by Devin Madson
The row of tents along which we walked had been set upon grass, but the walkway between them was a muddy trough. Soldiers bowed as we passed and I nodded and smiled to them all, feeling like I was in a parade rather than strolling about an army camp.
“How do I make the focus on them, not on me?” I said as we turned into a wider channel that was equally muddy. A pair of boys scampered past carrying trays of food, eyes widening at the sight of me. “I want to… talk to them. Get to know them.”
“Then talk to them.”
“But what do I say? Court small talk is all about weather and hair and what an unfortunate colour of robe so-and-so has chosen today. How did Kin do it?”
“By asking them about themselves and remembering things so they felt important. There is nothing men like better—especially soldiers—than talking about themselves.”
I had never heard him say anything so cynical, and my laugh drew the attention of a young soldier just stepping out of his tent. He flinched at the sight of me. Bowed. Stammered “Your Majesty” and stared at the ground, twisting his tunic in his hands.
“I must be quite the fearful sight to earn such a response,” I said, approaching with Manshin in my wake. “What is your name, soldier?”
“Tanaka Ono, Your Majesty.”
He said it with such consciousness, such reluctance, that I was grateful for his thoughtfulness even as the name sheared through my skin, my flesh, my bones, to strike deep into my heart. My forced smile trembled. “Tanaka,” I said. “One of my favourite names. And where are you from, Tanaka Ono?”
“From Anxi, Your Majesty. At least, I was born there. I grew up in a small town to the west you’ve… probably never heard of.”
“Try me.”
He seemed to consider if this was some sort of test, but said, “Boruta, Your Majesty.”
“Ah, one of the many towns catering to travellers along the fur trails, famed for its warm baths and excellent wine.”
The further widening of his eyes was as satisfying as the thud of an arrow hitting its target. “Yes, Your Majesty, that’s the one.”
“Well, given the beauty of your home, we are doubly fortunate to have you with us.”
With that, I nodded to him and continued on with the minister. “That,” I said as we walked away, “was easier than I thought.”
“For the most part they are men of simple needs, Your Majesty. However, I’m surprised you’d heard of so small a town.”
“I haven’t. I guessed its attractions based on the general character of the area.” An area I had recently walked through in my underrobe with only a Levanti for company.
“I am not sure if that makes your display more or less impressive, Your Majesty. Ah, here are the two generals who weren’t present for our… display the other morning,” he added, nodding at a pair of men in fine crimson surcoats, talking together near the quartermaster’s tent. “The taller of the two is General Senn Mihri, while the other is—”
“General Moto.”
One of the two generals Jie had expected would control the empire in his place.
The pair bowed as we approached.
“Generals,” Manshin said as we halted before them, he at his ease while I pretended I was oblivious of both men searching my features—no doubt to ascertain how much an Otako I was. “I present Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Miko Ts’ai.”
They bowed again, murmuring “Your Majesty,” and when General Mihri went to speak his name, I said, “General Senn Mihri, youngest son of the great General Mihri. As famed for his leadership skills as for the quality of the horses bred on his estate west of Anxi. You were promoted after an engagement against the mountain tribes in 1370 and have been stationed there since, defending our western border.”
I lifted my chin. “You served my father, the great Emperor Kin Ts’ai, with strength and honour, and I welcome your continued service to the empire.”
The hardened soldier’s brows lifted, and in a gruff voice he said, “Many thanks, Your Majesty.”
I turned my attention to General Moto, who before I could speak, said, “My name is General Moto, Your Majesty. Commander of the forces stationed at Ts’ai since the last border skirmish with Chiltae in 1385.”
If he had hoped to leave me nothing to say, he reckoned without the wealth of detail Minister Manshin knew about the generals under his command.
“General Tai Moto,” I said, noting he was shrewd. “First of his family to achieve the rank despite the second sons of the Count of Tatan having served since the family took the title in 1236.” I owed too many hours of memorising family names and honours for that one. “When you were a captain in Mei’lian’s standing battalion, you defended my father against a pair of assassins who attacked while he was inspecting plans for rebuilding the city’s defences.”
And as I had to General Mihri, I lifted my chin and said, “You served my father, the great Emperor Kin Ts’ai, with strength and honour, and I welcome your continued service to the empire.”
No surprise this time, but with the appreciative nod of a move well played, he smiled and said, “Many thanks, Your Majesty.”
We left them and walked on, sure they were watching us as we departed. Once we were well out of earshot, Manshin said, “Well done, Your Majesty.”
“Oddly, that was easier than talking to the soldier.”
We walked on, stopping here and there to exchange a few words with captains and common soldiers alike, even with one of the boys who sped about the camp carrying messages and supplies and food. When I greeted him, he stared open-mouthed for many long seconds before stammering, “Your Majesty. What… what can I do for you, Your Majesty?” with a deep bow.
“Tell me about you.”
“About… me, Your Majesty?” The poor child looked horrified.
“Why don’t you start with your name.”
“A-Ani, Your Majesty.”
“And where are you from, Ani?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty, but… but I was living on the streets of Mei’lian when the recruiter found me.”
Had someone asked me whether poor people lived on the streets of Kisia’s cities I would have said yes, their existence impossible to avoid, but with a jolt of shame I realised not only that I’d never spoken to one before, but that I’d never asked myself why they were there at all.
Another thing I would have to change.
We spoke a little longer, but he got no more comfortable, so I let him escape back to his task.
“I’m unsure what that conversation achieved,” Manshin said, having stood like a stern statue beside me the whole time. “You don’t need the favour of those who don’t fight for you.”
“But without these boys, would the camp run as smoothly as it does?”
“No, but that is for the generals and the quartermaster to control.”
The argument didn’t seem worthwhile so I let it drop, though Ani’s simple admission that he didn’t know where he was from lingered long on my mind.
We had almost done a full lap of the camp when Minister Manshin nodded at two men sitting before a cooking fire like common soldiers despite their generals’ regalia. “I think I told you about General Yass and General Alon, our two barbarian generals.”
“You did,” I said. “But if they fight for Kisia and live in Kisia, how is it we still call them barbarians?”
“The term is not used in disrespect, Your Majesty, merely to indicate they are not Kisian.”
“What makes one Kisian, I wonder,” I said, more to myself than because I wished an answer.
“Being born here is a good start.”
I had no time to retort before the two generals rose from their meals, and in a hurried under voice, Manshin added, “I’ve been informed both refused to give allegiance to Emperor Jie. You must tread carefully with them.”
“Is treading carefully the best way to earn their respect?”
“No, but with them, demanding it is the surest way not to get it.�
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There was no time for more as we came within earshot and the two men bowed, which seemed like a good start. At first sight there was nothing about either to mark them as not Kisian, as Manshin put it, except that General Yass had shorter hair than was fashionable even amongst soldiers, and General Alon wore a full beard. And when they opened their mouths, their southern Kisian accent was heavy.
“Your Majesty,” General Yass said, and where another general might have filled the brief silence with an observation or question, both men merely stood waiting to be informed what I wanted. There was something both uncomfortable and wonderful about men who did not fill silence for the sake of it, talking to no purpose.
“Ah, you like your speaking direct, I see,” I said. “Rather than court chatter.”
“We have neither of us been to court, Your Majesty,” General Alon said, and it was odd not to clearly see the movement of his lips and the lines about his face. In its way, his beard was a mask. “We are but simple soldiers.”
“Then allow me to get to the point,” I said. “As I’m sure you understand, new emperors, and empresses, usually request an immediate oath of allegiance from their generals as a way of feeling… less vulnerable. I understand my brother requested this, but I will not as it goes against your ways to give loyalty that has not been earned. The very honour that makes this so gives me confidence you won’t betray me, and I trust that if you have a problem with my decisions you will afford me the same degree of plain speaking as I have afforded you.”
My heart hammered throughout this speech as I hunted their expressions for some sign they understood, that they appreciated my decision, but their faces were implacable. And when I finished they merely bowed, more acknowledgement than anything, and I wanted to be sick.
Until General Yass said, “Your plain speaking is appreciated, Your Majesty. We may give no oaths to those who have not earned them, but we fight for Kisia, so while you fight for Kisia you will find us at your side, sworn allegiance or no.”
“And we don’t stab people in the back,” General Alon said, with a gruff laugh. “We stab them in the front.”
My relief was potent and I couldn’t but grin, an expression that would have horrified my mother. “You served my father, the great Emperor Kin Ts’ai, with strength and honour,” I said as I had to the others. “And I welcome your continued service to the empire.”
“Your Majesty,” they said.
We walked on, leaving the generals to their meal, and once we were out of earshot, I awaited a compliment on how well that had gone. But Minister Manshin maintained a noncommittal silence, not even pointing out other leaders or areas of the camp as we went.
“No congratulations on my handling this time, Minister?”
“I feel there is a line between being too distant and too… forward, Your Majesty.”
“There was something more forward about my interaction with them than any others? I am afraid I don’t see it,” I said, stung by the injustice.
I looked up, but he didn’t meet my gaze as he said, “They conduct themselves differently, but you are their empress. This is Kisia, not the mountains. It is weak for you to conform, and in your position, indelicate to speak so to barbarian men.”
His tone chastened, yet his words filled me with a frustration I could give no voice to, could not even explain, let alone argue over.
“Only the barbarian ones?” I said, keeping my question deceptively cool.
“Let us say especially the barbarian ones.”
“Are they more dangerous to my virtue?”
He looked down at me, a scowl cutting his brow. “This is hardly a useful conversation.”
“No, you’re right, it’s not.” I stopped walking. “I’m feeling fatigued and will rest in my tent until it’s time for the meeting.”
Minister Manshin bowed. “Your Majesty.”
I walked back to the central tents alone, caught in my own abstraction. Everything was noise and movement, but it seemed to calm the thoughts swirling through my head, thoughts I could barely catch let alone dwell on, such did anger speed them from my grasp.
A soldier stood guard outside my tent, bearing the expression of one with something important to say. I let go a reluctant sigh. “What is it?”
“Your Majesty. You have a visitor.”
“A visitor? Who?”
“That would be me.”
I spun, breath catching at the sound of so recognisable a voice. At his ease a few paces away stood General Ryoji. Ryoji who had trained us. Ryoji who had been my mother’s most loyal guard. Ryoji into whom I had stuck a blade the night I had protected Emperor Kin against Mother’s coup. For all the good it had done.
He didn’t look any worse for it, but he had aged since I’d last seen him. Or perhaps it was merely that I’d never seen him out of uniform.
Despite the way we had parted, despite everything, it took all my self-control not to run to him, not to touch him to be sure he was real. Not to demand news of my mother and how he came to be here. The answers would hurt too much, and too many people were watching. I was fast learning there were always people watching in an army camp, much like at court.
“General Ryoji,” I said with great self-control. “It has been quite some time since I last saw you.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.” He bowed, and I could not but think of how long he had bowed to my mother and called her Majesty. “You are remarkably difficult to find.”
“I was unaware you were alive, let alone looking for me.” I turned to the soldier standing guard. “Have someone bring food and wine to my tent. General,” I added, gesturing an invitation to enter. “Do join me.”
He bowed again. “I would be honoured, Your Majesty.”
The interior of my tent owned few comforts of rank amid the practicalities of life in a military camp. Especially a military camp where I was trying to prove myself useful and necessary, not merely a figurehead sitting on a nonexistent throne.
No finery, but there was a table, and I gestured for Ryoji to sit. He hesitated, something of a wry smile twisting his lips. “What a reverse this is.”
“Isn’t it,” I agreed. “I must admit I prefer the power balance this way around.”
“So did your mother.”
He seemed to regret the words the moment they were out of his mouth, his smile fading into wariness.
A hundred questions banked behind my teeth as I sat down, intent on maintaining my imperial bearing whatever our history. He had known me from a child, but I would give him no reason to look at me and still see that child.
“Well,” I said. “I think you owe me quite the tale, General, but first, where is she?”
He bowed his head. “I don’t know.”
I had not been prepared for grief and ought to be glad I’d been spared it, yet this ongoing limbo was somehow worse. “You had better explain yourself.”
I hoped I looked as grim as I sounded, hoped he had not forgotten the blade I’d stuck in his flesh. I wanted to trust him, but I was well past trusting people merely because I hoped I could.
Letting out a sigh, General Ryoji ran his hand along the tabletop as though smoothing wrinkles from the wood. “I tried,” he said, the words a whisper. “I tried, Miko, I really did, but they came so fast. One moment the city and the castle were secure, then they were inside slaughtering everyone. I’d headed for the gates at the first sign something was amiss and by the time I realised how bad it was I couldn’t get back to…”
He stared at his own hand sliding over the table. “We were overrun. There was nothing I could do. I ought to have fought and died, but… it seems my loyalty to your mother is stronger even than my sense of duty and honour.”
I refrained from pointing out his support of her coup had been evidence enough of that.
“I took a Chiltaen uniform from a fallen soldier and got out into the city. I began planning how to get back in to save her, but by morning they had already left.”
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“I understand the hieromonk took her south with him. I followed their trail, but it went cold at Suway. What little was left of the northern towns were in no state to remember anyone passing through, or perhaps they weren’t following the roads, I don’t know.” His hand stilled and he looked up. “I went every direction I thought they might have gone and found nothing. I don’t even know…” His gaze flicked away again. “She was suffering a bout of illness the night they took Koi.”
I thought of my mother banked up by pillows with Master Kenji kneeling at her side, thin trickles of blood draining from pinpricks in her arm. She had always been so well I had thought it a ruse to gain pity.
“She was really sick?”
General Ryoji nodded. “The Imperial Disease.”
Of course I had heard of it, had seen it listed often enough in our family history to ask what it was. No one seemed to know, only that it had plagued the Otako family for a long time. Fatigue. Weakness. Slowing of breath and vitality. Nothing seemed to help.
“How long?”
“Had she had it? A few years, getting slowly worse. Each bout more debilitating than the last and getting closer together. With care Master Kenji thought she had a year left, maybe two. Without his care…”
He left the words hanging, the rest of the thought not needing to be spoken aloud for how completely it filled my mind. Without care she could already be dead.
“By the time I gave up trying to find her,” the general went on, not wanting to dwell on the fear that must have been in his mind as much as it was in mine, “Mei’lian had fallen to the Chiltaens and my search for you turned up as little as my search for your mother. Until now.”
“Well,” I said when I could swallow the lump forming in my throat. “For what it’s worth, it’s good to see you again, General.”
“And kind of you to call me so when I am now a mere commoner.”
He would have to earn my trust, but he was as useful as his presence was comforting. I allowed myself a smile. “Not a kindness, merely an acknowledgement of your continued position.”
