“What do you call yourself?” Ahmed asked, as much to push his own thoughts away as to satisfy any curiosity.
His companion turned to him and grinned. “Forgotten already? I am called Caelwen of House Luvox.”
Ahmed chuckled. “No, I remember your name. I mean your job. You are a soldier?”
Caelwen grunted, a sour look crossing his face briefly. “An errand boy of late, it seems. I fetch and step for the empress, the Meites, my father, my old master Davron—”
“Master like teacher, or master like slave? You do not strike me as a man who would ever be owned.”
Caelwen's smile faded completely now, and he turned back to the road. “That could be argued. But I meant like a teacher. He taught me to fight.”
“He taught you well. I have no illusions how I would fare against Sandilianus.”
Caelwen touched a darkened eye gently and winced. “I think I got the worst of it.”
Ahmed shrugged. “You were evenly matched.” He nodded over his shoulder, toward Sandilianus. “He fared no better. Bruises just show more on your skin.”
“If it had gone on longer, I think he would have won a clear victory.”
Ahmed again shrugged. Difficult to talk of what might have been in battle. There is only victory or defeat. “We do not normally stop a contest of fists, but they are not intended to cause real harm, either. That's the second I had to stop this week, actually.” He pointed a finger at Eleran, who was riding near Sandilianus and snickering about something or another, oblivious to their conversation. “Your man Eleran damned near killed one of those weasels from Brust barehanded.”
Caelwen shrugged at the mention of his countryman. “I seem to recall he was good with his hands, when I tangled with him in the past, but typically he came along peacefully. Usually he was too drunk to resist overmuch.”
“Ah, see, we come back to my question. You are a soldier? But your duties include rounding up drunks?”
“As I mentioned, I fetch and step like a slave for the powerful, but my official title is Captain of the Guard.”
Ahmed barked laughter and shook his head in frustration. Difficult getting my point across to these foreigners. It's a skill I need to learn. “Which is soldier or something else?” he pressed.
Caelwen returned the laugh. “Ah, so it's that sort of discussion, where we point to things and say our words for them, yes?”
“Yes.”
Caelwen took a deep breath, thinking. “A policeman?” he asked, looking for understanding in Ahmed's eyes.
Ahmed sighed at this. “What does a policeman do?”
Caelwen raised an eyebrow, but weathered on. “Rounds up drunks. Cracks heads on troublemakers and thieves.” He shrugged, seeming at a loss to explain something so fundamental. “Enforces the law.”
Ahmed felt understanding dawn at last. “Ah! This is a law thing. Yazid told me law was superstition.” He paused a moment, considering the implications. “I expected someone would be angry at lawbreakers, perhaps a mob would form, but I did not know there was an organized force.”
Caelwen looked at Ahmed as if he had two heads. “You don't know about police?” he stammered. “Law is 'superstition' to you?”
Ahmed thought about it a moment, trying to integrate the new information with his own narrow perspective. “What else could it be? Writing on paper, waving one's hands, that does not compel men.” He frowned at the thought. “ I must use a sword, or a fist. Now, I understand how it is done, with 'police'. But I still think it barbaric.”
Caelwen rode on in silence as his mind worked at Ahmed’s response. So he, too, finds this conversation confusing. Good to know. At last, the Nihlosian said, “Hard to understand such a view. The law is everything with me. Tell me about your land and your people. Maybe it will make more sense in context.”
Ahmed opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Where, exactly, did one begin explaining Xanthia to a foreigner? And how? “Xanthia is large. Ask questions. Easier that way.”
“Fair enough. So you have no law. How do you avoid chaos?”
“Chaos comes when men try to enforce stupid ideas. It goes when they stop, usually because they are dead. You understand?”
Caelwen chuckled. “No. Not a bit.”
Ahmed thought for a moment on how to explain. “In your land, how many fight? I know among barbarian cultures, women and such do not. Is it so in Nihlos?”
“We do very little fighting, being honest.”
“Same in Xanthia. We are not constantly at war as barbarians imagine. But it is useful for them to think so, you see? And useful for us to know how to fight, all of us. We train, and we show our strength, and this avoids unnecessary war.” Ahmed smiled, thinking of something Yazid had told him once. “They say we spring from our mothers with sword in hand.”
Caelwen grinned back at him. “Do you?”
“That would be bad for the women, I think,” Ahmed laughed. “No, though we might taste steel soon after. Many who deliver children will cut a newborn with a sword to start its breath, if need be. It is traditional.
“But I digress. Few fight in Nihlos, many fight in Xanthia, yes?” Caelwen nodded, still listening as Ahmed went on, “So where is it easier to compel large groups?”
Caelwen frowned. “Well, of course a large mass of armed folks are harder to control, that's just my point.”
“It is not for you to control them. That is just my point.”
Caelwen raised an eyebrow. “Something to think about.”
They rode on in silence, the sun slowly rising and warming the air. For his own part, Ahmed thought little on the point. Yazid had run him through these philosophical arguments so many times as a child that they were second nature to him, though clearly the Nihlosian found them bizarre and shocking, like some foreign spice. Let it settle in his mouth a bit before offering him something else, he heard in his mind as if Yazid had spoken.
Ahmed busied himself with what he had begun to think of as 'leadership chores', unpleasant tasks that needed doing or else they would build up and cause great trouble later. He tried to move among his men and speak a word with each of them. Fourteen remained, so it was easy enough to know them all by name. It irked Ahmed immensely that he still did not, but at least it forced him to learn tricks as well: how to hide the fact that you have forgotten a man's name, even how to get him to say it without realizing you didn't know it from the start. That was something, at least. Again, his thoughts felt more like Yazid's voice, because he had heard Yazid tell him so many times, Always take some success from failure, if you can.
Perhaps the least pleasant of his chores was direct instruction from Sandilianus, which often involved insult and threats of being beaten. The veteran was less patient with him of late, chiefly because Ahmed had actually shown promise, and so expectations of him had risen.
“Your face looks like shit,” Ahmed called as he approached.
Sandilianus's sharp features were less sharp today, due to swelling. He grunted in greeting, and carped, “So does yours.”
Ahmed giggled at this. “Your nose is flat and your skin darker. You look like me, now!”
“So you admit it, then? Yesterday, I was prettier than you!”
“Aye, but today is today!”
Sandilianus shook his head, a grin spreading over his face. “And tomorrow?”
“Probably we'll both be dead.”
Kariana of House Tasinal reminded herself for perhaps the millionth time of late that she was Empress of Nihlos, and therefore had responsibilities, duties, and most of all, enemies. The lovely older woman who sat with her in her private quarters was not just a visitor. She was a supplicant, a skilled manipulator, and most of all, she was of House Prosin.
Teretha Prosin, with her large breasts and hypnotic, green stare, seemed serious enough with her news, as if she really had come here for just that reason and no other. Like a snake, only she really does have lovely lips. I hate her.
To be fair, t
he events of the day were unusual, shocking, even. No one expects a matriarch of one of the houses to deliberately jump from a high place. One most especially doesn't expect it, having had one's ass handed to them by said matriarch in a very humiliating fashion, face ground against the plaster wall, mocked as a weakling and a whore. The memento of the bloody blouse Kariana had used to clean her face after the beating had likewise kept the event rather fresh in her mind. It had cemented their alliance, after all.
No, it seemed very hard to believe that Narelki, Matriarch of House Amrath and kicker of Karina Tasinal's poorly padded backside (and temporary ally, with strong emphasis on the ‘temporary’ aspect, as Narelki had noted) had taken a flying leap and splattered herself on the cobbles. She was much more likely to have thrown someone else from a high place. Meites are more homicide, less suicide, even a fallen one like Narelki. Well, unless her trying to murder Prandil counts as suicide.
Teretha seemed to believe it, though. Of course, as cunning and greedy as she was, she lacked certain information that Kariana had, knowledge she had received as a kind of bonus along with the beating Narelki had given her.
It would seem Narelki had failed at murdering Prandil and gotten herself killed instead. It's fair enough, I suppose. But why does it feel so awful?
Outwardly, she allowed a sneer. “Please. You don't actually believe that story, do you?” She felt a tear begin to well, and realized she wasn't going to be able to stop it. Oh, well, I know how to make use of those, too. She wiped it away with her knuckle and tried to focus on anger, hoping to prevent the downpour that threatened.
Teretha raised an eyebrow, her perfect features showing deep concern for all living things, most especially poor, dear Tasinalta the Mad and her single tear. “I'm surprised. I should have thought you hated her. She obviously terrified you.”
“Yes,” Kariana said, noticing her voice had taken on a husky tone, too. “Since as long as I remember. I used to jump at the sound of her voice when I was a child.” She was a pillar of strength. I didn't even understand how much I took that for granted until now. “It was Prandil, you know.”
Teretha seemed impressed. She shrugged, a wry smile on her lips, and said, “Of course. She tried to murder him.”
Kariana feigned surprise. “Really? How do you know?”
Teretha shrugged. “Rithard.”
Oh. Him. Of course. “But why would she do that?”
“I presume she decided to take us up on our offer, and couldn't seal the deal.” Teretha pursed her pretty lips daintily, eliciting another wave of nausea in Kariana's gut. “We'll need another ally, and soon, before we lose the moment!”
Narelki was a titan, a pillar beneath Nihlos, and you mark her passing with this. It's petty and sad, and I am tired of being those things. “Who would you suggest?”
As for me, I am thinking I could use allies who don't have to wheedle or beg.
The sun had dipped low in the sky before Ahmed could pick out dark clouds on the horizon, conspicuous in an otherwise clear sky. Until recently, their journey had been overland, but now they travelled an actual road through plans dotted with farms. The road was dirt rather than stone as it would be in Xanthia, but it was well maintained. Ahmed turned to Caelwen, on horseback beside him, and asked. “We are near, yes?”
“Yes,” Caelwen answered. “Still many hours off, but that's it. How did you know?”
“Better road, and Sandilianus spoke of the clouds. He says they moderate your weather?”
“Aye. No rain or snow in Nihlos, not unless we want it. Never too cold or hot, either.”
Ahmed shook his head in wonder. “But at what cost? I think men need those things.”
“Odd. I should have expected you to ask how it works.”
Ahmed shrugged and obliged. “How does it work?”
Caelwen laughed out loud, then shook his head in humor. “I have no fucking idea.”
“Sorcery,” Ahmed said with a shrug. “How many of them are there?”
Caelwen looked at Ahmed in confusion, then took his meaning. “Sorcerers, you mean? Very few, Mei be thanked. The ones you met, and one more in Nihlos.” He paused, then added, “I think. I didn't even know Sadrik was one of them until very recently.”
“You don't like them, eh? They don't have much regard for your laws, I would guess. Like me.”
Caelwen gave him a dubious look. “It's not superstition, you know. It's more like a compact. Civilized men agree to follow the law.”
“So I and my people are not civilized?”
Caelwen put his palm to his face. “I didn't mean it like that.”
Ahmed leaned in his saddle, punched the Nihlosian softly in the arm, and laughed. “Just prodding at you. So, how do you know those who agree to your compact from those who don't?”
Caelwen looked at him like a cornered rabbit for a moment, then scowled. “I know where you're going. You're going to ask me if they signed a document or something, aren't you?”
Ahmed laughed to the skies. “You may look like a beast, but your mind is damned quick.”
Caelwen grinned mischievously. “What kind of beast?”
“A horse, or a dog. Maybe a pig?”
“Now you're being ridiculous.”
“You dodged the point with this foolishness, not me.”
Caelwen’s gaze fell to the dirt road beneath them. “I think you hammered it home well enough, and you didn't even go straight at it. No one actually has a choice.”
Ahmed shook his head vehemently. “Wrong. There is always at least one choice.”
“To die, I suppose?”
“To die well,” Ahmed corrected.
“You have me at a disadvantage, I think,” Caelwen said, giving Ahmed a suspicious look. “Clearly you've given this much thought. You're some sort of religious, right? You've trained at this, it seems.”
“Some sort, yes,” Ahmed confessed. “Yazid spent many hours showing me the depths of my ignorance. I'd get my ears boxed if I didn't correct it quickly.”
Caelwen went silent at this. He turned away and stared at the grass alongside the road, a dark, brooding look on his face.
Ahmed waited, giving him time, but it seemed too long. “I have offended you?”
Caelwen looked at Ahmed, bewildered. “Me? Offended? No.” He looked at the road again as he muttered, “I only just realized who you were, really.”
“Who am I, then?”
“You're Yazid's son, aren't you?”
Ahmed eyed the Nihlosian warily for a moment, uncertain as to how to explain it. “Almost. Not exactly. He raised me, taught me, but my parents died when I was young.”
“I promised him safety,” Caelwen said. “We see what my word is worth, eh?”
“The problem is once again your law. One mad woman should not be able to cause so much damage.”
Caelwen snorted. “Have you met Ariano?”
“Fair enough,” Ahmed replied, laughing. “Perhaps it is as Yazid always said, I am a young fool. You look a bit older than me, if I can even judge your people. How old?”
“Seventy-eight,” Caelwen answered. Ahmed was unable to hide his surprise. “You thought me older.”
Ahmed paused a moment, then shrugged casually, as if this had indeed been his thought.
Caelwen smiled. “It's young to have my duties, I admit, but I am very serious about my work, and it was recognized.” He offered a sheepish grin as he continued, “Admittedly, by my father.”
I hope he does not ask my age in return. Ahmed quickly changed the subject. “How will the prisoner purchase work?”
“You understand what sort of men we're talking about?”
Ahmed shrugged. “Slaves. I understand you keep them here.”
Caelwen gave him an uncertain look. “I think slaves means something different to your people than mine.”
“It means cowardly weaklings to me,” Ahmed said. “Wretches who would serve rather than fight and risk their lives for something. A man who would cho
ose life over freedom is not a man. He is a beast.”
The Nihlosian looked ashen, even more pale than normal, and this time Ahmed knew he had indeed given offense, though he was uncertain how. Caelwen seemed to recover quickly, however, and answered, “You should not say so around our people. Slaves are not such with us. They are our family members. Cousins, lesser nobles, bound to our houses.”
“Eh? Slaves are... slaves. People forced into servitude. How can it be different here?”
Caelwen gave Ahmed a long, hard look, as if uncertain whether or not Ahmed was pulling his leg. At last he shrugged and said, “I cannot explain it. But it is.”
Ahmed looked ahead as he pondered this, uncertain if what he saw in the distance were actually spires or simply wishful thinking. “So you do not call these men you sell slaves, but I would call them that?”
“I think not. This is the point I am trying to get across to you. We have different language, even if it sounds the same. I would call them criminals, but you don’t even believe in laws, so that’s likely meaningless to you, yes?”
“I have read this word before, but I do not fully understand. I think it means…‘bad men’?”
Caelwen pointed a finger at Ahmed and grinned. “Yes! Exactly! Murderers and other vicious types, men too dangerous to run free.” Caelwen leaned in his saddle toward Ahmed, as if to impart a secret. “Being honest, I would call them dead if the law did not protect them.”
“Ah! So you mean deviants. I thought by prisoners, you meant spoils of war. So you sell your scum, then?”
Caelwen made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a snort. “We work them, if they are amenable. Sell them if anyone will have them, and the price is right. Some we kill, but not many.” He shook his head, a sour expression on his bruised face, as if he did not fully approve of his own people's ways at times “It's the law, though I think more economics than anything else. Why waste a perfectly good laborer? But such men require strong persuasion. If you were anyone else, I'd hesitate to turn a score of them over to you, but I am confident you and your men can handle them.”
War God's Will Page 5
