Forging the Sword (The Farsala Trilogy)

by Bell, Hilari

  “Who gave you permission to go to the Hrum’s camp?” Jiaan demanded.

  No humor in that one at all.

  “I don’t need permission,” said Kavi coldly. “I was trying to find out a bit about Nehar’s plans, and I didn’t, though I did learn something of interest. Did Siddas tell you about the committee that’s coming to inspect our Governor Garren?”

  “I vouched for you,” Patrius murmured—but there was laughter in his voice, as well as despair. He looked Kavi up and down as if the peddler had suddenly turned into a stranger, which Kavi supposed he had, but in his eyes Kavi saw the dawning of respect. It was an expression he’d never seen on the tactimian’s face before, for all they’d worked well together.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” he told Patrius. “I was worried about you—and not just that you might be winning, either.”

  Patrius’ expression closed down in sudden, private pain. “It seems you needn’t have worried about that at all,” he said.

  For all his sudden coolness he was alive and whole. A commander who couldn’t recover from losing a battle, at least eventually, would be worthless—and Patrius was far from worthless. He would regain his emotional equilibrium soon enough. The tight and painful knot in Kavi’s heart loosened as they went to find Tebin and arranged for one of the storerooms to be furnished as a small but reasonably comfortable cell. Patrius was a trusted prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless. Which meant he would be out of the fighting for the rest of the war, and Kavi need no longer wake up in a cold sweat from dreaming about the tactimian’s death.

  After Patrius was locked away, Jiaan asked about swords, so Kavi took him out to yet another shed to show him the newest batch and discuss future numbers. They had armed every man in Mazad’s guard, and had almost two hundred more swords ready for Jiaan’s forces.

  “Unfortunately, those may be growing soon,” said the commander grimly. “Or maybe it’s fortunate. I’m not entirely certain. Can we speak privately here?”

  “I think so,” said Soraya, looking at Kavi for confirmation. Jiaan had asked her the question, though he had to know Kavi could answer it better than she could. It looked like Commander Jiaan wasn’t ready to settle for flogging yet—which meant that Kavi had to defend Mazad from the Hrum’s final attack, free Farsala, and then escape Jiaan’s revenge afterward. It seemed a lot to ask.

  “We can talk here,” said Kavi. The clatter of metal on metal from the smithy was muted by the walls, but it would be hard for anyone outside the shed to overhear them—not to mention the fact that no one could have anticipated this unscheduled meeting of the commanders of the Farsalan defense.

  And that, Kavi realized with a chill, was precisely what the three of them were. Even Siddas was thinking of Mazad alone—that was responsibility enough for any man! Only the three of them had thought of all Farsala from the beginning of the invasion.

  How did I get into this?

  “I know that you two know about the committee, and about Garren’s plan to bribe the Kadeshi warlords,” Jiaan went on. “You’re the ones who discovered it.”

  Kavi realized that Jiaan, too, had changed. The hatred was still there, but this assured voice was the voice of a commander, who for all his youth had defeated the army sent against him. A small army, perhaps—but escaping Jiaan’s revenge after this was over suddenly didn’t sound as simple as it once had.

  “What you don’t know,” Jiaan continued, “is what the Kadeshi are planning in return.”

  He told them about Siatt’s offer, about a horde of peasants whose families would die if they refused to sacrifice themselves. Even in the midst of his own anger, Kavi noticed that the girl was almost as furious and appalled as he was.

  “Thinking of taking them up on it, are you?” he demanded. If the bastard was, swordsman or no, Kavi would pick up a hammer and smash out his brains. His grip might be weak, but if he used both hands and a big hammer—

  “No,” said Jiaan coolly. “And I’d consider myself insulted, but I’d expect you to think of something like that.”

  Heat surged in Kavi’s face as that insult struck home. He took a moment to breathe until he was calm enough to speak quietly.

  “I’m sorry. I was angry at that … that sorry excuse for a man, much less a ruler. But I shouldn’t have let my anger spill onto you.”

  Jiaan nodded, but Kavi noticed that he didn’t apologize in return.

  “As a matter of fact,” the commander went on, “I have an idea that might save them—some of them, at least, and all of their families. I’m going to offer to trade Garren my Hrum prisoners in exchange for his Kadeshi troops.”

  The lady Soraya frowned. “But those men are just peasants. And Garren hasn’t even paid his bribe yet, so they won’t be coming for at least a month and probably more. Can you train them enough to be useful in the time that remains?”

  Jiaan shrugged. “Not very useful. But I’d rather have them on my side than have to kill them. Or watch the Hrum kill them, knowing that their families will die if they fail. I can’t allow that, not if I can prevent it. Besides, resistance is growing throughout Farsala now, and Garren is exacting harsher and harsher reprisals.

  With this committee putting even more pressure on him … The Hrum might refuse an order to execute civilians, but Kadeshi troops would do it.”

  A grim pause followed. The young commander’s quiet voice broke it.

  “Finally, I can’t feed my prisoners for more than another month, so giving them back in a way that might help us is the only thing that makes sense. I won’t let them starve.”

  “But wouldn’t it be better to keep Garren from bribing this warlord in the first place?” Soraya asked. “If the Farsalan army captured the committee and stole the gold, it would certainly prove that Garren doesn’t control Farsala. We could even hold them for ransom. And if you had the gold, you could buy food for your prisoners—and anything else you need as well.”

  Kavi knew what his expression looked like, because Jiaan’s face bore the same look of stunned stupidity.

  “I don’t… I didn’t … why didn’t I think of that?” the commander of Farsala’s army stuttered.

  “Probably because it’s more subtle than two armies bashing each other,” said the girl tartly. She didn’t add Men! but the thought was there. Kavi might have resented the implication, but he was wondering why he hadn’t thought of it.

  “We don’t know when this committee is arriving, do we?” Kavi asked. “That could make it hard to capture them. They’ll be well guarded, too, carrying all that gold.” Though likely not so well guarded that they could fend off the whole Farsalan army.

  He could see Commander Jiaan running the same thoughts through his head, with a better understanding of things like ambushes and troop movements behind them.

  “I don’t think it will work,” he said finally. He sounded so regretful that Kavi knew it was an honest estimate, not a rejection of another’s plan just because it wasn’t his. “The first problem is getting our army across the width of Farsala without the Hrum realizing it. I know they are Farsalan peasants, but that many people moving in the same direction is going to be noticed by any Hrum commander with half a brain, and most of them aren’t stupid. It will be reported to Garren, and he’s not stupid either. He has to know that both the gold and the committee are a target. Even worse, there might be—there probably are—spies in my own forces.” He told them what Patrius had said and his own conclusions.

  “If the Hrum aren’t marking their spies anymore, they could be anywhere,” said Soraya, thinking it through. “We can’t trust anyone.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” said Kavi. “Mazad’s been closed off by the siege, so there can’t be any spies here. But in the countryside …”

  There was no way to know, he realized. Any peasants he dealt with, even if they were honest, might have friends, or neighbors, or cousins who had decided that the Hrum were here to stay and they might as well profit from it. Some of t
hem might even work for the Hrum because they preferred them! Kavi had made that choice himself, not so long ago. And he couldn’t expect others to see, as he had, that the Farsalan peasants might get a chance out of this to rule themselves. There could be spies anywhere.

  “I wouldn’t put it past Garren to use the committee sent to investigate him as bait to trap us,” Jiaan went on. “In fact, from what I’ve heard about him, that’s exactly the kind of thing he’d come up with.”

  That was true. The lady Soraya, who’d also dealt with the governor, nodded agreement.

  “If he guesses you’ve pulled your army out of the desert to attack the committee,” said Kavi, “the first thing he’ll do is bring in a large force to take Mazad. He’s probably going to do that soon anyway, but I know Siddas is counting on your help when they come for that final attack.”

  “He is,” said Jiaan. “We’ve spoken of it. So I can’t pull my army out of position. I’m sorry, Lady Soraya. It’s a good idea, but I don’t see how we can manage it.”

  The girl’s shoulders slumped. Not for the first time, Kavi was struck by their strange relationship. These two were half brother and sister, but they had grown up as lady of the house and bastard page, and it was clear that that was how they still regarded each other—even though Soraya’s only surviving family had vanished into the vast Hrum empire, and, as far as Kavi knew, she and her missing brother were the only kin Jiaan had left. They didn’t look alike, but Kavi could see their father in both of them—not in their hair, or eyes, or the cast of their features, but in their straight spines and the way their minds worked. They thought alike. And in fact the girls idea was a good one. If only …

  “Why do we have to do it?” he asked softly.

  “What do you mean?” said Soraya.

  “Why does the army have to capture the committee? I mean, your soldiers are wonderful and all, but they’re not the only men in Farsala.”

  Jiaan frowned. “You’re talking of the villagers? The senate committee will have a huge guard, and most of the villagers who are willing to fight are with me already. Besides, there’s even more chance of spies—”

  “I’m not talking about the villagers,” said Kavi, though he thought they might be more effective than Commander Jiaan believed, if they were properly organized. “I’m talking about a group of people even less likely to have spies in their midst than we do at Mazad, for in a way they’re even more isolated. And more willing to fight than any men left in Farsala. I’m talking about those mad bandits in the Dugaz swamps. Let them capture the committee for you. They’re even landing there!”

  The committee hadn’t much choice, coming by ship; Dugaz was Farsala’s only deepwater harbor. It was perfect! Kavi wondered why he hadn’t thought of it the moment he’d learned of the committee’s existence.

  Jiaan’s frown deepened to a scowl. “They’re not interested in helping Farsala. They don’t care about anything but—”

  “They don’t have to want to help Farsala,” Kavi interrupted impatiently. “They’ll be helping themselves. Or don’t you remember how much gold that committee’s bringing with them?” Jiaan’s expression brightened, and the girl nodded. “I’d rather we got the gold,” she said. “But I’d rather see the bandits take it than see Garren get his hands on it.”

  “But who will tell them about it?” Jiaan asked. “I have to stay here with the army because … in case Garren moves faster than we expect.”

  That wasn’t what he’d started to say, but Kavi knew better than to press him.

  “Well, I can’t go,” said Kavi. “Last time I saw Shir—he’s their leader,” he added, noticing the girl’s puzzled expression. “Last time I saw him, he wanted to kill me.”

  “He probably hasn’t changed his mind, either.” Jiaan smiled. It was the first time he’d ever smiled at Kavi, and Kavi hoped it would be the last.

  “I’ll go,” said Soraya. “I’m no use here. Not anymore.”

  “I’m not sure you’d be safe,” said Jiaan. “In fact, I’m sure you wouldn’t be. Not alone. And with you gone, who’d watch him?” He didn’t even glance at Kavi, but his tone made his meaning clear.

  “I’ll take him with me,” said the lady Soraya with a bit of her old arrogance. She didn’t look at Kavi as she spoke either. “He can protect me if it’s necessary, but I’m pretty good at looking after myself these days. Do you really think they’d put a higher value on raping me than getting their hands on Garren’s gold?”

  “But they’ll kill me,” said Kavi.

  “Maybe not,” Jiaan answered Soraya, “if you use knowledge of the gold to protect you. But—”

  “But they’ll kill me!” Kavi repeated, his voice rising.

  “So?” said Jiaan. “That will save me the trouble. Are you certain about this, Lady?”

  “Yes,” said Soraya, though to Kavi’s ear she didn’t sound certain. “If the committee is captured and held to ransom, it will be the best possible proof that the land isn’t conquered—or at least that it’s not under Garren’s control. And that’s important. We’re running out of time.”

  Kavi looked from her determined face to Jiaan’s troubled one and updated his list for the next four months: Survive Dugaz, defend Mazad, free Farsala, and then escape from Jiaan. Even at the top of the Wheel’s turning, the Tree of Life wasn’t likely to produce that much good fortune. Kavi sighed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SORAYA

  A MESSENGER ON A fleet horse, on dry roads, could go from Mazad to Dugaz in six days. Traveling on their own two feet, in the midst of winter’s mud and rain, it took Soraya and the peddler almost three weeks to reach the edge of the great marshes, and another day to reach what the peddler claimed was the best path in.

  “I was here in the summer,” he told Soraya, eyeing the shimmering sheet of water that covered most of the path and all the rest of the land between the thick clumps of leafless mull bushes. “It was drier then.”

  “If we’d taken horses we’d have been here faster,” Soraya grumbled. They’d both wanted to avoid the extra notice the Hrum gave people who were mounted. Though after passing through the countryside, listening to the tales people told about the harassment the understrength Hrum garrisons had suffered, she wasn’t sure they’d have bothered with a pair of harmless-looking travelers. The Hrum had too many real troubles to attend to.

  Soraya pulled her sheepskin vest tighter. They were near enough to the sea for her to catch its scent on the whipping wind, and it was cold, too. Soraya looked at the wet, muddy path and sighed.

  “It wouldn’t have been any drier a week ago,” the peddler pointed out. “And it’s not like we’ve never been wet before. I don’t suppose …” He gestured to the ranks of dark clouds streaming in from the sea. Clearly most of Farsala was going to get rain today, and from the look of things Soraya and the peddler would be joining them. At least she had been able to wear her warm, comfortable boy’s clothes for this venture.

  Despite the frequent rain and muddy roads, Soraya had enjoyed being outside the walls of Mazad. She hadn’t realized how restricted she’d felt, surrounded by those narrow, stone streets, until she was out in the grassland, with nothing to contain her except the horizon and the low clouds that filled the sky.

  She could see that the peddler enjoyed it too, striding out in his wet boots as if the simple act of moving through the world allowed him to possess it. He had greeted Duckie, after months of separation, like a long-lost love.

  Which didn’t mean he had enjoyed being rained on almost every day anymore than she had.

  “No,” said Soraya shortly. “I told you that before, remember? I haven’t a clue how to stop it from raining.”

  He sighed. “It’ll be a mess in the swamp, then, but I doubt it will be any drier tomorrow, so there’s no use putting it off.”

  He had accepted her denial of ability to change the weather without pressure or protest, for which Soraya was grateful.

  They’d been traveling throu
gh the farmland outside Mazad for several days, giving news-hungry peasants the town’s version of the battle. In return they heard the country folk’s tale of the “miraculous” storm Sorahb had summoned, which by now had gathered out of a clear blue sky and dropped so much rain—only on the Hrum, mind, none in the city at all—that the whole Hrum army had been washed away.

  That was an exaggeration, though not by much. The Hrum’s official explanation for the storm that had mired their troops, collapsed their tents, and almost drowned some of their wounded in its mud was “bad luck.”

  That same bad luck, she’d later learned, had destroyed Governor Nehar’s whole fortune. Rain had soaked clear through the bundled packets of expensive dyes he had purchased in the beleaguered city for so much less than their true value. All of it, ruined in the storm.

  Mitra still has her jewelry, Soraya told herself firmly. And the Hrum would continue to protect even a failed traitor, if he had committed his treason in their cause. But protection and work were all they had offered him. When she thought of the haughty Lady Mitra as the wife—and Nayani as the daughter—of a low-paid army clerk, remorse tugged at Soraya’s heart.

  I had no choice.

  “It sure would be nice,” the peddler had said, on the fourth morning of their journey, “if Sorahb Storm-bringer could do something about the rain that’s about to fall on our heads. It would save us time, not to mention the soaking.”

  Since he was the one who had found her deep in the shilshadu trance, she could hardly deny the title. Memory of that awakening, covered and warm, softened her impulse to snap at him. “No, thank you. Sorahb Storm-bringer doesn’t know how to stop the rain. In truth he doesn’t dare use that magic outside of dire emergencies. It’s dangerous.”

  Her sudden shiver had nothing to do with the damp wind, and she thought he understood that. His voice was easy as he went on, “According to the Suud, only the best, the strongest of their All Speakers, can be working the weather. It’s a gift they prize in that dry land of theirs. But I don’t remember them saying it was dangerous. Perhaps you’ve just tackled it too soon.”