by Bell, Hilari
Was that why the contempt had vanished from Patrius’ eyes?
“You’re Sorahb, aren’t you?” the tactimian added casually.
Of course Patrius had his own agenda—things he sought to learn from their conversations.
“No,” said Jiaan. “I just command the army for him. Sorahb is the one who coordinates all the Farsalan defenses.”
“He’s in Mazad then?” Patrius sounded surprised.
“No,” Jiaan repeated. The firmness with which he spoke was prompted by a sudden vision of Commander Siddas’ head on a Hrum pike—though the Hrum didn’t do that, either. For Sorahb, Garren might make an exception. “How could he send out orders if he was trapped in Mazad? I won’t tell you where he is, though.”
“I don’t expect it,” said Patrius calmly.
Jiaan couldn’t tell if his half lies had been believed or not.
HE SPENT THE NEXT few days ensuring that none of his men would get a chance to fire a message arrow into the Hrum camp—at least not without their comrades seeing and reporting it. He brought Fasal into the planning of the new security procedures, and even that small amount of action cheered the young deghan enough that when Jiaan set him to training more swordsmen he only glowered for a moment before doing as he was bid.
Jiaan knew he should go further—that if he confided his growing plan, he would gain Fasal’s full cooperation. But given his new awareness of the need for secrecy, he wasn’t prepared to do that yet. In light of that need he took Hosah into his confidence, setting him to experiment with the slightly dried boughs because Jiaan feared his own movements might be watched. Hosah reported that once the dried boughs were ablaze, they would eventually set the green bushes alight. And although it took a lot of dried boughs to start the fire, once the green bushes were blazing, they were almost impossible to put out. Jiaan remembered the thick brush screens that shrouded the Hrum camp, and rejoiced.
Jiaan was finishing dinner that evening, with ideas for getting fire into the dried brush in the Hrum camp floating through the back of his mind, when the guards reported that several Suud were escorting a horseman up the hill—and that by his clothes he wasn’t one of Siddas’ men. In fact, they said, he didn’t look to be Farsalan at all.
Curious, Jiaan abandoned the remains of his meal and went to greet the small party of travelers as they came over the hill’s crest. When he saw the horseman, Jiaan’s brows lifted. The messenger had donned Farsalan clothes, and his peasant guards might not have recognized the breed of the sturdy, rough-coated horse, or thin, arrogant cast of the man’s face, or even the long band of embroidered silk the man wore like a sash across his chest, proclaiming his status as a messenger under safe conduct. But any of Jiaan’s veterans would have recognized a Kadeshi courier.
Why in Azura’s name were the Kadeshi sending a message to him? Jiaan folded his arms and waited. Half his mind was curious, but the other half was filled with growing distrust.
“You are Commander Jiaan?” the man asked in good, if accented, Faran.
“Yes,” Jiaan admitted. He could hardly deny it, though some part of him wanted to.
“I have a message for you from Warlord Siatt, with who you once offered an honorable alliance.”
“He turned it down,” said Jiaan. “And I told him that any force he sent into Farsala would be regarded as an enemy army.”
He saw no need to tell this man that by the time he had ridden through the impoverished misery of the Kadeshi countryside and spent just one night in Siatt’s rich palace, he’d been relieved that the warlord had refused his offer. Relieved—and perfectly aware of how easy it would be for Farsala’s ancient enemy to turn against Jiaan’s exhausted army once the Hrum were gone. Given a choice between the Hrum and the Kadeshi warlords, Jiaan would take the Hrum any day. So would the Kadeshi peasants if they were given the chance.
“Ah. Well, Warlord Siatt has reconsidered your offer,” said the courier. “If I might speak with you in private, I have much to reveal.”
Jiaan started to say that he concealed nothing from his men, then remembered possible Hrum spies and thought better of it. “Come with me,” he said instead. “My men will care for your horse.”
Switching to his still-clumsy Suud, he addressed the hooded shapes that had escorted the messenger. “Go to the fire. My cook will find hutch to shade you, bring you food. You are much kind, to waste sleep to bring man here.”
“It was fun,” one of the bundled Suud replied, the humor in his voice making him seem less mysterious. “We led him in circles that would make a bird dizzy—even blindfolded him part of the time. We don’t want the build-on-hills people to come here. Not ever.”
“You are wise,” said Jiaan.
He led the messenger to a flat rock, far enough from the camp that no one would overhear them, and sat down. “Well?”
The Kadeshi looked around. Clearly, the accommodations were rougher than he was accustomed to. The futility of protest was equally clear. He shrugged.
“Warlord Siatt has been approached by the Hrum governor, Garren. The Hrum have offered us alliance—and they too have need of our warriors, to come to their aid.”
Yes, there was a subtle insult buried in that sentence, Jiaan decided. He didn’t care. Siddas’ last letter had warned him about Garren’s plan to bribe the Kadeshi. Jiaan wished them the joy of each other.
“I know about that,” he said, and had the petty satisfaction of seeing the man scowl as his shocking announcement failed to shock. “I also know that although the Hrum offer gold, they won’t promise not to invade Kadesh. If Warlord Siatt wants my advice—”
“The warlord needs no advice!”
Jiaan’s father had told him that Kadeshi messengers were often impoverished relations of the warlord they served, and they gained much status from that relationship, even if they seldom got rich.
“He knows full well that the Hrum will next invade Kadesh,” the man went on. “But the Hrum offer reveals that they are weak.”
“So he’s turning them down?” Jiaan asked. “That’s wise.” More wisdom than he’d have expected from the old snake.
“No,” said the messenger promptly, restoring Jiaan’s faith in his own judgment. “The warlord is more subtle than that. He will take their gold, yes, and supply them with the many men they ask. But instead of warriors he will send peasants. Farmers, whose only use is to till the dirt. Shepherds and goat-boys.”
“No slaves?” Jiaan asked.
The messenger blinked. “Slaves are expensive.”
“I should have known,” said Jiaan dryly. “Siatt is a thrifty man.”
“Peasants replace themselves with great abundance,” the messenger agreed. “And they will be no threat to you or to us.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Jiaan. “The Hrum army is built of peasants. They are expert at turning farmers and goat-boys into soldiers.”
“Does not the warlord Siatt know this?” the messenger demanded. “He will let the Hrum train these little men as best they can. But when the warlord sends them the signal, they will turn on their Hrum comrades, even in the midst of battle, and attack them! Surely this, coming as a surprise from the midst of their own ranks, will disrupt even the mighty Hrum army and grant their enemies an easy victory.”
Jiaan snorted. “Why should the peasants betray the Hrum? It would almost certainly get most of them killed right on the spot, and all of them killed if the Hrum win. Why should they obey Siatt at all, once they’re out of his hands and trained to fight?”
“Because,” said the messenger, “peasants have families. Families who will be working on the warlord’s land, within his reach.”
The chill that swept through Jiaan’s heart was so intense that he wrapped his arms around himself. “Siatt will kill their families if they defy him? Even though obedience will end up killing them?”
“Of course,” said the messenger. “The peasants know it, so they will obey. And they might not die if the Hrum lose t
he battle, so they will fight hard.”
“You’ve never fought the Hrum,” said Jiaan. “And it shows. Why is Warlord Siatt going to so much trouble to tell me this?”
“Because,” said the messenger softly, “there is still one question to be resolved in his plan. In what battle will the warlord use this mighty weapon? In a battle where the Hrum fight his own forces … or one where they fight yours? When you came to beg for troops, you told him that it would profit him if the Hrum were stopped in Farsala—if the battle for both our lands was fought on your soil alone. This he agrees to. Yet if he is to place a weapon of such power into your hands, he would require a suitable recompense.”
HE WAS NOT RESPONSIBLE for the lives of Kadeshi peasants, Jiaan told himself for the dozenth time as he entered his hutch that night. He couldn’t see Patrius’ face in the dimness, though he sensed the tactimian’s welcome. Jiaan remembered a Kadeshi peasant girl who had hiked up her skirts to flee at the sight of an armed man; he remembered the lean—too lean—look of the adult male villagers. If Jiaan could help them without hurting his own people, his own cause … But how? For the Kadeshi, he could see nothing in Siatt’s plan but grief, death, and the kind of choice that no one, no matter what rank or nationality, should ever be forced to make.
“What’s wrong?” Patrius’ voice was soft and worried. Jiaan suddenly remembered that Patrius was a prisoner—if there were something wrong, he’d be at his captors’ mercy.
“It’s nothing,” said Jiaan. “Nothing that concerns you. At least, not directly.” Though if Warlord Siatt’s plan worked, it might cost the Hrum a battle. And what if that battle would free Farsala? Did Jiaan have the right to throw away such an advantage—any advantage—when the odds against them were so high?
And yet if Siatt’s plan won the day for them, if some of the peasants and all their families happened to survive, would Jiaan then be able to fight off the warlords? Warlords who would already have an army, trained by the Hrum, inside Farsala’s borders?
“Whether it’s nothing or not,” said Patrius, “there’s no point in standing in the dark with your cloak and boots on. If it doesn’t concern me, do you want to talk about it?”
Jiaan started, suddenly realizing how long he’d been standing there. “Yes,” he said, dropping onto his bedroll to pull off his boots. “I think I do.”
It did involve Patrius, in that it might make a difference if the Hrum learned of Siatt’s treachery, but since Patrius was going to spend the duration of the war in the Suud’s desert it didn’t matter what he learned.
“I went to Kadesh, a few months ago,” said Jiaan. “I was trying … um …”
“Trying to find an ally? We expected you would. In fact, Substrategus Bar—ah, someone whose opinion I respect was surprised that they hadn’t come to your aid.”
Jiaan grimaced. “He shouldn’t be. When you know the warlords better, you’ll find that they don’t even care about their own people—far less anyone else. When I rode through their countryside …”
There was no reason at all to share this with an enemy officer, but the memory flooded his heart.
“Their peasants are half-starved racks of bone, while the warlords feast off gold plates. In some ways the Kadeshi’s slaves are better off! They may be covered with whip scars, but they can be sold for coin, so at least their owners feed them.”
Jiaan paused, remembering the misery he had seen—and his own aching shame at riding past, helpless to do anything about it.
“I talked to one man,” he went on. “A weaponsmith. He actually wanted you to invade.”
And Jiaan had agreed with him.
“Why not?” Patrius asked. “Many of the peoples we conquer are better off in the empire. Most of them, in the long run. Though it looks like Farsala might not discover those advantages.”
“I don’t think I can count on that,” said Jiaan grimly. “Not anymore. Garren has found a way to get more men. A lot more.”
Chains jingled as Patrius moved sharply. “That’s impossible! The senate would never grant him more tacti. Not when … no, not even if he somehow replaced the emperor with his own man. That bargain was made on the senate floor, and it’s public knowledge. Nothing … nothing has happened to the emperor, has it?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said Jiaan, noting that the position of a Hrum emperor might not be as secure as it seemed from the outside. “Garren found another way.”
He told Patrius the story of Garren’s bribe, of Siatt’s plan, and even about the arrival of a senate committee to investigate the amount of money Garren was spending.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Patrius. “The emperor will have given them the authority to overrule Garren if he seems to have gone too far. Defending the empire’s honor is part of their charge.”
“Will they care enough to keep him from bribing Siatt?” Jiaan asked hopefully. That would save the Kadeshi peasants—if Siatt wasn’t paid he wouldn’t send them, and he could hardly punish the men or their families for it either.
“I’m not sure,” said Patrius slowly. “They won’t allow Garren to cheat—but is this cheating? It’s not exactly winning with ten tacti, which was the main stipulation the senate imposed, but they also agreed that he could purchase whatever he needed. And if they do forbid it, then Garren’s father might say that the senate is breaking the terms of their agreement and get out of it that way. The committee is going to think about that, too.”
“So they’ll let him take those men?” Jiaan asked. “Even if it means that either they or their families will die?”
“But they don’t know about that!” Patrius exclaimed. “If they did, they wouldn’t allow it. To help people like these men and their families, to bring them into the safety and prosperity of the empire is … is what our army is for, when you come to the bottom of it.”
“What about those who don’t want to be brought in?” Jiaan demanded.
“They may resent us for a time,” said Patrius calmly, “but they’re grateful for it within a generation or two, no matter how hard they fought at first.”
Jiaan snorted. Grateful? Or just having no other choice, and accepting that? But Patrius’ voice held so much certainty that he knew it was useless to argue.
“The committee doesn’t know about Siatt’s plan,” Jiaan said, “so they might allow Garren to go ahead with it?”
“They might,” Patrius admitted. “I’m not sure.”
“And the Kadeshi …” Jiaan closed his eyes in anguished sympathy. “The Kadeshi will turn on the Hrum someday and die, either on your swords in battle or executed for treason later.”
“Yes,” said Patrius. His voice was quiet, but beneath the tactimian’s surface calm, Jiaan heard the same grief and horror he felt. “Another commander, hearing their story, knowing why they’d done it … but I don’t think Garren would listen. And even another commander might not allow them to escape the consequences of that. A man who turns on his comrades in the midst of battle … there is no worse crime. Not in military law. If the committee learned the truth, they’d stop it. Our army is a wall to protect such men, not to topple and crush them.”
“Are you going to tell me that the committee would believe Sorahb, if he sent them a message?” If Patrius said yes, Jiaan would know that the man was lying.
“No,” said Patrius. “Any message from the enemy would be assumed to be a ruse. They’d be more wary of the Kadeshi troops. They might even learn the truth from them, but that wouldn’t help the Kadeshi families. Even if I told them myself,” Patrius went on bitterly, “they’d say that my information came from you and was part of the ruse. Revealing the truth isn’t enough. It might save our forces, but it wouldn’t save the Kadeshi and their people.”
Patrius cared about that too. Men who were willing to make their own bodies into a wall to protect their empire would care, Jiaan realized. For they were their empire’s wall, just as the deghans had been Farsala’s. As his own men were now, he supposed. T
hey seemed so frail, these walls of flesh and will—but to be without such protection, like the peasants who lived under the power of the warlords, would be terrible indeed.
There was nothing Jiaan could do to protect the Kadeshi either.
JIAAN SENT SIATT’S courier back to his master the next morning with his refusal of the warlord’s “generous” offer.
“You may tell the warlord that I have no more money now than I did last time we spoke,” he told the messenger. “And the other things I said then still hold true. My master, Sorahb, will regard any force of Kadeshi coming into Farsala as an enemy army and react accordingly. The Hrum were foolish enough to underestimate Sorahb. Ask Warlord Siatt and his friends if they really want to do the same.”
It was true—Jiaan hardly had any money at all. The Farsalan army’s food came from sympathetic villages, slipped through the mountains to the desert by young men hiding from the Hrum’s draft. Jiaan might have been able to raise some coin—perhaps enough to give Siatt his excuse to betray two armies, both of them his enemies, at the same time. That alone was sufficient reason to turn him down. But the real reason Jiaan did so was because he refused to be the one who sealed the Kadeshi conscripts’ fate. He could have tried to betray Siatt in turn, using those men against the Hrum and then keeping the warlords from using them against him. Allowing the Hrum to execute them after the battle was the easiest way, but Jiaan refused to do it. Patrius was right. There was a line an army couldn’t cross, not if it was to remain a wall instead of becoming a shackle around the throat of its own people. Jiaan might not be able to help the Kadeshi, but he refused to make Farsala a part of their destruction. Destroying the Hrum, on the other hand, was his job.
JIAAN WAITED TWO more weeks, till the dark of the moon, before he attacked the Hrum camp. He’d worried about the delay, for the one thing Patrius never said a word about was the Hrum’s food supplies, and Jiaan thought they had to be running low. Hunger might force them to flee, and moving in formation, ready for attack, the Hrum would be far less vulnerable than if they were taken by surprise in the middle of the night.
