by R. F. Kuang
“When he’s back,” she said.
Yenjen and his squadron had already disappeared down the winding alleys of the city. Qara motioned for Rin and Altan to follow her up a set of stairs adjacent to the city walls.
“Where is she from?” Rin muttered to Altan.
“She’s a Hinterlander,” Altan said, and grabbed her arm just as she stumbled against the rickety stairs. “Don’t trip.”
Qara led them up a high walkway that spanned over the first few blocks of Khurdalain. Once at the top, Rin turned and got her first good look at the port city.
Khurdalain could have been a foreign city uprooted at the foundations and dropped straight onto the other side of the world. It was a chimera of multiple architectural styles, a bizarre amalgamation of building types from different countries spanning continents. Rin saw churches of the kind she’d seen only sketches of in history textbooks, the proof of former Bolonian occupation. She saw buildings with spiraling columns, buildings with elegant monochrome towers with deep grooves etched in their sides instead of the sloping pagodas native to Sinegard. Sinegard was the beacon of the Nikara Empire, but Khurdalain was Nikan’s window to the rest of the world.
Qara led them across the walkway and onto a flat rooftop. They covered another block by running over the level-topped houses, built in the style of old Hesperia, and then dropped down to walk on the street when the buildings became too far apart. Between the gaps of the buildings, Rin could see the dying sun reflected in the ocean.
“This used to be a Hesperian settlement,” said Qara, pointing out over the wharf. The long strip was a waterfront boulevard, ringed with blocky storefronts. The walkway was built of thick wooden planks soggy from seawater. Everything in Khurdalain smelled faintly of the sea; the breeze itself was laced with a salty ocean tang. “That ring of buildings over there—the ones with those terraced roofs—those used to be the Bolonian consulates.”
“What happened?” Rin asked.
“The Dragon Emperor happened,” said Qara. “Don’t you know your history?”
The Dragon Emperor had expelled the foreigners from Nikan in the days of turmoil following the Second Poppy War, but Rin knew that a scattering of Hesperians still remained—missionaries intent on spreading the word of their Holy Maker.
“Are there still any Hesperians in the city?” she asked hopefully. She had never seen a Hesperian. Foreigners in Nikan were not permitted to travel as far north as Sinegard; they were restricted to trading at a handful of port cities, of which Khurdalain was the largest. She wondered if Hesperians were really pale-skinned and covered with fur, if their hair was really carrot red.
“A couple hundred,” Altan said, but Qara shook her head.
“Not anymore. They’ve cleared out since the attack on Sinegard. Their government sent a ship for them. Nearly tipped over, they were trying to cram so many people in. There are one or two of their missionaries left, and a few foreign ministers. They’re documenting what they see, sending it to their governments back at home. But that’s it.”
Rin remembered what Kitay had said about calling on Hesperia for aid, and snorted. “They think that’s helping?”
“They’re Hesperians,” said Qara. “They always think they’re helping.”
The old section of Khurdalain—the Nikara quarter—was set in low-rise buildings embedded inside a grid of alleyways, intersected by a webbed system of canals, so narrow that even a cart would have a hard time getting through. It made sense that the Nikara army had set up base in this part of the city. Even if the Federation knew vaguely where they were, their overwhelming numbers would be no advantage in these crooked, tunneling streets.
Architecture aside, Rin imagined that under normal circumstances, Khurdalain might be a louder, dirtier version of Sinegard. Before occupation, this place must have been a bustling hub of exchange, more exciting even than the Sinegardian downtown markets. But Khurdalain under siege was quiet and muted, almost sullenly so. She saw no civilians as they walked; they either had already evacuated or were heeding the warnings of the Militia, keeping their heads down and staying away from where Federation soldiers might see them.
Qara briefed them on the combat situation as they walked. “We’ve been under siege for almost a month now. We’ve got Federation encampments on three sides, all except the one you came from. Worst is that they’ve been steadily encroaching into urban areas. Khurdalain has high walls, but they have trebuchets.”
“How much of the city have they taken?” Altan asked.
“Only a narrow strip of beach by the sea, and half of the foreign quarter. We could take back the Bolonian embassies, but the Fifth Division won’t cooperate.”
“Won’t cooperate?”
Qara scowled. “We’re having some, ah, difficulties with integration. That new general of theirs doesn’t help. Jun Loran.”
Altan looked as dismayed as Rin felt. “Jun’s here?”
“Shipped in three days ago.”
Rin shuddered. At least she wasn’t serving directly under him. “Isn’t the Fifth from Tiger Province? Why isn’t the Tiger Warlord in command?”
“The Tiger Warlord is a three-year-old kid whose steward is a politician with no military experience. Jun has resumed command of his province’s army. The Ram and Ox Warlords are here too, with their provincial divisions, but they’ve been squabbling with each other over supplies more than they’ve been fighting the Federation. And no one can figure out an attack plan that doesn’t put civilian areas in the line of fire.”
“What are the civilians still doing here?” Rin asked. It seemed to her that the Militia’s job would be a lot easier if civilian protection were not a priority. “Why haven’t they evacuated, like the Sinegardians?”
“Because Khurdalain is not a city that you can easily leave,” said Qara. “Most of the people here make their living from fishing or in the factories. There’s no agriculture out here. If they move further inland, they have nothing. Most of the peasants moved here to escape rural squalor in the first place. If we ask them to leave, they’ll starve. The people are determined to stay, and we’ll just have to make sure they stay alive.”
Qara’s falcon cocked its head suddenly, as if it heard something. When she walked forward several paces Rin could hear it, too: raised voices coming from behind the general’s compound.
“Cike!”
Rin cringed. She would recognize that voice anywhere.
General Jun Loran stormed down the alley toward them, purple-faced with fury.
“Ow-ow!”
By his side, Jun dragged a scrawny boy by the ear, jerking him along with brutal tugs. The boy wore an eyepatch over his left eye, and his right eye watered in pain as he tottered along behind Jun.
Altan stopped short. “Tiger’s tits.”
“Ramsa,” Qara swore under her breath. Rin couldn’t tell if it was a name or a curse in Qara’s language.
“You.” Jun stopped in front of Qara. “Where is your commander?”
Altan stepped forward. “That’d be me.”
“Trengsin?” Jun regarded Altan with open disbelief. “You’re joking. Where’s Tyr?”
A spasm of irritation flickered across Altan’s face. “Tyr is dead.”
“What?”
Altan crossed his arms. “No one bothered to tell you?”
Jun ignored the jibe. “He’s dead? How?”
“Occupational hazard,” Altan said, which Rin suspected meant that he didn’t have a clue.
“So they put the Cike in the hands of a child,” Jun muttered. “Incredible.”
Altan looked between Jun and the boy, who was still bent over by Jun’s side, whimpering in pain. “What’s this about?”
“My men caught him elbows-deep in their munitions stores,” Jun said. “Third time this week.”
“I thought it was our munitions wagon!” the boy protested.
“You don’t have a munitions wagon,” Jun snapped. “We established that the first two times.�
�
Qara sighed and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand.
“I wouldn’t have to steal if they’d just share,” the boy said plaintively, appealing to Altan. His voice was thin and reedy, and his good eye was huge in his thin face. “I can’t do my job if I don’t have fire powder.”
“If your men are lacking equipment, you might have thought to bring it from the Night Castle.”
“We used up all ours at the embassy,” the boy grumbled. “Remember?”
Jun jerked the boy’s ear downward, and the boy howled in pain.
Altan reached behind his back for his trident. “Let go, Jun.”
Jun glanced at the trident, and the side of his mouth quirked up. “Are you threatening me?”
Altan did not extend his weapon—to point his blade at a commander of another division would be the highest treason—but he didn’t take his hand off the shaft. Rin thought she saw fire flicker momentarily across his fingertips. “I’m making a request.”
Jun took one step back, but did not let go of the boy. “Your men do not have access to Fifth Division supplies.”
“And disciplining him is my prerogative, not yours,” said Altan. “Unhand him. Now, Jun.”
Jun made a disgusted noise and let go of the boy, who skirted away quickly and scampered over to Altan’s side, rubbing the side of his head with a rueful expression.
“Last time they hung me up by my ankles in the town square,” the boy complained. He sounded like a child tattling on a classmate to a teacher.
Altan looked outraged.
“Would you treat the First or Eighth like this?” he demanded.
“The First and Eighth have better sense than to root around in the Fifth’s equipment,” Jun snapped. “Your men have been causing nothing but trouble since they got here.”
“We’ve been doing our damn job!” the boy burst out. “You’re the ones hiding behind walls like bloody cowards.”
“Quiet, Ramsa,” Altan snapped.
Jun barked out a short, derisive laugh. “You are a squad of ten. Do not overestimate your value to this Militia.”
“Be that as it may, we serve the Empress just as you do,” Altan said. “We left the Night Castle to be your reinforcements. So you’ll treat my men with respect, or the Empress will hear of it.”
“Of course. You’re the Empress’s special brats,” Jun drawled. “Reinforcements. What a joke.”
He shot a last disdainful look at Altan and stalked off. He pretended not to see Rin.
“So that’s been the last week,” Qara said with a sigh.
“I thought you said everything was fine,” Altan said.
“I exaggerated.”
Ramsa peered up at his commander. “Hi, Trengsin,” he said cheerfully. “Glad you’re back.”
Altan pressed his hands against his face and then tilted his head up, inhaling deeply. His arms dropped. He sighed. “Where’s my office?”
“Down that alley to the left,” said Ramsa. “Cleared out the old customs office. You’ll like it. We brought your maps.”
“Thanks,” Altan said. “Where are the Warlords stationed?”
“The old government complex around the corner. They’ve been holding councils on the regular. They don’t really invite us, on account of, well. You know.” Ramsa trailed off, suddenly looking very guilty.
Altan shot Qara a questioning look.
“Ramsa blew up half the foreign quarter at the docks,” she reported. “Didn’t give the Warlords advance warning.”
“I blew up one building.”
“It was a big building,” Qara said flatly. “The Fifth still had two men inside.”
“Well, did they survive?” Altan asked.
Qara stared at him in disbelief. “Ramsa detonated a building on them.”
“I take it you lot have done nothing useful while I’ve been gone, then,” Altan said.
“We set up fortifications!” Ramsa said.
“Of the defense line?” Altan asked hopefully.
“No, just around your office. And our barracks. Warlords won’t let us near the defense line anymore.”
Altan looked deeply aggravated. “I need to go get that squared up. The government complex is down that way?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine.” Altan cast a distracted look at Rin. “Qara, she’ll need equipment. Get her geared up and moved in. Ramsa, come with me.”
“Are you Altan’s lieutenant?” Rin asked as Qara led her down another winding set of alleyways.
“Not me. My brother,” Qara said. She quickened her pace, ducked under a round gate embedded in a wall, and waited for Rin to follow her through. “I’m filling in until he’s back. You’ll stay here with me.”
She pulled Rin down yet another stairwell that led to a damp underground room. It was a tiny chamber, barely the size of the Academy outhouse. A draft blew in from the cellar opening. Rin rubbed her arms and shivered.
“We get the women’s barracks all to ourselves,” Qara said. “Lucky us.”
Rin glanced about the room. The walls were packed dirt, not brick, which meant no insulation. A single mat had been unfurled in the corner, surrounded by a bundle of Qara’s things. Rin supposed she’d have to get her own blanket unless she wanted to sleep among the cockroaches. “There aren’t any women in the divisions?”
“We don’t share barracks with the divisions.” Qara fumbled in a bag near her mat, pulled out a bundle of clothing, and tossed it at Rin. “You should probably change out of that Academy uniform. I’ll take your old things. Enki wants old linens for bandages.”
Rin quickly wriggled out of her travel-worn Academy tunic, pulled on the uniform, then handed her old clothes to Qara. Her new uniform was a nondescript black tunic. Unlike the Militia uniforms, it bore no insignia of the Red Emperor over her left breast. The Cike uniforms were designed to have no identifying marks at all.
“Armband, too.” Qara’s hand was outstretched, expectant.
Rin touched her white armband, feeling self-conscious. She hadn’t taken it off since the battle, even though she was no longer officially Jiang’s apprentice. “Do I have to?” She’d seen plenty of academy armbands among the soldiers in Yenjen’s squadron, even though they looked well past academy age. Officers from Sinegard often wore those armbands for years after they graduated as a mark of pride.
Qara folded her arms. “This isn’t the Academy. Your apprentice affiliation doesn’t matter here.”
“I know that—” Rin began to say, but Qara cut her off.
“You don’t understand. This is not the Militia, this is the Cike. We were all sent here because we were deemed fit to kill, but unfit for a division. Most of us didn’t go to Sinegard, and the ones who did don’t have great memories of the place. Nobody here cares who your master was, and advertising it won’t earn you any goodwill. Forget about approval or rankings or glory, or whatever bullshit you were angling for at Sinegard. You are Cike. By default, you don’t get a good reputation.”
“I don’t care about my reputation—” Rin protested, but again Qara cut her off.
“No, you listen to me. You’re not at school anymore. You aren’t competing with anyone; you’re not trying to get good marks. You live with us, you fight with us, you die with us. From now on, your utmost loyalty is to the Cike and the Empire. You want an illustrious career, you should have joined the divisions. But you didn’t, which means something’s wrong with you, which means you’re stuck with us. Understand?”
“I didn’t ask to come here,” Rin snapped defensively. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“None of us did,” Qara said curtly. “Try to keep up.”
Rin tried to keep a map of the base in her head as they walked, a mental picture of the labyrinth that was Khurdalain, but she gave up after the fifteenth turn. She half suspected Qara was taking a deliberately convoluted route to wherever they were going.
“How do you guys get anywhere?” she asked.
�
��Memorize the routes,” Qara responded. “The harder we are to find, the better. And if you want to find Enki, just follow the whining.”
Rin was about to ask what this meant when she heard another set of raised voices from around the corner.
“Please,” begged a male voice. “Please, it hurts so much.”
“Look, I sympathize, I really do,” said a second, much deeper voice. “But frankly it’s not my problem, so I don’t care.”
“It’s just a few seeds!”
Rin and Qara rounded the corner. The voices belonged to a slight, dark-skinned man and a hapless-looking soldier with an insignia that marked him as a private of the Fifth. The soldier’s right arm ended in a bloody stub at the elbow.
Rin cringed at the sight; she could almost see the gangrene through the poor bandaging. No wonder he was begging for poppy.
“It’s just a few seeds to you, and the next poor chap who asks, and the next after that,” said Enki. “Eventually I’m all out of seeds, and my division hasn’t got anything to fight with. Then the next time your division’s backed up in a corner, my division can’t do their jobs and save your sorry asses. They are a priority. You are not. Understand?”
The soldier spat on Enki’s doorstep. “Freaks.”
He brushed past Enki and backed out into the alleyway, casting dark glances at Rin and Qara as he passed them.
“I need to move shop,” Enki complained to Qara as she shut the door behind her. Inside was a small, crowded room filled with the bitter smell of medicinal herbs. “This is no condition to store materials in. I need somewhere dry.”
“Move closer to the division barracks and you’ll have a thousand soldiers on your doorstep demanding a quick fix,” said Qara.
“Hm. You think Altan would let me move into the back closet?”
“I think Altan likes having his closet to himself.”
“You’re probably right. Who’s this?” Enki examined Rin from head to toe, as if looking for signs of injury. His voice was truly lovely, rich and velvety. Simply listening to him made Rin feel sleepy. “What’s ailing you?”
