by Devin Madson
At least the food was different to what we’d grown used to with the Chiltaens, and for a time we could settle around our separate fires and pretend we were back on the plains.
Until Tor tapped my shoulder. “Meeting time.”
I hadn’t forgotten, but I had put off thinking about it, about having to sit there pretending anyone gave a damn what I thought while others decided my people’s fate. Gideon’s fate.
I set my unfinished meal beside Amun, no longer hungry. “Yours, if you want extra. I have to go find out what the plan is now.”
I hadn’t spoken to him about my fears for Gideon, only my worries for our people, but something in the way he looked at me, some note of pity, hollowed me to the core. “Good luck,” he said, and I could once more see him kneeling beside the shrine in Chiltae, offering Hamatet’s soul back to the gods.
I always assumed you would be doing this for me one day. Gideon had smiled, but he’d meant it.
“Rah? They’re waiting for you.” Tor had taken a few steps away, impatience in every line of his body.
“Yes, I’m coming.”
The meeting tent was well into the Kisian portion of the camp, a few minutes’ walk we made in silence. All I could think to say was sorry that I needed him to translate for me, but with nothing I could do to fix the problem I kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t his job to allay my guilt as well.
The Kisians were even more keen on grand tents than the Chiltaens had been, the great silken thing Tor led me to like an enormous lantern. Light from inside shone through patterned patches of thinner material, leaving golden dragons and curls of flame to glow upon the dark shell.
Four guards stood outside, none of them familiar. General Ryoji might have nodded, but these men just stared as we approached. I thought to stop and gain permission to enter, but Tor kept walking, a man far surer of his welcome here than of his place in our herd.
I entered the tent a step behind him, momentarily blinded on the threshold. The space was full of light and glints on gold and wine, and all too many stares. Calculating. Assessing. Suspicious.
Empress Miko sat at the head of the table in a glorious crimson and gold surcoat, and though I had planned not to look at her, I stared longer than I ought, the sight of her kneeling there with her great bow upon her back breathtaking.
Nine men knelt with her, Minister Manshin, General Moto, and General Ryoji the only ones I knew. My name was spoken. Theirs followed. Oyamada. Yass. Mihri. I would forget them all in a few minutes. I stopped even listening when I caught sight of Ezma. She was sitting at the opposite end of the table to the empress, still and sure as a rock. She met my gaze with a slight smile. “Rah.”
“Ezma.” I forced myself to salute though it felt dishonourable to even pretend I respected her.
Talk buzzed around the table, but understanding none of it, I focussed on the empress’s voice as Tor steered me toward empty cushions near Ezma. Once we knelt, a maid filled our wine bowls and topped up others. Beside the empress, Minister Manshin addressed the table, and I sat listening to his tone and waiting for Tor to enlighten me.
“He says taking Kogahaera will be more complicated than initially thought,” he whispered at last. “There is… oh. A Chiltaen army is camped on the opposite side of the city. Minister Oyamada has been keeping an eye on them, prepared to fight should they attack but making no move without Her Majesty.”
“Chiltaens? I thought—”
“That you killed them all?” I flinched at you. “It seems not. The minister sounds surprised. They are now discussing what the Chiltaens could be planning, as an attack on a fortified Kisian city this far into the empire is no small thing.”
He fell silent, listening as the conversation moved around the table, picked up by each of the men between sips of wine while the empress watched. They addressed her as they spoke, some deferentially, others with minimal respect, all with the confidence of men who existed to be listened to. They spoke too fast for me to pick out any words, but the sound of Leo’s name sent a chill rolling down my spine. I reached for my wine bowl.
“Some are suggesting the Chiltaens may want the release of Dom Villius. Though having marched an army all the way here, it seems unlikely they will just leave again even if Gideon gives him up.”
It made no sense that Gideon had kept Leo with him having killed him once already, but having done so, the priest was probably the only thing he had to bargain. I didn’t say so, sure the men around me had already said it or the empress had already thought it.
“They are agreeing that unless the Chiltaens are there to bolster Gideon’s forces—”
I snorted. “Unlikely.”
“Their view too,” Tor said. “Which means it’s wiser to keep out of the way and let the Chiltaens attack the city first before sweeping in to clean up the mess.”
“What? All the Levanti inside the city could die if they do that.”
“They could die if the Kisians attack too.”
“No, because many more of them would surrender to a Kisian army, especially with us here. How many will surrender to a Chiltaen army?”
“None.”
The intensity of our interchange had drawn attention along the table. The empress lifted her brows, but what could I say? They were right from their own point of view. Why risk greater casualties to fight both the Chiltaens and the city at the same time when they could just sit back and wait to see what happened?
“Do you want to—?”
“No,” I said. “I will not bare my pain to people who won’t listen.”
“Then we ought to fight with people who will,” Ezma said, and before I could answer she rose, towering above the table, her headpiece brushing the sagging silk roof. When she spoke it was in Kisian, and I stared, shocked by her ease with the language.
“She is saying that, as many of the Swordherds are outside the city, it would be a good opportunity to gather the closest to our cause. There’s a good chance they chose to leave and therefore may be desirous of—”
“Attacking Gideon in retribution,” I said.
Tor gave a half shrug. “Something like that, yes.”
Ezma finished, leaving the conversation to leap around the table, from General Moto to the empress to others I didn’t know and back to General Moto. “Some of them like the idea,” Tor said. “The Chiltaen army is sizeable, and we don’t know what they intend. More soldiers can never be a bad thing.”
“But some of them fear we’ll turn on them?”
“Yes, they are mentioning what happened to the Chiltaens at Mei’lian quite often.”
“We were their prisoners. They treated us like dirt.”
Ezma broke in on what one of the generals was saying, and by the way Tor nodded in her direction this seemed to be the point she was making. Despite interrupting, everyone at the table listened to her, looked up to her standing above them, and let her finish with more respect than I had ever seen them show another Levanti. Clearly the crown and the regal bearing spoke to them.
“She is explaining the position of a horse whisperer and assuring them of her word.”
I snorted. The nearest general glanced my way, but no one else seemed to notice.
When Ezma finished, she remained standing, and it was a moment before the discussion was taken up again, bouncing up and back along the table with little sign they cared I was present.
“Let me know if you want to say anything,” Tor said. “I grumble about the need to do this, but I’ll be your voice.”
I thanked him with a murmur, but in truth I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. Gathering up loose herds was a good idea in theory, we were always stronger together, but if they put Ezma in charge of such an undertaking she could gather more supporters for… whatever she was trying to achieve. I didn’t trust her, nor her intentions toward Gideon and his Levanti. In my nebulous plans for what I would do when we reached this point, I had always imagined getting to speak to him, to appeal to him peacefully. That I could
be overruled by a Levanti majority wanting him and the others dead made me feel sick.
Minister Manshin spoke next, and I didn’t need Tor’s translation to know he was against the idea. He shot unpleasant looks my way. Whatever rapport I had thought we’d developed seemed to have run out.
“He says the people won’t trust us, and they shouldn’t either. He’s talking about the burning of Mei’lian and his imprisonment. I don’t think you’re getting any more support from him.”
I grunted agreement as the empress spoke, sliding her wine bowl forward on the table. She looked to Minister Manshin, who drew his back toward himself and turned to the man on his left.
“What are they doing?”
“Voting. Yes or no depending on whether they think Ezma should be allowed to round up more Levanti.”
As though they had the right to control our decisions.
More wine bowls moved, around the table in roughly equal numbers, ending with one more no than yes. Until Ezma pushed her wine bowl forward, evening the number. One of the generals exclaimed, appealing to the empress, and a flurry of heated conversation followed.
“They don’t think Ezma should get a vote, but apparently there is precedent,” Tor whispered. “She and you have been invited to this council as allies and so are officially allowed a say in the decision-making process. I get the feeling from the way they’re being deferential that the empress could overrule the vote, but I’m really not sure how this works.”
After some grumbling, the men finally seemed to accept they couldn’t stop Ezma voting, and all eyes turned to me. It was a draw, equal votes either way, and I stared down at my wine bowl rather than risk looking at Miko. She wanted more soldiers. Wanted to be sure of this battle. Of her empire. We owed her that after what Gideon had done to it, but Ezma was not who they thought her, wasn’t even who the Levanti thought her, and the idea of giving her more followers chilled my blood.
I reached out and, still looking only at the table, drew my wine bowl toward me. Murmuring broke out above my head, and when I did look up it was to see Empress Miko’s disappointment. And Ezma’s flash of anger, quickly hidden with a harsh smile.
Ezma was waiting for me in the shadows halfway back to our camp. “You think you’re clever, stopping me from helping our people?” she said as I passed.
I gripped the front of her collar, twisting the fabric in a shaking hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Doing?” she said, her initial shock sharpening to a derisive smile. “Helping my people. Fulfilling my purpose. What are you doing?”
Purpose. Leo had always talked a lot about purpose.
“You were exiled because the missionaries got into your head like they got to our herd masters, weren’t you?”
“The Entrancers?” She barked a harsh laugh. “Oh no, they only do that to people who refuse to listen.”
My stomach dropped through the bottom of my feet. “Entrancers?”
She gripped my hand and twisted, sending a shoot of pain through my wrist. My hold loosened, she pulled free and straightened her collar. “Yes, Rah,” she said. “Entrancers. That’s what they’re called when they can get inside your head. Gosh, how very adorably pathetic you look when you stare like that. You have no idea about anything you think you understand, little man.”
“Get inside people’s heads?” I took a threatening step closer, anger bubbling through me. “The sickness. Our herd masters are being controlled and you knew? You knew and said nothing?”
She held her ground and shrugged. “Even if I wanted to tell someone, I was here, wasn’t I?”
“But you didn’t want to tell anyone?”
“Why would I? They’re helping us be better.”
The knife was in my hand before I thought to draw it, its edge pressed to the skin of her throat. “How many people have died for your idea of better?”
She glared back as though the blade wasn’t there and hissed through her teeth. “None would have to if they just listened. The missionaries came to me like they came to everyone, but I was wise. I listened and I learned and opened my eyes to a world beyond the plains, to the truth just out of reach. I stopped fighting against God’s purpose and became one with it.”
I pressed the blade harder into her flesh, my own prickling with the heat of an anger I’d never known. “You carry the name and honour of a horse whisperer, and yet you spit on everything it stands for.”
She leaned in, daring me to keep my arm steady and slice deep. A thin line of blood appeared on the blade. “Horse whisperers guide the spirit of our people. I would be spitting on that if I let the Levanti keep believing in nothing.”
“In nothing?” For years I had berated myself for having failed, for having shamed my people by abandoning my training, and now here she stood proud of how she had twisted all we believed in. I wanted to hurt her, but even now the dishonour of threatening a horse whisperer warred with the anger within me. “And I thought I had failed the training. At least I knew enough to know I had failed.”
Ezma glared her challenge. “The way the Levanti are going cannot last. The world is moving on and we are staying the same. If we don’t accept change all Levanti will die, our ways lost with us. Gideon chose to do something, even if it was the wrong thing. If you choose to do nothing there will be more blood on your hands than on either of ours.”
She stepped back, leaving my blade hovering in mid-air. A trickle of blood trailed down her neck. “Don’t worry, Rah, by the time you get back to the plains, if you ever do, you’ll be obsolete anyway. The new Veld is going to shape an empire for us.”
“You mean Leo. You’re one of his followers?”
Her laugh made me feel like a child. “Leo Villius is nothing but a cheat. A pretender. Veld is Levanti. The empire will be built on Levanti land. All this”—she spread her arms and gestured around—“is just the war and politics of people who don’t matter.”
“Don’t matter?” Pain sheared up my arm for how tightly I gripped the knife. “Don’t matter? You are talking about thousands of innocent people.”
“Then stay here and fight for them. I have Levanti souls to save.”
It was my turn to laugh, the sound a bitter thing full of hate. “You think you’re Veld?”
“Oh no, not me. But I will be there when they save our people from the Entrancers, taking up their holy empire under God.”
“The Entrancers who created this problem in the first place!”
She grinned. “A neat plan, don’t you think?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s funny. All this information you can’t do anything with because it’s too late. Look at that pain crossing your face. You want to hurt me so much, but you can’t do that either. Not here. You can’t do anything at all, Rah e’Torin, because no one is going to believe a damn word you say about me. It’s your word against mine, and I’m a horse whisperer. You’re just a—how many times exiled?—former Sword captain.”
Ezma straightened her clothing, wiped the trickle of blood from her neck, and clasped her hands behind her back. With her head proudly raised, the jawbone headpiece of her calling was imposing, and I couldn’t separate the respect I held for her position, for those who gave themselves to such a life, from the disgust I felt for her.
“You just want power, and you’ll do anything to get it,” I said. “You weren’t satisfied with helping people only when they came to you. You only listened to the missionaries because the beliefs they offered you allowed you to give in to your impulse to control.”
A snarl creased her face. “Don’t assume you know anything about me.”
“I don’t, but I know what it felt like being all alone, isolated from your herd, belonging nowhere. And to know it would always be like that. People revere you in silence. They come for your help and leave and you are alone again. No power. No supporters. No friends or family or lovers. It’s just service and nothing else.”
This time when h
er face twisted she couldn’t smooth it, so deep were the creases of hurt. “You have no idea.”
“I do. I hated it. That’s why I left. You should have too.”
“Fuck you and your righteous compassion, Rah. I don’t want it. I found my path and I hope you never find yours.”
She strode out into the moonlight, leaving me still gripping a knife in the shadows, my every heaved breath containing more emotion than I had space in my body to hold. But disgust and hate and horror all too soon gave way to a gaping hopelessness, because she was right. There was nothing I could do. No one would believe me. I wasn’t even sure I believed it. Entrancers? It sounded mystical, but so did a man who could come back to life when he died, gifted new flesh by a god. How could a man like that be a fraud?
“Rah?”
I spun, still clutching the knife. Amun stood behind me, keeping a wary distance. I thrust the blade back into its scabbard and gripped him by the shoulders. “You were right,” I said. “She is a believer in the One True God. She thinks there’s going to be a holy empire and she is going to help it happen. But… why make a deal with the empress to lead the Levanti into battle?”
For a long moment, Amun just stared, his gaze jumping from one of my eyes to the other like he was trying to read. To catch up. “Perhaps she thinks being in charge will help her protect Leo Villius?”
“No.” I let him go and ran a hand over the short hair on my scalp. “She doesn’t think he’s Veld. She thinks it’s a Levanti who is going to remake the holy empire.”
“A Levanti? Her?”
I shook my head and started to pace, short distances with furious steps. “Someone else. But she talked about Entrancers, who are the ones getting in the herd masters’ heads, Amun; she told me because there was nothing I could do to change it, and she’s right.” I stopped abruptly and turned to him. “I probably sound like I’m raving even to you. Who would believe such a thing, especially levelled at a horse whisperer?”
“You do sound like you’re raving. But for what little it’s worth, I believe you.”
