by Chris Bunch
“Citizen Yarkand was very subtle in his teachings,” she said. “By the way, I’m giving away nothing in my tale that might expose my brothers or sisters. Yarkand is dead now, which is one reason I know something about boats.”
“Don’t worry about exposing anything,” I said. “I vow, right now, that anything you’ve ever told me, good, bad, or criminal, will never be used by me nor told to anyone else without your permission. On whatever god you want me to swear.”
“Your word’s enough,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. “But a question, if I may: What do the Tovieti teach their young?”
“The first is the Tovieti think there’s almost no limit to what someone should know who wants to learn. So it’s not like normal schooling, where the girls learn to read and sew and handle the accounts of a household, no more, and the boys get everything interesting.
“The Tovieti make no distinction between boys and girls. Anyone can learn anything. And another difference — no one’s held back from progressing if the boy in the next seat’s thick or unwilling. He’ll be dropped back to learn with younger students or even taken out of school, while anyone who’s still learning can go on and on.
“I was like a great sponge,” she said, a bit dreamily, “for I quickly realized I knew very little, that all my father had allowed to be taught was magic, magic, magic.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. Let me try my question another way,” I said. “What do the Tovieti teach children about themselves?”
“That we are a secret order,” Cymea said. “That many men’s hands are turned against us, so we must never tell anyone about our sect or our secrets. We teach that this world is in monstrous disorder and that all governments must be brought down and the altars to the gods men now worship, destroyed.
“When all is ruined, when all is chaos, then whatever the new society should be will be clear, and we can build a truly free land, where no man is better or worse than his neighbor.
“When that day comes, then all evil shall fall away and the gods, who surely exist, will appear in a new form.”
“Do you believe this Golden Age can come about through death and destruction or, for that matter, any other way?” I asked gently.
She was silent for quite a long time.
“I wish I could,” she said, and her voice suggested I not pry further.
“Another question,” I said, changing the subject slightly. “What are the children taught about the stranglers, the Gray Men, the Ones Who Are Sought?”
“They’re considered the elite, most holy, sent against those who’ve offended our order as warriors. If things were different, they’d carry swords and wear armor like any soldier. But outnumbered as they are, as we are, all they can safely use are the yellow silk cords.”
I thought what a crock of shit that was, remembering them as roving bands of thieves, carrying nothing for politics and everything for loot.
“You believe that?”
“I did then, remembering what the emperor had done to my family. Now …”
“Never mind,” I said. “So you came to the lycee of Citizen Yarkand.”
“Yes,” Cymea said. “I became part of his household, and he and his wife told everyone I was his niece, that my mother, his sister, and her husband had died of the flux.
“Yarkand was a very good man. I wish I’d gone to stay with him when I was younger, no more than a babe, and then I’d think of him as my real father and probably love humankind better than I do.
“He taught me a lot of things. Book knowledge, everything his school offered. What the Tovieti believe, and he didn’t have to make his lessons subtle for me. But the most important thing I got from his was learning things don’t have to be black, white, good, bad, and the world isn’t always evil, and you don’t have to kill someone who doesn’t agree with you.”
She looked a bit surprised.
“Strange,” she said. “Maybe what he taught me, what I learned from a Tovieti, was what set the seed that makes me wonder now about the order that’s been so good to me. Odd. Very odd.”
She broke off.
“I do wish I had a glass of wine,” she said. “It’d make the storytelling easier.”
I extended the flagon of water beside us. She grimaced but drank. “Yarkand knew I was an Amboina and that I came from a family of great wizards, so I also got secret lessons in my craft. Magicians are a roving lot, always moving, learning new spells, new incantations, challenging other sages, so there was always someone, sometimes Tovieti, sometimes not, who’d be put up by Yarkand in exchange for teaching me for a day or week.
“I was very happy,” she said softly, “and knew it and also knew I’d never been so content at Lanvirn.
“Who knows what would’ve happened? Maybe I would’ve stayed in Khurram, been a competent wizard for my brothers and sister, probably a cell leader, for I’ve always been able to see things a bit more clearly, more quickly, than most.
“Who knows? But Yarkand grew sick, and no chirurgeon, no witch, no wizard, could help him. I was frantic, trying spells of my own, going to my teachers in magic, begging them to do something, anything.
“But nothing helped, and Yarkand died.
“This time, I wasn’t calm, cold, but raged against everything, against the gods, for they’d taken this man I loved. Now I wanted the yellow silk cord, but not to kill men, for they had nothing to do with Yarkand’s death. I wanted to kill the gods if I could.
“I knew how absurd that was, and that ended my rage or, anyway, buried it within.
“But I couldn’t stay at the lycee, even though Yarkand’s widow wanted me to.
“Next the Tovieti sent me to a roving family who had a small riverboat that traded up and down the Latane, selling mostly necessaries, stopping at any farm who flew the little flags we gave out. We also carried packages for our brothers and sisters, never asking what was in them, and had secret passengers, the Gray Men on the run from the warders.
“An old man, his wife, and their son, who would’ve been about your age, but who’d fallen onto a low dock when he was a boy, and never grew beyond ten or so. Everyone loved him, took care of him. They were my new family.
“That was when I gained real knowledge, knowledge of what people really do and say, not what books pretend. Also, using my notebooks, I practiced my spells, and discovered the Amboina blood ran clear in my veins, for I was able to advance far more quickly than a girl my age should have.
“The war was raging in Maisir, and we prayed for the emperor’s destruction, believing with him down in the dirt, we might have a chance to bring about our better world.”
She looked into the fire.
“It didn’t happen that way, of course. I’m not sure why. Maybe Numantia lost too many good men, and some of those were Tovieti. Maybe when the Maisirians ravened through Urey and then came on to Nicias, something went out of our sect, some of our pride and confidence was shattered. I don’t know.
“We hid in a backwater when we saw soldiers, either Numantian or Maisirian. Then there was peace, and so long as we avoided the Peace Guardians, life went back to normal.
“When I was fifteen, I had that love affair I told you about. He was twenty-two.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Exactly,” Cymea said. “Worse, his family was wealthy, considered among the lords of the district we’d chosen to trade in for a time.
“But I didn’t know, didn’t think, but knew this was the love of my life, and we’d be together for always, somehow a rich man’s son would be happy with a bargee’s child, for that’s all he knew of me, and somehow the Tovieti would understand, or perhaps he’d join us. Oh, I had all kinds of girlish dreams.
“And then I found out what he really was. Probably now I realize he was no more than a spoiled brat saying anything I wanted to hear so he could fuck me, no worse than a lot of boy-men I’ve seen.”
Her voice had held rising anger, and she broke off. She too
k a couple of deep breaths, then grinned.
“Don’t I just sound like a wise woman of vast experience?
“Anyway. He took a nasty way of ending our affair, and I thought he was a monster then and couldn’t stand the hurt, and again I fled. But this time I knew where I was going. I went to a witch, really a very powerful wizard who’d turned away from the world to live a quieter life in a Delta backwater. We used to buy special things for her when we were in any kind of a city, and she cast spells for us in return.
“She’d been a Tovieti, left the order ten years before. I studied with her for a year, learned a lot, and began helping the poor people around me with potions or, as often as not, just advice I thought obvious. There’s a lot like me, not cell leaders, not holding any kind of official position, but still leaders of our movement. I learned we avoided creating such hierarchy after the disastrous rising, when Thak still ruled us, and the survivors blamed our leaders for that arrogance.
“Anyway, some of these respected Tovieti came to me last year and said I was wasting myself in that swamp, that the order needed me, momentous events were about to happen, that the emperor we thought was dead had returned and was trying to recover his throne.
“The only task a Tovieti should have was stopping him, seeing that he was dead.
“I listened and obeyed and went with them, working as a wizard, and as adviser, when I thought I saw something that wasn’t being done right or wasn’t noticed. I usually remembered how young I am and how older people generally aren’t going to listen to someone my age, so I found the soft way, the calm way, was the only way for my ideas to be accepted.
“I guess I did well, for I was listened to and given a certain amount of respect. There were emergencies, when there was no time for subtlety, and I felt like an army officer, some kind of bully.
“But people still listened to and obeyed me. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t get arrogant, become overly full of myself. Maybe being cast down so utterly back then, from being a noble Amboina to a child in a cell facing rape and worse kept my head from swelling.
“Then an agent, hidden in the upper echelons of the Grand Council, said they were going to bring you back — and make you general of their armies. Somehow they’d discovered you’d changed your mind and weren’t the emperor’s puppet any longer.
“At first, we decided you must be killed as someone almost as dangerous as Tenedos, even though you’d turned away from him, and there were plans being made to deal with you.
“Then you escaped from the Councilors’ prison, and killed Herne, another one high on our list of monsters.
“Some Tovieti elders in Nicias thought it might be interesting to help you, to keep you running loose to see what trouble you could stir up, since we had no use for either the Council or Tenedos.”
“So I was no more than another die,” I said, not terribly happy finally learning the reason I’d been helped when I was a fugitive in Nicias, “this one with beveled edges, so it’d bounce and roll every which way, to be cast into the game?”
“At first, that is exactly what we wanted you to be,” Cymea said. “Then things changed once more, and some theorized that you might be the best, perhaps the only, weapon to destroy Tenedos. I was approached, since I’d had some dealings with you, even though it was long ago and for a very brief, very unpleasant time.
“They wanted me to go to you, with Jakuns and others, and see what would happen if we offered a measure of help.
“You, of course, told us to fuck off, as traitors. Some of the Tovieti thought that should doom you; others, like Jakuns and me, were impressed.
“When you were trapped on the Latane, it was obvious we had to support you and your army, because the Peace Guardians were nearly useless and sooner or later Maisir would come back into Numantia.
“I volunteered to lead the relief ships.
“Little did I know that things would change as they did.”
She looked at me, waiting for a response. “Well?”
“Umm,” I said. “That’s a great deal to think about. But I, for one, am damned glad what happened, happened.”
“So am I,” Cymea said. “And I hope I haven’t said anything wrong … I mean, wrong for whatever’s going on between us.”
“How could you?” I said, mostly being honest. “I said the truth shouldn’t be able to ruin anything that shouldn’t be ruined, didn’t I?”
“No,” Cymea said. “You said nothing like that at all.”
“But I should have.”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “No one expects great oratory from a demoniac monster of a soldier.”
“Demoniac monster, is it?”
Cymea yawned and nodded.
“Your doom is sealed,” I growled, and pulled her down on the bed. “We demons are double-dicked, you know.”
“Very good,” she said. “For I’d really like to love you, for you to love me, so I can believe my brook-running mouth didn’t ruin anything.”
She might have wanted to say more, but my lips were on hers, my tongue curling around hers, and her arms came up and around me.
• • •
Once we were mewed up by a storm at an abandoned inn, and this was the most magical time. There were a few chickens who foolishly thought they could evade an experienced field soldier such as myself, and they went into a pot with some potatoes, not-too-ancient carrots, and spices we found in a grown-over garden behind the inn. The amateurs who’d looted the inn hadn’t been thorough, and I found, hidden behind a board in one of the inn’s cellars, three bottles of wine for Cymea.
There was a small cascade and a pool behind the inn, and I discovered, in the stables, a wine barrel that’d been cut in half, intended to be used as a horse trough. Cymea and I rolled it to the cascade, and she used rain gutters torn from the building to channel water into the cascade, while I built a great fire, heated cobblestones, and then dropped them into the barrel. When the water was steaming, we got in and soaked, jumping occasionally into the frigid pool. I made herbed tea for myself and spiced hot wine for Cymea.
I’m afraid things got a little silly, and by the time we remembered the chicken stew, the pot had boiled almost dry. But we added more water and had a very passable chicken soup.
I wished I could have wandered this country for the rest of my life with Cymea, without goals, without plans. But that could not be.
• • •
The farms became less plump, the farmers less friendly, and I knew we were drawing close to the army.
We found a widely rutted road many horsemen and wagons had used and followed it.
On a hilltop, I spotted the vast smokes of my winter camp, and we started toward it.
“Damastes,” Cymea said, and I turned in the saddle. “I love you.” I smiled, and a nearby bush spoke:
“Neither of you move. State your business and keep your hands away from those swords.” A bearded man with a ready crossbow came from his hiding place, and two other bowmen backed him.
We were home.
• • •
The army’s headquarters was in a trading village, not unlike Paestum, and I hoped, as we rode through it, I’d be able to keep it safer than I’d managed for that town.
It felt as if we’d been gone forever, but not even a time had passed since we’d killed Bairan.
The few days with Cymea had been wonderful, but now they were gone, to be put aside with other memories of days not soaked in blood and death.
Kutulu had taken over a large inn, and we dismounted, were greeted with cheers, and went inside.
Kutulu was studying a map, Yonge by his side, and Svalbard lounged on a bench at the rear of the room.
The hillman eyed us.
“What took you so long? We’ve been here since yesterday.”
NINETEEN
CLOSING
March out!” I ordered, and drums thundered, bugles sounded, horses stamped, and officers and warrants shouted. At the head of the column
, behind our banners, was Domina Thanet and his newly renamed Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers. “Not bad,” I told Linerges.
“I had them do a bit more than shine brass while you were out playing hero,” Linerges agreed. “The bugles are almost keeping the same tempo, aren’t they?”
“I wasn’t referring to the music,” I said, “but to the soldiery.”
“Eh,” Linerges said. “It got boring, sitting around doing our knitting, so we had to do something to take up the time. A little square-bashing fit the bill.”
Linerges, Cymea, Sinait, Kutulu, and I, with our staffs, were atop a hill, and the army was moving past, almost in review, below.
“We’ll see how they’ll do when blood’s the issue,” Linerges continued. “I’m impressed by nothing until then.” He looked forward, where Yonge and his skirmishers, behind the scouting cavalry, swept the line of march.
“It’s almost a pity,” he said, “that we haven’t a month or so before we begin the campaign.”
“We’re halfway through the Time of Dews now,” I said. “Tenedos has always liked to start campaigning early.”
“Still,” he said. “After your game playing with the Maisirians, I’d like to stay in one place and let all those fat-cheeked young recruits who can’t wait to serve under the banner of Damastes the Fair flock in.”
“They’ll find us if they’re serious,” I said. “Armies mark the line of march rather thoroughly.”
Time was what we needed, but time was what we didn’t have. Time would give the ex-emperor space to build his spells and develop his strategies.
My own was simple — march north, along the east bank of the Satane, while Tenedos held the west bank. I hoped to link with the Council and their army somewhere around the Latane Delta, then cross over and hammer Tenedos into defeat. I made no strategy more deliberate than that, waiting to see what circumstances would offer.
I gigged Swift to where Kutulu sat uneasily on his horse.
“Any further developments?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Two more agents came in early this morning. All they did was confirm the other reports.”
