An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  “Fourth-born, and weakest. But the only son.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore.” She glanced at Yeshin. “Warlord, if you don’t join us then we’ll have to ride out on our own. You heard what Magister Ichi said.”

  But the man only whimpered in response.

  She didn’t wait around to argue with Sagar any further. The servants supplied her with a mare amiable enough for her to ride, and she set out for the encampment. Not long after, Sagar caught up with her. She glanced at his direction and acknowledged him with a bow.

  A soldier met them on the road, long before the encampment was even in sight. “We saw something out there,” he said, terror in his eyes.

  “A dragon?” Sume asked.

  “That was no dragon! It came out of the sky, grabbed the captain, and swallowed him whole! What dragon could’ve done that?”

  Sagar swore. “What about the rest of the men?”

  “They scattered. I don’t know. I bolted as soon as the thing showed up. It killed—I don’t know. I don’t know.” He sat down at the side of the road, shaking.

  Sume reached down to steady her mare.

  “Is that creature still at camp?” Sagar asked.

  The man shook his head. “I saw it fly up. Towards Shirrokaru.”

  Sagar snorted. “We’re too far away. We don’t know that yet.”

  “Maybe we should gather the soldiers before we try to follow it,” Sume suggested.

  Sagar gave her a look. “Follow it? You want to follow it? You must be daft, girl.”

  “If it’s flying around, scaring soldiers half to death and killing everything on sight, then it needs to be contained. And it was contained once before; we could do it again. I think Yeshin said he had a mage from the Kag help him. There were enchantments on the creature.”

  “And you’re looking at me, saying that.”

  “I am.”

  Sagar made a sound in the back of his throat, but with the soldier there watching them, he didn’t dare say anything else. It occurred to Sume that she had never seen him frightened before and wondered if he was now. He would probably deny it.

  In the encampment, they found Ureji there, gazing at the sky. “It ate everything it caught.”

  His face was very white. He managed to glance at them both, and then at the one who wasn’t there, and his face seemed to grow whiter still. “The prince…”

  Sume shook her head. “The warlord of Oren-yaro is also ill. Where is Ryabei?”

  “In Shirrokaru,” Ureji said. “Said he was too busy running the kingdom to take a vacation. Dragonlord Rysaran is gone? He’s dead?”

  “I saw it flying towards Shirrokaru,” the soldier broke in. “It’ll destroy the city.”

  “It can’t possibly do that,” Ureji snapped at him, before turning to Sagar. “Can it?”

  “I don’t know,” Sagar murmured. “But it destroyed the keep at Oren-yaro.”

  “Heavens above,” Ureji murmured. He dropped to his knees and placed his forehead on the ground, a prayer to the war deity spilling from his lips. Sume watched him and felt a tingle in the back of her spine. It was not, as it turned out, the last time she would see the old ritual unfold before her eyes.

  The beast got to Shirrokaru before them.

  There was little that a young woman of the merchant caste, on a borrowed horse and flanked by less than a dozen soldiers, could do. She had no power, no skill in the sword or the agan, and any speck of authority she might have been able to command, if at all, died alongside Rysaran. She was someone who couldn’t even stop her brother from leaving, or her family from dying, or keep her daughter’s father by her side. She watched it circle the sky in the distance, just as she had five years ago, watched it cry out before belching a stream of flame that spread like a yellow blanket and covered the city in thick, black smoke.

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but they didn’t fall. She placed her hand on her pocket and pulled out a sealed letter, unopened. She had received it from Ni’in, from Kefier, two evenings ago.

  Please, she thought, as ashes began to spray around her. Tell me you didn’t decide to come home early. Tell me I am not watching you all die as I stand here. She waited another moment, her fingers dancing on the parchment, before she broke the seal and unrolled the letter. Her eyes skipped past the words and then settled on the last few.

  “What are you doing?” Sagar asked gruffly. “You are watching a historic moment in time, girl. You shouldn’t allow yourself to be so distracted.” Despite the sarcastic words, the sorrow was evident in his tone.

  “My daughter is in Cael City,” she said. She heard the relief in her own voice and felt ashamed for it. There were people around her—panicked men, screaming citizens fleeing the city—who would never feel hope again.

  Sagar glanced at the sky. “The rain will fall soon,” he said. “Maybe it will drive it away.”

  “Maybe,” she murmured. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A flash of lightning, and then, as Sagar predicted, thin drops of rain, so scarce that it seemed as if the gods were mocking them. The beast screeched, smashing into the rooftops of the lower district. The fires continued to burn.

  “Shirrokaru is lost to us,” Sagar said. Now he was crying. Sume looked away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you sure you want to go with me?” Kefier asked.

  They were on the side of the dirt road where the wagon had dropped them, on the crossroads between the Boarshind keep and Cairntown. He finished tucking all his things into a canvas bag and started up a tree to hide them.

  Lisa watched him climb one branch after another before saying, “If you abhorred my company so much, maybe you should’ve told me back in Ni’in.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, peering down on her. “I like talking to you. I don’t want to get you killed.”

  He finished strapping the bag to a tree branch and clambered down.

  “You like talking to me?” She looked baffled. “Well, that’s a first.”

  Kefier paused, one hand on the trunk. “I’ve always liked talking to you. Women used to make me nervous.” He jumped to the ground and gave a grin. “Well, they still do. But you and Sume, and a couple others, you’re all right. You don’t titter.”

  “That’s your wonderful criteria for liking my company? By Agartes’ balls, when the gods were handing out gifts for flattery…” She shook her head.

  “It’s true,” he said. “I met a friend in Gaspar. Moon. She was also good to talk to. Not like her sister. Her sister was a witch. And I don’t just mean that she worked the agan.”

  He made a few swings of his sword before tucking it into his belt. “She died a few years ago. Moon, I mean, not the sister. She was killed. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  “Even after what I did?”

  He started to respond to that, but something on his face must’ve given away how deeply that question hurt him, because she shook her head. “I’ll go with you. They won’t hurt me. Those bastards want the whole wrath of Mistress Comfrey on their heads, be my guest. I doubt they’ll be so stupid.”

  Kefier laughed. “Could that protection extend to me?”

  “Not unless you plan to change your profession and even then, no offence, but you’re not pretty enough. Also, she’s probably still angry you haven’t contacted her all these years. Last time I was there, she wanted to kill you herself.”

  Their easy chatter died down as the shadow of the Boarshind keep loomed in front of them. Kefier’s face tightened. He tried to think of Rosha, to remind himself that he had no choice; that if it came to turning tail now, or letting himself get run through a sword, then he better ready his prayers because there was no way he would ever jeopardize his daughter’s position in Yn Garr’s household.

  He placed his hand on his sword, gestured at Lisa to keep her distance, and strode up to the guard at the gate.

  “Hullo,” said a young man, who must’ve been no more than sixteen. “Wh
at brings you out here?”

  “Hello Ossar,” Lisa said, coming up from behind him. Only then did Kefier realize that he had not really known what to say. “It’s been a while.”

  “Oh!” Ossar’s cheeks turned red. “Lisa! Mistress Comfrey said you had moved to Jin.”

  “Jin-Sayeng, my dear boy. They don’t like it when you call their country like that. It has been a while! When did they start letting you do guard duty?”

  “I proved my worth, and there you go,” Ossar said, puffing up his chest.

  “Who’s in charge right now?”

  “Well, Baeddan and Algat rushed off somewhere a few days ago, so it’s just been Caiso, the new officer, and Heroll, the guard captain. Are you off to see them, then?”

  “Yes. My friend here wanted to join.” She glanced at Kefier. “I was in the neighbourhood, so I said, why not? He thinks he’s tough.”

  Ossar laughed. “Oh yeah? Want to give me a try, big guy?” The boy was taller than him, but lanky. Kefier could probably break his arm with one blow.

  “I’d rather not,” Kefier said.

  “Go up ahead. I’ll send someone to call Caiso. Algat usually takes care of the new recruits, but seeing as he’s not here…”

  They gave him their thanks and walked into the paved courtyard. Kefier felt his ears tingle. Despite all the changes, it was still the same keep he’d left behind.

  “You do like them young,” he said, at length.

  Lisa coughed. “Excuse me?”

  “Did I say that out loud? I meant—”

  She jabbed his chest with her finger. “Some payment for getting you in without anyone blinking.”

  “I won’t thank you yet.” They strode through the main hall. Kefier went straight for the bench propped against the staircase and put his feet up on the table. The apprehension drained from his face. It was difficult to feel on edge in a place you had long called home. Of course, the knowledge that Algat was dead made it easier for him.

  “Arlisa!” A ginger-haired young man in a velvet shirt approached them, taking Lisa’s hands into his. “It’s been so long I didn’t think we’d ever see you again! Have you come to return to Mim Comfrey’s? It can’t be, not when you’re living the high life in Jin-Sayeng now.”

  “As high as running an inn can ever come to,” Lisa said, laughing. She kissed the man’s cheek. “Ossar told me. An officer now, Caiso! I knew you had it in you, but I didn’t think they’d give it over to you so fast.”

  “Ah, if I could only be as happy as you are,” Caiso said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, they only promoted me because my predecessor met an unfortunate end in Gaspar.”

  “Those cursed jobs.”

  “I know,” Caiso said, with a fake shudder. He caught sight of Kefier. “And who’s this strapping fellow? You must be the recruit Ossar told me about. A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am called Caiso. Officer Caiso, they want to call me, but I always tell my men, listen, it’s just fucking Caiso.”

  He held out his hand. Kefier hesitated for a moment before taking it. The man’s palm was smooth, as if he had never worked a day in his life.

  “I’m Ke-if.”

  “A strange name. You are from?”

  “Gorent, to the north.” He caught the man looking at his shoulder. “And yes, that used to be a Dageian slave tattoo. I had the enchantments burned out a few years ago. Is it going to be a problem?”

  “No, no,” Caiso said, waving his hands. “There was maybe a time when we could have afforded to be pickier with our men, but today is not that day. We’re strung up. So many of our soldiers dying on those accursed jobs Yn Garr keeps posting, but the money is too good, and so they go. And how do you fucking stop them? It was always the Boarshind’s way to let the men decide their fate.”

  Kefier had his own thoughts about that, but he kept his mouth shut on the subject. “Where do I keep my weapons?”

  “Oh, you brought your own? Wonderful. I’ll show you the sleeping quarters. About half my Singular’s there, and some of Whitebeard’s men. Now, Arlisa,” he said, grabbing her arm and hooking his around it. “You must tell me about those Jinsein boys. Are they truly as hairless down there as they are on their faces?”

  As it turned out, it was the mere sight of the barracks that nearly sent him over the edge. There, nothing had changed; it was the same row upon row of beds, with another one or two stacked above each. Far from luxurious—you saved that for nights at the inns in Cairntown—but there was some semblance of privacy in the arrangement of blankets, hammocks, and boxes. Some of the men had even become adept at fashioning screens, made of lashed wood and twine, which the others paid for if they were available.

  He still remembered his first night here, over twelve years ago. Oji’s bunk had been somewhere in the middle, but he retrieved his things as soon as they arrived from Dageis and began negotiating for two beds in the far corner. A Dageian amulet, imbued with the power to make its wearer immune to head lice, sealed the deal. He later learned it was to protect him—to shield him from prying eyes, because he had been too young and some of the men were not opposed to taking boys to bed against their will. On the bunk above Oji’s, and surrounded by Oji’s friends that he would later learn to call his own, he had been safe.

  Now, he took the first empty bed he saw and sat down on it. It was difficult to pretend that this didn’t bother him—that perhaps the biggest reason why he could just waltz in here without anyone recognizing him was that he had gotten most of those who could killed. From Algat, all the way down to Oji—he either caused it or pushed the blade himself. He was Boarshind’s darkest shadow, and it would’ve done them good, that day twelve years ago, to have closed the doors and left him to rot in the wilderness.

  His silence caught the attention of the men who were already there.

  “You,” one called, drawing close to him. “What’s your story?”

  He shrugged. “I needed work. You people offered it. Here we are.”

  They didn’t like that tone. But when once that would’ve been enough for them to make his life a living hell, now he heard their hesitation. What had changed? It was true that he had gained quite a bit of height and weight since then—where once he had been thin, with bones that jutted through his shoulders and collarbone, now he was covered in a layer of muscle that would make someone think twice. But that couldn’t have been all. He wondered, just as the man slunk back to his own bunk, if he was still carrying the stench of what he’d done back at Ni’in.

  In any case, they were afraid of him. They steered clear of him after that, and he found that he was able to catch a bite at the mess hall without trouble. The cook, ladling him a bowlful of thin broth with a slice of cornbread, stopped halfway through and stared at him. The man stepped back and shook his head.

  “Whatever it is,” he said in a low voice. “I want no part in it.”

  “It’s good to see you, Iro,” Kefier murmured.

  “You grew up here. I’d know you from across the room. Forgive me if I don’t share the same sentiments.” But Iro gave him an extra piece of bread, whatever that meant. He took his tray to a corner and ate in silence.

  It was a good opportunity to observe the rest of the men as they took their evening meal. Most were new faces. It almost appeared as if working for Yn Garr was getting them killed faster than they could replace them. He felt the familiar stirring of anger, thinking about that. Many of these men did what they did for love of the money, but a good enough number considered it an honest day’s work. And what choice did they have? So many of Kago’s industries were monopolized by the rich families that brought them from the rest of the Kag. He knew, first-hand, how difficult work was in that part of the mainland. And anyway, was it really a choice when you had to choose between sticking a knife through someone’s ribs or watching your child die of starvation?

  He had finished eating, and was mopping the last of his gravy with his bread, when he heard laughter. A group strode in, like all the others, but he s
ingled out a face and felt his blood run cold.

  “Rok?” he called out. He realized he had spoken and felt the blood drain from his face.

  The man he thought was Rok turned. Someone beside the man said, “It’s Kefier,” and then he saw the rage in the man’s face and understood.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” Garo, Rok’s brother, had been new to the Boarshind before Kefier left, but he had seen him often enough that he shouldn’t have made that mistake. He strode across the hall in two strides. Garo was even taller than Rokarsh, and it was said that the sword he carried on his back could split a man into two.

  “We don’t want trouble here!” Iro warned. From the corner of his eyes, Kefier saw him duck into the kitchen and disappear, no doubt to warn the officers.

  “You do know what you did, didn’t you?” Garo snarled, a table away from him. He was unstrapping his sword. “I want you to nod. I want you to know why while I tear every limb from your pathetic body.”

  “Calm down, Garo,” his companion said. He turned around and smiled at Kefier. “You remember me, Kefier? It’s Sevlor. And Aden’s outside taking a piss.”

  “I was told you were all dead,” Kefier said.

  “A few of us survived. Fuck off¸ Garo, I’m talking right now. Sit there and cry like a baby if you have to. Who else? Oh—Pol, too. Gaven did, but then he got promoted to Thiar’s position, and then…”

  “He fucking knows that part, Sev. Gaven dragged him back in a few years back, remember? And then got him killed.”

  “That was just a rumour.”

  “It wasn’t,” Kefier broke in. He glanced at Garo and then Sevlor. “I killed Gaven myself.”

  Garo pushed Sevlor aside. “So you think you can just waltz in here after that, after what you did to my brother? To Thiar and Oji?”

  “Thiar and Oji were my mistakes,” he said. He was aware that everyone’s eyes were on him now—it was difficult to speak as calmly as he was. “I didn’t intend for those to happen, but they did. Rokarsh—I didn’t want that to happen to him, either.”