by Bell, Hilari
A shout arose behind him. The fight was spreading, but Jiaan didn’t turn back. He knew where he had to go. Rakesh, confronted with a solid knot of struggling men, was forced to stop, and several hands reached for his bridle. A burly man, his face red with anger and fear, reached for Jiaan.
He threw himself out of the saddle, leaving Rakesh’s solid body between him and his attacker, and darted into the mob. Most of the men were involved with each other, and Jiaan, not interested in fighting, was usually able to weave through them. Even so, a boot heel tramped down on his toes, and someone’s swinging elbow connected painfully with his eye. He slipped nimbly around a punching match, only to be knocked to the ground and trampled by two grappling, grunting men. He was breathless and disheveled when he finally reached the gate, where a line of guardsmen stood. Their tabards were the black and green of Mazad’s guards, they held their swords and shields at ready—and they did nothing but watch.
“Close the gates!” Jiaan demanded.
The nearest guard looked at him and grinned. “Why should we?”
Jiaan stared at him, astonished. “There’s going to be a riot out here! If you close the gates, I can stop it.”
“Can you? I don’t think they’re going to stop till they’ve fought it out. And anyway, what goes on outside the wall isn’t the guards’ problem.”
Anger replaced astonishment. “Your duty is to keep order, no matter where the trouble is.”
The guard scowled, but his gaze had found the steel rings sewn onto the padded silk of Jiaan’s armor. His posture began to straighten, but his voice was still sullen. “Maybe. But our orders are to keep the gates open until the Hrum army shows up. Besides, no one could stop that.” The guardsman gestured to the escalating brawl. “Who do you think you are? Sorahb reborn?”
Jiaan took a deep breath and settled his hands on his belt, like his father used to stand, centered and firm.
“I am the son of Commander Merahb, high commander of the gahn’s army,” said Jiaan distinctly. And if it wasn’t completely clear whether he or his father was the army’s commander, that mattered far less than the guard’s recognition of the pure, deghan’s accent his father had insisted he learn. “And you’re going to close the gates, because I told you to close the gates.”
The guard looked closely at Jiaan’s face—and he must have seen Commander Merahb at some time or other, because his face paled. “Drop portcullis,” he shouted. “Close the gates.”
The iron grating began to rattle down—slowly, Jiaan was relieved to see, for he knew they could drop it in an instant. He’d have felt triumphant, but he knew it was his father’s reputation, not his own order, that had brought the gate down.
“Will you come in, sir?” the guard asked swiftly.
“No,” said Jiaan, stepping back. “Once the gates are closed, I can settle this. But I want a squadron here, ready to answer to my command if I need them.”
The portcullis rolled down between them as he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” said the guard. “Baz, send for a squad and tell the governor that the army has sent a representative. Though we heard the army was all being killed, sir,” he added, turning back to Jiaan.
“Not all of it,” said Jiaan coolly. The fighting in the immediate vicinity of the gate was beginning to die, and someone shouted in protest.
“Close the inner gates now, so everyone can see,” Jiaan added.
“Inner gates!” the guard called, but he was looking at the padded silk beneath the steel rings, at the stains that cold water without soap hadn’t even begun to remove. “Did you fight at the battle of the Sendar Wall, sir?”
“It was leagues from the wall,” said Jiaan. “But yes, I was there.”
The guard straightened to attention and bowed, just before the heavy, wooden gates swung forward, forcing him to step aside. Jiaan’s lips twitched bitterly. Most of the blood had come from Rakesh’s shoulder when he’d pulled the lance splinter from it, but if it gave Jiaan command authority—well, he needed all the authority he could get.
He turned to face the crowd, waiting as even the distant sounds of fighting began to fade.
“Here! What’s going on? Open up,” a man shouted. Blood trickled from his rapidly purpling nose.
“They won’t,” said Jiaan. “Not until I tell them to.”
“And who the Flame are you?” another man snarled, shouldering his way through the crowd. He had lost his whip, but Jiaan recognized him as the tanner who’d started the trouble.
“I’m the son of High Commander Merahb,” said Jiaan. He was beginning to feel as if his father’s name was a magical incantation, to ward off any who questioned his authority. “I’ve come to offer the governor the assistance of the gahn’s army against the Hrum. And you would be? . . .”
“Oh, nothing so fancy as that,” said the tanner, folding his own arms. “Just an honest workman, trying to get goods inside the walls that’ll help us withstand this siege!”
“We have a right to carry whatever we want,” a man yelled.
“You got no right to jump the line!” another man chimed in.
An ominous rumble rose from the bystanders.
“Feel free to fight about it,” Jiaan told them. “But the gates don’t open till I say so.”
“And you think you’ve more to offer this city, from a scattered, beaten army whose commander is dead, than four carts of good hides?” The tanner was trying to sneer, but his eyes were fixed on the stains on Jiaan’s ring-studded armor.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Jiaan. “It doesn’t matter what you think. What matters is what the governor’s guards, who control the gates, think. And you’ll notice, the gates are closed.”
And why did a common tanner know more about what had happened to the army than the guard did?
“The gates will remain closed,” said Jiaan, raising his voice to carry throughout the square, “until order is restored to the line. And no carts will be allowed through the gates till all the foot traffic has passed through. People before goods.”
“What? But he can carry his stinking dyes on his back.” The tanner gestured to the dyer, who smirked. “Hides are heavy. Bulky. It takes a cart to haul them!”
“Too bad,” said Jiaan. “People first, then goods. Carts can line up along the wall”—he pointed north—“and then on down that road. As soon as all the foot traffic’s in, the carts can start. And if you go now,” he added, “you can be first in that line.”
The tanner searched his face, then turned away, cursing, to line up his carts beside the wall. Jiaan wiped his palms on his thighs and tried to look calm. A few moments of shuffling followed, as people argued about precisely what place they’d held in relation to whom, but within an amazingly short time Jiaan was able to call up to the men on top of the wall the order to open the gates.
A squadron of guards stood at attention inside, trying not to pant from their rush to get there swiftly.
“We’re prepared to escort you to Governor Nehar, sir,” their commander said smartly. “If you’d care to enter?”
“I’d be happy to,” said Jiaan. “In my turn.”
He could feel their astonishment behind him as he walked back to the place, at the far side of the square, where the deghans waited for him. Kaluud had the beginnings of a black eye, and Markhan held Rakesh’s reins. All of them looked happier than they had in weeks—Azura help him. So Jiaan probably wouldn’t get too much grief for not taking them in immediately.
But it wasn’t that, or the approving smiles and murmurs of the crowd as he walked back down the line, that made him so certain he’d done right. He knew it was what his father would have done.
“I MUST APOLOGIZE for that . . . unfortunate incident at the gate,” the governor fussed. “You handled it well. Surprisingly well, considering . . . um . . . considering. But the guard should have kept the situation more tightly in hand.”
The guards hadn’t had the situation in hand at all, but Jiaan knew
better than to point that out.
“No harm done,” he murmured, reaching for the nearly priceless glass goblet that held his wine.
Governor Nehar’s dinner table was set with gold and silver dishes. Aside from his fear of breaking a goblet that cost more money than Jiaan had ever seen in one place, this didn’t bother him. All high-ranking deghans had such things—and used them too. It was for show, like the subtle-toned silk overrobe the governor wore, and the almost equally expensive overrobes he’d lent to his guests.
But as honey-glazed suckling pig was followed by saffron pheasant on a bed of rice with figs, which was followed by fish with wine sauce, Jiaan began to worry. Didn’t Nehar know there was a siege approaching? Or was there really enough food stockpiled in the city to feed everyone for a year? There wasn’t enough food in the land to feed them, if they ate like this. Oh, none of it would go to waste—Jiaan knew that whatever the governor and his guests failed to consume would go to the servants, their families, and even their neighbors. But if Nehar ate like this and the common folk went short, there would be resentment. How could he ask about the food supply without questioning the governor’s competence?
“I’m curious, sir, about conditions in the city,” said Jiaan. “Your troops seem well armed for the siege, but I know that’s not everything.”
“Indeed it’s not,” said the governor. “There are many, many things to consider. Internal security, for instance. Just a few days ago, my guard commander discovered half a dozen Hrum spies inside the city. Most had come in recently, but one—a woman, can you believe it?—had been here for almost three years! She was running some sort of importing business: spices, or silk, or something of the sort. And a wom—”
“Remarkable,” Fasal broke in politely. “But if their spies are so well hidden, how can you be certain you’ve found them all?”
“Ah, well, that’s my guard commander’s doing. His job, of course, but he’s a solid man, Siddas. Though he still needs direction from time to time.”
Which meant that the peasant-born guard commander did all the work, but was smart enough to make it look like Nehar was in control. Not a bad juggling act—though Jiaan’s father had given short shrift to anyone who tried it with him. With him, it hadn’t been necessary.
“Amazing, sir,” said Fasal, with a show of sincerity Jiaan could never have managed. “How did he find them out?”
“Well, that’s the amazing thing.” Nehar leaned forward confidentially. “It seems the Hrum mark everyone in their army with tattoos—including their spies! Five diamonds, touching, across their shoulder—just like part of a bracelet. They say it’s so a spy can prove his identity to any officer of their army, and of course, the nature of the mark is a great secret, but can you imagine anyone marking their own spies? If this is an example of Hrum tactics, we’ll surely have no trouble beating them!”
He laughed heartily, and Jiaan smiled politely as the others joined in.
“But we won’t be trying to beat them, sir,” he pointed out as the laughter died. “Our purpose is simply to hold Mazad for a year; then their own laws will force them to retreat.”
“Yes, of course,” said the governor. “And I assure you Mazad will have no problem doing that.”
Jiaan would have found that more reassuring if the governor had met his eyes when he spoke. He found himself wondering if the expensive tableware had been unpacked from a traveling case to serve this dinner. But surely that was ridiculous.
“Just ten months, sir,” he said bracingly. “The first battle was fought on the fifth day of Stag. If Mazad can hold out till then, it’s all over except the negotiating.”
“Ah, yes, we shall have to negotiate when the time comes.” Nehar grabbed his goblet and took a sip, but he looked as if he wanted to gulp it. “Certainly.”
The back of Jiaan’s neck prickled. He sat up straighter. “But we don’t negotiate until their year is up. We will never surrender. Never.”
“Oh, of course! There will be no negotiations, until the proper time comes, of course.” The room was warm, but no one else was sweating.
Jiaan met the eyes of the three young deghans and saw his own dismay reflected there. He had hoped to leave them here just to get rid of them, but leaving someone to keep the governor in hand was beginning to seem like an even more urgent necessity.
“It’s an honor,” said Markhan, “to be here tonight with the deghan who will be responsible for the defeat of the Hrum. This will be a historic siege!”
“That it will!” Nehar sat up a bit, looking more cheerful. The deghan who would defeat the Hrum. This leaking bag of suet, to succeed where his father had failed. The room was suddenly too warm, the scented candle smoke thick in Jiaan’s lungs.
“If you’ll excuse me?” He pushed back his chair and rose, bowing thanks for the meal. “I have duties I must attend to.”
It was a squire’s excuse, and he saw Kaluud’s lip curl in a sneer, but it got Jiaan out of the fear-filled chamber and onto the gallery, where he could take deep breaths of the fresh, night air. Some thoughtful servant had laid their padded tunics over the gallery railing.
Inside the courtyard of the governor’s manor the noises of the city were muted, and Jiaan wasn’t familiar with Mazad’s normal night sounds. But the lowing of cattle, uneasy in their strange surroundings, the clatter of carts over the cobbles, even after dark, gave the city an air of tension. The Hrum were coming, soon, and the governor wasn’t the only one who was frightened. Fear could open gates no ram could penetrate. It was the Hrum’s best weapon, stronger than their superior swords, with a longer reach than any lance.
Jiaan pulled off his silken overrobe and put on his tunic—then he went in search of Commander Siddas.
HE FINALLY FOUND THE MAN at his own desk, studying a scroll by the light of a few dim lamps. The sight was oddly reassuring. How often had Jiaan found the commander poring over his papers, long after the rest of the army was abed and snoring?
This man was older than Jiaan’s father, perhaps in his fifties, wearing only a rough tunic. He’d obviously shaved that morning, but at this late hour the lamplight picked out pricks of silver in the stubble on his cheeks and chin. Though the cramped, stone-walled chamber in the base of the wall tower was less luxurious than even his father’s field pavilion, this was clearly where command lay. Jiaan sighed, and Commander Siddas looked up and smiled.
“I was wondering if you’d pay me a call. If you give me a moment, young sir, I’ll be at your service.”
“You don’t have to ‘sir’ me,” said Jiaan, sinking onto one of the plain wooden stools that faced the desk. “Take all the time you need.”
One gray-threaded brow rose. The commander put down the scroll he’d been studying, pinning it flat with his inkwell, and what looked like a common river stone. The eyes that studied Jiaan were peasant brown and peasant shrewd. They lingered on his blood-stained armor.
“A bit of lemon-oil soap will help with that,” he said. “But I think I’ll be calling you ‘sir,’ nonetheless.”
Jiaan blushed. “It’s my horse’s blood. I had to pull a splinter out of his shoulder after the battle.”
“And the way you’re holding your arm, you got that from pulling out a splinter?” Jiaan let go of his elbow and sat up. He had abandoned the sling a week ago, but his shoulder still ached by the end of the day. “You should keep it in a sling, if it pains you,” the commander went on. “No point in pain that I ever saw. But how can I be helping you, Commander Jiaan?”
“I thought there might be some way I could help you,” Jiaan told him. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that this man had learned his name. “There’s not much left of the army, though men are beginning to come to us now. Is there anything we can do to help Mazad hold out for ten months?”
He had no doubt that this man knew all about the Hrum’s strange laws.
“Hmm.” Siddas tipped back in his chair. “I’ve got one problem you might be helping me with, though I’m not
sure how.”
“Food?” Jiaan guessed. “We’ve stockpiled a bit, but we can get more. It’d take at least two weeks to get it here, though, and I don’t think we could arrive before the Hrum.”
“Oh, the Hrum will be here tomorrow morning,” said Siddas. “That’s not—”
“Tomorrow!” Jiaan jerked upright. “Then I’ve got to leave. I can’t afford to be trapped here.”
“Don’t be worrying about that,” said Siddas. “I can get you out of the city. I’ll have to blindfold you, mind, for that route is a secret I won’t be revealing to anyone. You’ll have to do a bit of bending and climb a ladder, but if you can do that blindfolded, we can get you away.”
“That’s not a—wait—what about my horse? Rakesh can’t—”
Commander Siddas grinned. “I’ve made arrangements to have all your horses taken outside the city later tonight—as soon as the civilians clear the road. They’re too fine to eat in a siege.”
“Thank you,” said Jiaan. “But that brings us to food. Do you have enough for ten months?”
“No,” said Siddas calmly. “Not with all the civilians we’ve brought inside the walls. But we’ve enough for four or five months, and right now I’m less worried about food than about Governor Nehar.”
“I know.” Jiaan rubbed the place between his brows that was beginning to ache. “He’s terrified.”
“Considering how the Hrum executed the gahn, he’s maybe got reason. But Mazad’s guard is under his command. Oh,” he raised a hand to stop Jiaan’s protest, “there’s nearly two-thirds would follow me no matter what Nehar said, but the other third are his men. And division in the ranks is the last thing we’ll be needing.”
Well, that accounted for the guards Jiaan had met at the gate. He was glad they weren’t all like that.
“So you see,” Siddas continued, “the governor has to stand fast. And I think . . . you really can’t blame the man for panicking. All he knew, all he relied on, has been destroyed by the Hrum. I think if he had other deghans about, it would give him something to hold on to.”
