She glances at her mother, sleeping as if she has not slept for years. What would Kefier say if he finds out Rosha is with her? He would be angry if Rosha left her now. He could be confusing like that. All the adults are confusing in general. This man, Enosh, for instance…
Rosha sees him unlocking the storefront to enter the house. She walks out of the room and meets him in the stairway. “You said you would stay with Naijwa’s beast,” she says, as soon as he walks in.
Enosh’s face looks weary. “I don’t have to,” he replies. “It is back with your master and Jarche.”
“You saw them? What did they say?”
“They want me to take care of you. They’ll be too busy trying to contain the beast, in the meantime.” He removes his shoes and sets them aside by the door, which is strange to see; Rosha has not realized how much she has absorbed Kag culture in the last few years. She looks down at her own shoes, brought in from upstairs, and frowns.
“Instead of standing there and judging me,” Enosh says, a moment later, “why don’t you join me for breakfast?” He holds up a basket of eggs.
She shrugs. He walks down the hall to the kitchens. After a moment of deliberation, she follows him, more out of curiosity than anything else. She watches him crack the eggs into a bowl and stir it with a stick.
“There’s an eggshell in that,” Rosha says.
He pauses. “Oh?” He holds out the bowl for her to look at.
“Here,” she says, fishing it out with her thumb. “You don’t cook often, do you?”
Enosh smirks. “You got me. Maybe you can give me a hand.”
“No, thank you,” she says.
They fall back into an awkward silence. He opens the stove, dropping a few pieces of firewood into it, and lights the fire, blowing at it until it grows. He places a pan and ladles a few spoonfuls of oil into it. A nutty smell fills the air.
“You need to talk to my mother about letting me go home,” she says.
Enosh grimaces. “That’s asking a lot from me, Rosha.”
“What do you mean? You just ask her. She doesn’t listen to me.”
“I mean to say that she won’t be very happy if I broach such a subject to her. She has missed you. The only reason she couldn’t contact you over the years was because we’ve been trying to hide from Yn Garr. Not that it did us any good, in the end.” The oil begins to crackle and he pours the beaten eggs into the pan.
“Home,” Enosh continues, after a moment of musing. “So this here is not home, then. When you say home, you meant Yn Garr’s mansion, don’t you? The one in Cael?”
She nods. “It’s beautiful there. There’s a garden, and orange trees, and a library with all the books I could want…”
“I know what you mean,” he says. “I grew up there, too.”
She blinks. “But you said Yn Garr hates you.”
“I did say that. It’s...complicated.” He steps back, flipping the eggs into a plate. “Dig in,” he says.
Rosha looks at the lumpy, yellow mess. “No, thank you,” she repeats.
“But I worked so hard on it.”
“I was watching. You didn’t.”
Enosh gives a sigh of resignation before picking up a fork to eat. She finds it interesting that he would have a fork in this house at all. Even royalty in Jin-Sayeng eat with their fingers, unless it was soup.
“What did you do?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“To make Yn Garr hate you. You must have done something.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to chew and mull over her words. “I really don’t know,” he finally says. “I suppose I was just a disappointment. Lucky for him, I don’t care.”
“Jarche says people who say that actually do. It’s what my father says about my mother a lot. He says he doesn’t care and then he gets angry. Jarche told me it’s because he does, he just doesn’t know how to say it.”
Enosh doesn’t reply and continues to eat, stabbing the edge of his egg concoction with the tines before twisting it around the end of his fork. He puts it into his mouth and dabs his chin after the bite. She realizes that he looks a little like her father, though his nose is a little higher and his cheekbones are a little more prominent. Was he of Gorent stock, too? There were not many in the Kag.
“Let me be clear about something, Rosha,” Enosh says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You’re under my protection right now. I expect you to cooperate. Refusing to listen to your mother while our lives were in danger is unacceptable. It will not happen again.”
The sudden change in his voice surprises her. She draws back, unsure of how to react to that. “I just wanted to explain that my father needs Naijwa’s beast.”
“In the wrong hands, that blasted thing can jeopardize half the continent. I already gave it up for now just so we can get you out of there, for your mother’s sake. If your father was smart, he’d figure a way out of his messes that doesn’t involve everyone else. But that’s not a word you would use for him, is it?” He pushes his food away, a look of sudden distaste on his face.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Rosha murmurs.
“I can talk about him however I want,” Enosh says. “I want you to see how much is at stake here. Do you understand, Rosha?”
After a moment, she nods, though her neck feels stiff, doing it. “May I be excused?”
“Please,” Enosh says. She exits without another look at him, walking out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. She crosses the hallway and walks into her mother’s room. Sume is still asleep.
Rosha’s thoughts drift back to her conversation with Enosh. A feeling of unease curls in the pit of her stomach, like a snake about to strike. She knows she is upset, but she cannot pinpoint the reason why.
Whatever it is, it drives her to a decision. She takes a wooden hand mirror from the desk and takes a seat. She flips it around and begins drawing a rune on the back of it with her finger. Sometime later, the whole mirror glows blue. She turns it around again and stares at the surface.
An image appears. “Jarche…” she begins.
Chapter Seven
The wind howled around the tent like a hound left outside too long. Kefier pressed a hand against his chapped lips before bending over to adjust his lamp. Normally, he didn’t like taking anything that smelled of oil or made smoke inside his tents, but it was too cold and today, just for today, he couldn’t make himself care.
He heard somebody shuffling right outside his tent and gave a heavy sigh. “What is it?” he snapped.
There was a brief pause. “Commander.” It was Officer Eswenna’s voice.
“This better be good.”
Another hesitation. “The king is on his way. I was told…”
Of course, Kefier thought, rubbing his head. “I see. I’ll meet you by the fire.” He rolled over to put his outer leathers back on, cursing softly. He had been in his tent for less than an hour.
Rain and mist greeted him as he stepped outside. He had been glad that there was no snow in the valley, but now he wasn’t sure if this was any better at all. He flipped his hood over his head and made his way through the camp. Sthura was already there, wrapped up in so many cloaks that she looked like yesterday’s laundry instead of a venerable source of wisdom.
Such a thought would’ve normally made Kefier smirk. “Why wasn’t I told before?” he said, towering over Sthura. He didn’t like that he was stuck with her, that they would give him the title of Commander and then force him to take advice from a know-it-all from a place he’d never been in before. Perhaps she knew all about warfare and tactics, but she didn’t know the first thing about running a camp. Her idea of protocol involved walking over him and doing things without his knowledge because it was for his own good.
Sthura dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “We didn’t know if he would actually respond to our invitation.”
“We sent an invitation?”
“You, actually.
I took the liberty of writing the letter and signing it under your name. You don’t mind, do you? Seeing as to how you couldn’t have done it yourself.”
Kefier glanced at Eswenna, who stepped back. “I have scribes.”
“I don’t see them around.”
He gritted his teeth. “You should’ve discussed this with me first.”
“It’s a harmless invitation, Commander. A gesture of goodwill from Master Yn Garr. The order came from him directly. I only act,” she added, eyeing him with disdain, “under orders from our employer. As I said, I didn’t think the King would accept, nor do so on such short notice. He must receive hundreds of invitations every day.”
“I suppose what’s done is done,” Kefier murmured, wiping moisture from his beard. “Still damned sneaky of you, Sthura.”
“I only act in the best interests of the Boarshind.” The flat, rehearsed tone hissed through her teeth like steam from a kettle.
Kefier grumbled under his breath, drawing his cloak tighter around his neck. He could see the silhouettes of riders as they appeared around the bend. He noted ten, in total: King Elrend was obvious, in his tailored furs and thin, gold crown. Seven were dressed in the uniform of his personal guard, led by his captain, Teoman. There were two young men that Kefier didn’t recognize, but they were wearing the same, fine clothing that marked Hafed nobility.
“Welcome, my lords,” Kefier heard Sthura call out loud behind him. “We are pleased that you honoured our request with your presence. Forgive the disarray—had we more time to prepare, perhaps…”
“No matter,” Elrend said, surveying the camp with marked interest. He was still young, as kings went—about five or six years older than Kefier, clean-shaven, with wheaten hair that grew to his shoulders. There was an easygoing expression in his pale, blue eyes. “Well met, Commander Kefier,” he said, nodding as Kefier approached him with a bow. “You remember Captain Teoman.”
Kefier turned to the Captain of the Guard, who hesitated before saluting. He returned the gesture, noting the distaste that was clear in the man’s eyes, if not his actions. It made him feel ill. They were on the cusp of a war against the Dageians. Who was he supposed to trust?
They followed Sthura to the giant pavilion set up in the middle of the camp. “Hunting is poor in these parts,” Elrend commented, shaking drops of water from his shoulders. “I have to admit that I did not expect that, although I suppose I am at fault. I have never ventured this far from the border before. We caught one deer, midmorning yesterday. Barely any meat on its bones.”
“Most of the game reside deeper in the mountains,” Kefier said, realizing that the king was looking at him. “These lands are better suited for farming, as Master Gorrhen has probably told you.”
“Yes, yes. I was merely making conversation,” Elrend said. “Agriculture sounds so mundane. It is not really the Hafed way, at least not how Yn Garr describes it. Game and fish used to be enough for us. But progress is, as they say, a necessary evil.”
He looked at Kefier, who blinked and nodded without replying. Elrend smirked, as if he found something amusing about that. “Do I frighten you, Commander?” he asked.
“Sir?”
“We’ve barely spoken in the times we’ve met before. Gorrhen yn Garr assured me of your skills, but I admit, I’m perplexed as to why he would choose someone like you to lead the Boarshind. I am not trying to insult you, you understand,” Elrend added, keeping his tone light. “But you’re clearly young, and untried in battle.”
“As are you, Your Highness.”
A noticeable silence fell on them. Elrend rubbed the back of his head. “So I am,” he mused. “A fair point. The fact, however, does little to ease my worries.”
They said nothing else as they entered the pavilion, though his words struck a deep chord inside Kefier. He had always supposed that he was where he was because Rosha’s imprisonment kept him loyal. It was surprising to learn that other people didn’t see it that way. So many nuances of this new life were lost on him. He didn’t like the politics and the posturing and the barbed words.
But every step Kefier made seemed to take him further and further away from the life he longed for. He couldn’t take Rosha away, even if he wanted to. There was a good-sized bedroom for her in his house, lined with bookshelves and little nooks and crannies for her treasures, that she would probably never get to see. He didn’t understand anything about the agan or Rosha’s skills; he only knew that her life would be in danger if he took things in his own hands.
I don’t care for any of this, he thought, drawing breath into his chest. But I would sooner die than fail. For her sake, if no one else’s. Certainly not my own.
Kefier’s thoughts dissipated. In the center of the pavilion, looking for all the world like he had been there the whole time, stood Yn Garr, welcoming the King with open arms. Kefier bit back the angry retort that had been bubbling in the back of his mind, the one he had sworn he would throw at Yn Garr the next time he saw his leathery face, and stepped into the corner. He noticed that Sthura had not come in with them.
“Fort Oras is the key to holding the valley,” Yn Garr was saying, pointing at the map in the middle of the table. “We’ve mapped out the key areas for our assault. These days, it’s manned by a skeleton crew—a far cry from what it was when the Dageians first built it so close to your lands. As if their low opinion of Hafed power can be any clearer.”
“I’m noting the insult,” Elrend said.
“As you should!” Yn Garr replied, stabbing the map with a dagger to mark Fort Oras’ location. “It’s the only reason this has any chance of working at all! Most nations would have found reasons to claim what was rightfully theirs, but Hafod? No, your ancestors chose to pull back and build walls around Tilarthan instead. The Dageians take you about as seriously as a cat considers a young rat.”
“There’s been reports that perhaps the reason Dageis has been attacking the Gorent islands recently is because our movements are beginning to concern them,” Captain Teoman broke in.
“They’re attacking them,” Yn Garr said, an edge of irritation in his voice, “for the same reason they’ve attacked anyone and anything that so much as drew breath or blinked at them. Because they need slaves.”
“That sounds like a stretch, sir,” Teoman said. “How do we know you’re not just baiting us into doing this for your own personal interests? Your company…”
“Captain,” Elrend warned.
“Your Majesty, I just think it’s important to consider this from all angles. We all think this man is misleading you. Your Majesty, war is not a thing to take lightly.”
“Are you questioning my judgement, Captain? Is this what I am surrounded with these days?” Elrend rubbed his forehead. “I did not recall asking for your opinion. You came here to ensure my personal safety—perhaps you should do a walk around to do just that.”
“My Lord.” Teoman bowed and stepped outside the pavilion.
“The Captain does not understand the Dageian’s world,” Yn Garr said. “Capturing slaves comes and goes with the times. When the supply of agan runs low, they resort to...debased sources.”
“My fault for allowing him where he doesn’t belong,” Elrend said. “I will defer to your judgement, Sir Gorrhen. When do we move?”
Yn Garr glanced at Kefier. “We’re still waiting for troops, as some are coming in all the way from Kago,” Kefier said. “I expect we can be ready before the month is over.”
“Run the numbers with Sthura and give us a definitive answer,” Yn Garr said. “How about your lords? I’ve heard reports that some are voicing out their resistance and refusing to march.”
“They will,” Elrend said, his face tightening. “They have to. I will talk with them.”
“My men can’t be expected to fight and hold this region alone,” Yn Garr pointed out. “If some of your lords require resources, send a message to Anu-Sthura. She will take care of it.”
“That is very generous of you, Sir
Gorrhen.”
“A fair enough recompense for what you are asking them to do. War, as your captain says, can’t be taken lightly; I can agree as much with him.” His eyes flickered towards the young men. “Perhaps Prince Fenri will appreciate a tour of the camp. I need to speak with Commander Kefier, and then I will join you.”
“Of course,” Elrend said. He made a sweeping gesture towards his men. One by one, they filed out of the pavilion, leaving Kefier staring at the dust and wondering about what had just transpired. Who was the king and who was the merchant? Or perhaps the Jin-Sayeng royals had it right, when a mere request from merchants drove them to rebel against the Ikessars.
“It all comes down to coin,” Yn Garr said, as if hearing his thoughts. “The Hafed crown is bankrupt. Elrend’s desire to take back these lands is as great as his desire not to leave a legacy of famine and debt. Whoever holds the purse-strings, holds the power. Remember that, if nothing else.”
“Where’s Rosha?” Kefier asked.
“She is safe.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Yn Garr grabbed his shoulder. “Does your impertinence know no bounds? She is safe. That is all you need to know for now. I cannot afford you distracted right now. Everything is at stake here. Everything—”
“Old man,” Kefier snapped. “If anything happens to Rosha, you can watch your ambitions burn. You…”
Yn Garr shoved him. Kefier lunged back; he struck Kefier with the back of his hand, the blow strong enough to send him flying halfway across the room. He slammed into a post. “Enough,” he said, as Kefier scrambled to his feet. “I have no desire to entertain this childish behaviour.”
“The fuck you won’t. You know very well that the only reason I’m here is because—”
“She is safe. Are you deaf, or just so dumb that words have no meaning to you? It is amazing how you and your brother can vex me so. It seems like both of you just stay awake at night thinking of ways to test my patience.”
An Elegy of Heroes Page 105
