures; he knew the news would encourage. "Now, we don't know if she did so in time, or even if the poison was satisfactorily prepared - we could see the Yoichi fielding six men or twenty, and regardless, the difficulty of this battle will put our commitment somewhere between heroic and suicidal. But it does give us hope. We don't lack courage - your mere presence attests to that. And we don't lack insight - this is our ground, and we know how they'll move because we know their leader. All they have are shinier blades and a bit more experience, and I'd put those former two against the latter any day. What we're asking of ourselves is not impossible; it's merely difficult. If we fight well, we may have our day.
           "Now then: I had you woken early because I didn't want them to move before we were ready. As soon as they realize what's happened, they'll expect an attack on their encampment. With no time to break down the tents and move the sick, their captain is going to take every fit soldier left and move on the village. She can't save her men, but if she can take the village she can bottle us into a standoff. So she'll charge in, probably right through here.
           "I want all the pikes set against the south-facing walls between buildings, where they won't be seen from a distance. Arrange them around the exits to this square here. They should know that our hospital is here, so this is where they'll come. Pikemen, stay with your weapons and out of sight; archers, either find buildings to hide in or set down in the fields; anyone who's not going to fight, help move some of the ill into other buildings, then stay there with them. Don't any of you clot in one building - if they start lighting roofs on fire I want everyone out alive. I want the lot of you to wait until they're in the street and I give the signal. We'll try to corral as many as we can and slaughter them while they're bunched together; anybody we miss is the responsibility of the archers in the field and the outlying buildings. Now divide up and move."
           Some looked proud; most were merely stoic. He thought it would be enough. Still, a certain resemblance gnawed at him. The peasants were too much like the group of old veterans he'd lounged with at palace hunting lodge; Atra was too much like the sher'amn who'd stayed at his side; Yhedhasa, though far more aristocratic and less directly ill-intentioned, was too much like his brother, and the force she held seemed to have too much of an advantage. Odd, then, that it had been he who had poisoned his opponent's forces. Vauhya wondered if any considerable battle had ever taken place on Yoichi soil without an underhanded prologue.
           Atra rested her head on his shoulder. Her ears sagged. "I don't feel good about this, Vauhya. I've never done anything like it."
           You'll be fine; I have faith in you."
           "You've never seen me fight."
           "I have faith in you." Atra snorted.
           "And what about the others? How do you know they won't scatter like frightened rodents?"
           "They won't," he promised. "They won't. They may be poorly trained, but they're also cornered. You never corner your enemy; with nowhere to run, she'll fight to the death. You don't fight on her land either; a soldier who's already been beaten back into her home won't leave a twig of strength for retreat. These are old Naman doctrines. The captain ignores them at her peril."
           "We'll see."
          

---v---

           Yhedhasa stopped at the edge of the basin's low, flat floor, just close enough to see the peasants moving through their village like tiny fish in the shallows. Rallan pulled his mah'sur astride her. "Look's like there're a few left, sir."
           "Of course there are; we'll deal with them. Probably get raises and fat commissions for bringing him in, too. As though I don't have enough to think about late at night."
           "Don't hesitate, sir. He's the one who wants to fight, not you. It's one thing to betray your clan's traditions; it's another to hunt your own family."
           "I won't hesitate," she growled, then spun her mah'sur around. "Hai! You see those half-starved vermin out there? They're the ones who did this to you. You want to argue about the morality of our actions, you're within your rights, but let's argue amidst the soot of their buildings and not under their axe blades. Their leader's a sly bastard - almost as sly a bastard as yours. He's going to take our camp, so our one chance is to take his in turn." She pulled up hard on her mah'sur's reins and as he bucked Yhedhasa held her lance up, letting the brilliant red-blue-gold flag of the Lord's Cavalry wrap around her forearm.
           "As soon as we're past those walls they'll scatter like dust in a mountain gale. Any of them that doesn't turn and run you cut down; any of them that do you catch and take hostage. That building in the center is where their sick are: we need that one. Try to save at least a few of the villagers - we'll need them to bargain back our brothers and sisters. But don't risk yourselves. All right?" Sharp, bitter nods. "Good. Move!"
          

---v---

          "Hear that?" Vauhya pressed against the hospital wall. His grip on his pike was biting into the wood of the shaft. Ural flicked an ear.
           "A lot of mah'sur coming this way."
           "Wait for them - wait until it's too late."
          

---v---

           Shouts went up and bodies scattered down streets and into houses. A whole flock of them surged down the main thoroughfare towards their giant granary like a herd of animals locked into a slaughterhouse. She toed her mah'sur in the side to urge it on. "Run them down!"
          

---v---

           The thunder became deafening. Ural stared at him intently, but he shook his head. War cries resounded - by the din it seemed there were a hundred of them. "Stay," Vauhya whispered. They could feel the pounding of the earth in their footpads. "Stay."
           A woman cried out with the wet tearing of carved meat and Ural bolted, but Vauhya stopped him with a hand. "Stay…" The sound grew louder. Grew louder quicker. Loud enough to bury them, and when the dust in the street swirled in anticipation of leviathan feet he threw himself out in the open. "Go!"
           He skidded out from the alley into an oncoming cavalry charge armed only with a flimsy bit of tree and belatedly thought better about it, but five men on mah'sur were bearing down on him already. It was too late for him; it was too late for them; they all knew it. He forced the butt of his pike down into the ground and leaned the tip way down to the lead mah'sur's breast. Then, in a miracle he was slow to recognize, the others swelled in around him, turning a lone point into a bristling wedge. Every mah'sur reared up even as they surged forward on the wings of their terrible momentum; just as the water recedes before a wave breaks, in that moment he saw through upraised beasts the rest of his men swarming the back, cutting off the exit.
           Caught between two buildings, with no room or time to turn away, the cavalry smashed itself against the line of pikes. Vauhya waited just long enough for the pike to catch in the lead mah'sur's neck before dropping the weapon and fleeing. A half-dozen others joined him, and as they stumbled away Vauhya angled his head to watch the grisly sight. The mah'sur for a very short while became pole-vaulters, and even got a few paces off the ground before the force on the pike tips was enough to break through the hide and impale them in the throats and chests. The beasts behind them crashed and piled, all of a sudden twisting and bucking in sheer terror to get away; they spooked and stampeded into the back pike line.
           Riders went flying off their steeds into the dirt only to be showered with arrows. The pikemen fell back to retrieve bows and arrows while archers flooded from doorways and tall-stalked fields and all the dark places. Pressed so tightly together as they were, Vauhya worried that the archers on either side would overshoot the soldiers in the between and slaughter each other, but they proved better trained. The Yoichi showed themselves to be equally veteran: they struggled to their feet, ignoring the sheets of arrows falling and smashing against armor everywhere, and charged the front line with a rallying cry. "Bows down!" he yelled, and moved forward ahead of the others. He drew his lleiri and went to meet the advancing line.
           The two front-most soldiers moved out at angles from him, then converged from either side: both swung high, and he parried the two with a pair of overhead cuts, left and right. He was careful to use the flat of his blade: the dull throbbing of his forehead was reminder enough. On the attack's reprise one tried to drop his blade low while the other slashed high. Vauhya parried the high cut hard and twisted into the man trying to cut low, knocking him off balance.
           It was all he needed: instead of parrying his remaining opponent yet again, he looped around the man's blade and struck at its hilt. A good steel blade would probably have hooked into the crossguard and knocked the man's blade down; the lleiri cut through the crossguard and took off a finger. The soldier dropped the sword, howling, and Vauhya drew his weapon hand back and punched the man across the jaw with his pommel. He felt a tooth dig into the back of his hand and open it up, but the soldier fell back like a lifeless sack. A wave of more Yoichi passed; Vauhya turned and found the last of them behind him, blade upraised.
           The old soldier paused for a heartbeat. Vauhya paused for several more. Too many more. The soldier's arm was already drawn back for a hard downward slash. He swung.
           Halfway between the beginning of the arc and the end that was Vauhya's skull a white hand grabbed the man's sword arm and squeezed, tearing muscle. As the sword dropped and the soldier fell back a white face buried itself in his neck; as he flailed a white hand knifed him in the gut. The old soldier dropped with an expression of dismay and hit the ground like a log, gurgling and leaking from below the ear. Above him, Atra heaved and wiped her muzzle. She bent down and ripped the knife out, then bolted back into the fray. Vauhya stood above the man, who looked up at him with a feeble, pathetic gaze. To Vauhya's side someone was screaming, dying - there were the sickening thumps of metal embedding in flesh - but he only saw the old man. He knelt and bent his head down to touch it to the soldier's. The man shuddered and his eyes drifted past him, up.
           "Get away from him!"
           Vauhya's scrambling, rising swing caught a steel swordtip and flicked it off. The Captain danced back, angling her blunted sword up to offer him its edge. She was wild-eyed, ears down, furious and scared. There was no moment of hesitation. She screamed at him and charged.
           Vauhya tried to break or stop her blade, but the Aurkoan was no slouch. She parried every cut on the flat of his lleiri, and eventually he had to fall back. He caught his foot and tripped over the fallen veteran, but as the captain fell on him he beat her blade away. Vauhya tried to bring his lleiri back into the fight, but she grabbed his hand and held it down. Hard, sharp claws cut down, slicing his shirt cuffs. With his free hand he reached over her body and grabbed the neckline of her heavy mail top. It was enough to lever the two of them over, rolling him on top and pinning his arm under her. He wrenched his weapon hand up and away, then brought his sword pommel down her nose, hard.
           Yhedhasa went lax for a moment and he hit her again, twice, until blood was bubbling out of her nostrils. Then he dropped his lleiri, got up, and picked her up by the neck. He drew his shorter lleiri and set it on the thin metal chain that covered her belly.
           "You know I'll do it," he growled into her ear, "You know I will! Tell your men to surrender before we kill you all." She breathed hard and struggled harder. He pressed a little with the lleiri and it began biting into the chain. "Do it. Do it and I'll spare you and your men. Don't do it and I'll kill you all, and then we'll go over that hill and butcher what's left while they retch in their beds." She didn't move. "Do it!" Yhedhasa shook, seething.
           "Enough!" She cried, and he echoed it.
           "Enough! Get the hell away from each other, you manged bastards. I'll kill the next person who lands a blow!"
           "Stand down," Atra yelled lamely, staggering back from a young woman with a blade sticking through the gap between her coif and her shining chain shirt.
           "No more," another woman coughed as she emerged crawling from a circle of bloody farmers who were already turning away from her, just looking for space. A hand axe was still lodged in the back of her leg.
           Vauhya let the captain loose and gave her a shove. She stumbled, halfway doubled over, then stood and turned to face him. "-surrender," she croaked. "We surrender." Vauhya glared at them, at all of them.
           "Not another cut, not another stab, not another blow. All you Yoichi soldiers - we'll let you live, so don't do anything stupid.…. All you villagers, you just heard my promise to them. Break it and I'll kill you. All of you, put your weapons down and get the wounded. We'll come back later for the dead."
          

---v---

          They were numb. When they moved, it was not with individual intent, but as a herded flock. Half could barely move at all - the others carried them. Rich green fields flush with grain seemed desolate, and their rustling was the only sound. No one spoke. The fog rolled into the crater and thickened to hide the thing they'd done.
           Their makeshift hospital quickly overran; instead they laid the sick, the wounded, and the dead together in grass. A great pile of armor and weapons and cloaks and robes collected against a mud brick wall, the collection staining the ground a ruddy iron red. The elderly and the few children made rounds through the bodies and bandaged and fed the ones that still moved. Those that weren't seriously wounded or killed sprawled through the streets, collapsed against each other or just laying alone in the dirt. They'd dragged the injured and the corpses to an unsoiled clearing, caught and returned the surviving mah'sur, brought in the sick from the Yoichi camp, butchered the mortally wounded steeds - work and work, until there was hardly the will to move in a one of them.
           Vauhya hadn't registered the living and the dead - he hadn't looked, afraid of the faces he might find. Yhedhasa acted much the same; she became his withdrawn, broken shadow. They strode through the village, giving orders and enforcing civility. He searched the village and every house in it, then the fields, then the streets. He could not find Sahel. At last he approached the plot of the felled and injured fighters.
           They stank. A few coughed or groaned, but too many were still. Across the expanse of battered bodies was Atra, moving through the ranks with a water bowl, her forearms still painted red. Vauhya searched the bodies, both those that heaved and those that were still. There were too many recognized faces. Skie, very quiet, her neck twisted to an impossible angle; Rallan, breathing weakly, a knife hilt-deep in his thigh; the old soldier who'd nearly killed Vauhya, motionless, eyes unseeing. At one point Yhedhasa stopped to crouch over a young amber figure. It was a man, younger even than Vauhya, but fine faced and well kept. An arrow had struck him at center chest: his body was already cool to the touch. The Aurkoan brushed his face with her cheek, eyes downcast. "My eldest sister's son," she explained. "My charge." He touched her arm once, then moved on.
           Sahel was at the end. His body had been snapped back on itself: he was mangled grotesquely. Vauhya shed his cloak and draped it over the broken patriarch. He felt oddly inured to the loss; he'd already had too much.
           "Trampled. Didn't have a chance - he shouldn't have been out there." Ural knelt beside him. He had claw lines down one cheek and a ragged ear, but looked otherwise unscathed. "Probably for the best, though. I don't think he would've wanted to have outlived his niece." Ural dropped his head. "It's still a high price, even for a victory."
           "It wasn't a victory we won," Vauhya murmured, "just the lesser of two defeats. Come with me - you too, Yhedhasa. This is not over. There is one more issue to be settled."
           "I don't speak for the village," Ural warned.
           "You might very soon. Come anyway."
           They rose and Vauhya lead them away from the village proper. He walked the path he'd walked with a great number of people who were no longer alive. Down and around, to the stables where he'd slept. There were a few mah'sur there now; they'd been penned and forgotten. The stable was already heavy with their cloying sweet sweat. As they entered he bade the others to sit at his bed and set himself down on an overturned pail. They settled in and for a long time only stared at each other. He shook his head at the morose pair. "We need to talk."
           "About what?" Ural asked. Yhedhasa gave him a look.
           "About what to do with us. About how to salvage some consolation for your people."
           "Consolation? We beat you, Yoichi."
           "Maybe. But what will you do when they send a full battalion out to look for us? There will be more, eventually. More than you can hold back." Ural glared at her, then looked to him.
           "She's right. And I won't be able to stay. It will be a great length of time before they notice, I suspect, but they will look for their lost troupe. Fortunately, our captain here did not surrender under terms." Yhedhasa's ears snapped flat and she shot him a killing look.
           "That's a dirty, backhanded bastard's-"
           "Are you willing to challenge it? Do you want to rescind your surrender and finish this?" There was a pause at that.
           "I won't let you mistreat my men and women," she answered quietly. "They're my responsibility."
           "Don't worry; they're my family too. But I need you, and some of them. The rest can go, but some must stay." Ural scowled.
           "Oh?" But Yhedhasa understood. She shook her head.
           "I can't force them to stay."
           "Then convince them. Find a way. Not all; just some. Six or eight, maybe - that's all."
           "Why do you want them to stay here with us?" Ural growled. "We beat them - they're no stronger than us. We don't need them to fight with us." Yhedhasa gave Ural a sideways glance.
           "That's not it. He wants to stay because he thinks we'll keep the Yoichi away." Vauhya dipped his head.
           "Hahrum won't have any reason to bother these people as long as you join them. He's of the school that expects consanguinity to equate with loyalty; he'll leave this place alone."
           "But he won't," Yhedhasa countered. "Can you imagine the kind of precedent that would set? There's no room for deserters in any self-respecting army. He'll just come back and kill us that stayed, and then the villagers." Ural bristled at that, but Vauhya only twitched an ear.
           "That's why I only want a few of you. The rest will return home and report. You who stay are going to make this community an oath to stay with them for the remainder of your lives - as a condition of surrender. Even under this leadership, oaths and honor still count for something. You have your men who go back tell Hahrum that I served as their general in exchange for supplies, that I lead them to defeat you, and that rather than let me butcher you the villagers arranged our deal. I know my brother - if he has an assurance of this township's loyalty he won't risk another group to raze it, and doubly so because any force close enough for the job could just as easily be sent after me. Besides, you tell him I was here and he'll go so narrow-eyed on the chase he'll forget you completely."
           Yhedhasa absorbed that, then looked back at Ural. "Get him out." Ural scowled.
           "Why?"
           "Because some things aren't meant for your ears. Now get out."
           "Vauhy-"
           "No." She looked at Vauhya. "You want to talk? We'll talk. But only us." Vauhya pursed his lips and looked to the young man. He twitched, indignant, but finally bowed his head.
           "Hai. If that's you want, Vauhya, then I owe it to you. But I'm not going to take orders from a Yoichi butcher."
           "An Aurkoan, butcher, actually," Yhedhasa corrected. Ural only snorted as he rose and left. "What an undisciplined upstart you've found."
           "He's not a soldier; he's a farmer. So will you be, in a few days. He probably shouldn't have judged you so quickly, but you're guilty of the same hasty reflex. As a matter of fact, I think you'd be good influences on each other."
           "Don't play matchmaker with me; in fact, don't play me at all. I'm not yours."
           "You are. You don't have any choice - you gave it up when you chose to fight me. Now I need you to fill a role so these people can keep their lives." She growled.
           "I have a nephew who'll soon be feeding worms out there because of your meddling. Don't assume I'm on your side."
           "You don't have to be. You want to send your men off with a detailed report and give my brother every chance to catch me that you can, fine: that's your right. But you do have to be on the side of these people. If you have any decency in you at all, you have to be. Last night you said that you were going to do what you had to stay alive. I understand that. I don't particularly respect it, but I can accommodate it: you're going to stay here with them because it's in your own interest. And it is in your own interest, because I'll carve your innards out if you refuse."
           Hard lines creased her brow. "So you're not the smooth-tongued revolutionary anymore?"
           "Before I thought I might appeal to your ethics; now I know better. I'm genuinely surprised that someone so well bound by her own sense of honor can be so cavalier with the lives of other people."
           "You can't say that - I guard the lives of my men as hard as I do my own. But the farmers weren't my responsibility."
           "When you're a statesman, or an army captain, or any other sort of power-holder, all the people are your responsibility. And even those that aren't still have innate worth; that's basic moral philosophy. People that know war but not morality are what we call monsters." She looked down, her expression drawn as if there was a bad taste in her mouth and nowhere to spit.
           "I'm not a monster. Don't say that." A shiver. "I shouldn't even listen to your hypocritical, half-blind idealism." He shook his head, careful to keep his voice neutral.
           "I don't think you're a monster; just too pragmatic. Like I said, you and Ural could teach each other a lot. And I'm not blind. I understand what I'm doing."
           A sharp snap up of the head at that - She glared. "Really? Do you understand that your impotent attempt at insurrection has no chance of succeeding? Do you understand that all you're doing is giving clan Yoichi a free hand to imprison and interrogate whomever it pleases? Do you understand that there will be a price in noble blood - and commoners' too - for every day you stay here to fight a new cabal that simply will not be unseated? If you really cared about the people of this province you'd put your weapons down and leave quietly."
           "If I had faith in my brother, I would. But he's one of those I mentioned - all war and no philosophy. I would be fine with him as a general, so long as there was someone more scrupulous to watch him - he's good at hurting people. But as the Lord? Our province is going to implode under him. We escaped the first dark age by the virtue of our leaders; leave him there to fester and he'll end up history's way of giving us what we're long overdue for."
           "Your reasoning doesn't help your odds. How idealistic is it to pursue a goal you know you'll fail to reach, and fail to the detriment of everyone?"
           "I haven't lost yet." She fixed him with a half-lidded stare.
           "If that were true I'd be calling you Lord instead of mister."
           "I won't fail."
           "I don't see how." He sighed.
           "I know it doesn't seem likely. But there are always ways. I still have some quiet support among the nobles, or so I've heard."
           "How do you know it's anywhere near enough?"
           "I don't, I suppose. But I have-"
           "Faith?" She laughed half-heartedly. "And you're the heretic? If you honestly believe that, you have as much faith as any Aghana." Then she sobered. "Idiot. But I won't stop you; I am, after all, mostly concerned with not dying. I'll make you a deal: as many villagers as died in battle I'll replace with my own men, all of Aurkoan and Sehdt stock - I trust them best. The rest go."
           "Fine."
           Yhedhasa sagged. "All right. Then you'll excuse me; I have one last job to do."
          

---v---

           "You be loyal, now," the young woman ordered. The object of her attention snuffled and moaned, shifting restlessly, eyeing its rider with an oddly soulful placidity. She patted her mah'sur on the bridge of its hardened nose and then rubbed foreheads with the great beast. "Best damn partner I ever had," she told them, then fell back into the crowd and flicked an ear to the elder soldier beside her. "'cept for her, of course."
           Vauhya checked that the saddlebags were secured one last time, then patted the beast's flank.
           "We'll be good to him. What's his name?"
           "Kurikai Sou. It's old Naman." Vauhya laughed.
           " 'Emergency ration'? Very endearing." The young woman blushed.
           "We try not to romanticize too much."
           "You sure you don't want another?" Yhedhasa asked.
           "No," Atra replied. She was picking at one of the saddlebags on the other side of Kurikai, trying to fit just a few more pounds in than was probably possible. "We won't ride much anyway. Besides, they'll be more use here. We'll be fine."
           "We really can't take anything else," Vauhya agreed. "You've already been too kind."
           "You're sure? I have a good Alman'queda map of the northern prefectures and the southern Rhe'jah. That, and your mah'sur would be safer with even just quarter barding."
           "Ah, the poor boy's carrying enough as it is. And as for former, well…" He flicked an ear towards Atra. "I've got a good Alman'queda map too. And if I remember correctly, Captain, aren't you the one who's not on my side?" Yhedhasa dipped her head.
           "I only think that if you're going to get yourself killed, you ought to do a proper job of it."
           "There are a few non-negotiable parting gifts." That was a voice Vauhya hadn't expected to hear.
           He searched the crowd - and it was a crowd, as everyone with the strength to stand had gathered together - and found Rallan at the back edge, next to Ural, slumping on a snapped pike that served now as a cane. Rallan hobbled his way past the others; as he did Vauhya saw that he was burdened too by a large sack curled under his good arm. Rallan didn't have the strength to lift it up, so Vauhya bent and grabbed the bag out of his hands. It was rough, but squeezed easily. "That, milord, is enough grain for your trip. It's been washed and hand-sorted - you won't find any better. Also makes a good pillow." Vauhya bowed to him.
           "Thank you." Yhedhasa only grunted.
           "You're going to need more than just a thick skull to keep you safe," She told him, tail sweeping the ground at her feet, "So I found you some decent chain. Not a full set, but enough - it's already packed. And there's one last thing. If you're going to be a Yoichi leader, a real leader, you need a real blade. Your lleiri are very pretty, and they do a good job of cutting up your enemies, but they're meant for deranged serial killers, not Yoichi royalty. If you want to be part of the aristocracy again, you had better start playing the part." She untied the scabbard at her belt - a polished, glinting thing - and held it out to him.
           "I can't. I besides, I already have a bow, a knife, and two-"
           "It's not an offer. This belonged to my nephew - it was made for him in the royal armory at the expense of his family. You'll take because you need it, and you'll take it because it's your responsibility to do so. I only hope it reminds you daily of whom you're fighting." All the assembly went quiet at that, and they watched him as he took the weapon and drew it out.
           "Pretty light for such a burden," he murmured, then sheathed the blade again. "I'll keep it close."
           "We should go," Atra said softly. "We don't want to have to hike the tail of our journey after sunset - it'll be colder than anything your palaces have ever seen." Vauhya nodded absently.
           "And all will be well here?" he asked. Yhedhasa stiffened.
           "We each gave our word. I wouldn't impugn my dead men's honor like that."
           "And we'll trust them," Rallan echoed, "for your sake. Because we trust you. Eventually we will learn to get along rather well, I suspect. For now we will at least be on the same side."
           "Hey," Ural called from the back, "Good luck. Don't die." Yhedhasa smirked.
           "And if you ever do give up, we wouldn't mind having the company…"
           "Ha. The next time you see me I'll have army at my back."
           "Yes, and I will pray very hard that they do not catch you." Her ears twitched in amusement. "Go, and either be victorious or lose very quickly, and do not destroy too much of our clans and our country."
           Vauhya bowed. "I won't disappoint you."
          

---v---

           A scribble at the parchment. "So you've found nothing?"
           "Nothing."
           "Nothing… I find this very distressing." Aghana Sulcil finished the document with a flourish and looked up to the young man opposite his desk. "You are the best I have, Masca, and with De'ruon bringing Lord Yoichi into the Rrsai you are quickly becoming the only one I can fully trust. If you cannot find this individual for me, who can?"
           "I do not know, father. I am sorry." Sulcil sighed and put down his pen; his head ached.
           "Masca, I have a story for you.
           "There once was at the bottom of a mountain a very good-natured village, in which there resided a very good-natured family, in which there was a very good-natured young man. He loved his family and his village, but he was also very pious, and so he too loved the church, and his gods, and the faith that bound them all together. One day, as he sat in prayer, he realized that he found the thought of becoming a monk or a priest more satisfying than anything else he had ever imagined, because he truly loved the gods, and he understood that in the end he would live better and happier by worshipping them than would by living as most men do - that is, in perpetual worship of themselves.
           "He thought to go home and tell his family, but at that instant he had a second realization. There were no vacancies in village's clergy, and the training for the people's shepherds did not occur anywhere near his village. If he went to join the brotherhood, he would be forever separated from his beloved family. This was a horrible thought, and the two ideas clashed so fiercely within him that he sought out the gods themselves for an answer.
           "That night, instead of going home the young man traveled up to the top of the mountain, and he prayed there. And when he was done he looked up and said, 'I love my family very much, and I have never been far from them, nor do I ever want to be. Yet, I also love you, and I want nothing more than to join the clergy and spend my life in service to you. I cannot do both, and my heart is as two pieces in this matter.' And so the young man begged for a sign, for a resolution, for an answer.
           "When he came down the next morning and went into the village, none of the people would look at him. He grew anxious, and went running for the house of his family, and when he entered he found them all dead. The villagers told him that they had been slain by a stranger, a madman who had ridden in, butchered them all in the name of the gods, and ridden out. And so that's the story."
           "I don't understand how that relates to the White One or her companion."
           "You see, the gods do not always have our individual best interests in mind. That is as it should be; they are the gods, and so it's our responsibility to maintain our relationship with them and not the other way around. Yet there are times when, if we are to worship the gods in the future, we must interpret their signs and portents quickly, then protect ourselves before we come to harm by them. This is such a case.
           "The being is the White One's companion. That the gods throw their support to such a woman is a sign that they are displeased with the entanglement De'ruon has conceived between the Yoichi and ourselves. They would obviously rather that more independent voices rule the council."
           "Such as yours, father?"
           "Perhaps, if they wish it. But the important thing is that we've recognized the sign for what it is; now we must act to protect ourselves. Left to fester, this presence could pose a serious threat. If we made it ours, we could stop De'ruon - doing the work of the gods - much more quickly." Masca shook his head.
           "But that's what you asked me to do before."
           "Yes, but the situation has changed. The exiled sher'amn has parted ways with it - left it with an associate, one Agarin Mes'rah. He's an intellectual of the worst sort, but he's certainly no physical threat. It is an opportunity. Your sher'amn colleague is interested only in the exiled prince and the White One, as is De'ruon, who is obsessed with his bid for power in the council. I actually think this is to our advantage: let them chase the White One, and we will collect the other two. They won't catch her - she's too powerful. Meanwhile, we will mend one of the church's old wounds and gain a valuable new asset. I plan to ask De'ruon for you for a while, on personal grounds; you are the only one I trust enough for this. Meanwhile, I will reveal to them the White One's location, and they'll run off in the wrong direction, distracted by her scent." Masca's ears folded back and his nostrils flared in surprise.
           "You know where she is?"
           "I do. A young sailing man came to me earlier this month with a pang of conscience. He told me that he had shipped on the vessel by which had they escaped before - the vessel on which we'd lost our agents. Apparently this Agarin character occupies an abandoned Naman settlement on one of the coastal isles - the sher'amn left her companion with him to travel to the walled city. My informant was very specific. We know the isle and we know how to reach it safely. You'll leave within the week." Masca sat up, ears swiping back.
           "The informant-"
           "-isn't an issue," Sulcil finished. "The only people who have pangs of conscience are those who've done unconscionable things. I generally don't like people who do unconscionable things, so I erred on the side of caution and had him killed. I may be old, but I'm not senile - at least not yet."
           "Still, we should be cautious."
           "Of course. I know a few Jhen and several acolytes who are faultlessly loyal; they'll be your crew. A ship has already been quietly set aside by them."
           Sulcil collapsed back against his chair and looked up at the intricate glass and stone webbing that laced the ceiling. In the morning, for just a few minutes at sunrise, the light would stream in from the window and refract at just the right angle to get it tangled up in the multicolored glasswork above, showering his study in hundreds of brilliant hues. It would make a lavish cell one day. "The problem with this place is that it has ears and eyes bursting out of every corner and crevice, and no matter who you are there will always of few of them that are not in your employ. It's a risk even discussing this here, but it was the only means feasible. Don't trust anyone, Masca. Take the prizes and bring them here. You can't fail; we can't afford to falter for even a day in this race." Masca stood, stepped aside, and pushed in his chair.
           "Don't worry, Aghana. I'll get them." Sulcil waved him away and he left with a bow.
           As soon as the room was empty and the door clanged shut Sulcil stood and moved to the window. He leaned outside and to his right a pair of wooden shuttered clattered hastily shut. That gave him pause, but he turned away after a moment to gaze out from the great cathedral and into the bustling and burgeoning cityscape of Agan. A moment later there was a great commotion next door and then the neighboring shutters splintered as a young man in acolyte's garb catapulted through them. He spun out and down like a stuffed straw doll until he crumpled against the street. Masca leaned out from that window and nodded gravely. Sulcil only smiled. One less set of eyes and ears to worry about.