The Company of Glass

by Tricia Sullivan

  Quintar stepped out in the open and said, ‘You have dishonoured my Clan. You fight like a Pharician tree ape and a coward.’

  ‘Have me killed, then, O Captain of the Queen’s Guard,’ laughed the small, dark man with the white teeth.

  ‘I have a better idea. Come down from the ceiling, monkey, and let’s see you fight like a man.’

  ‘I could kill you where you stand.’ Chyko brought a blowgun to his lips.

  ‘Maybe. But you would then deny me the pleasure of thrashing you with my sword.’

  ‘Ah, so you will have a sword and I will have nothing,’ sang Chyko. ‘Yes, that is honourable, queen’s man.’

  ‘Give him a sword,’ said Quintar to the guards. They obeyed him, already beginning to look pleased at the prospect of watching their Captain teach this outlander a lesson.

  The prisoner came down from the ceiling of the aviary to take the sword that was placed on the ground for him. Quintar was aware that he had acquired quite an audience, but tried to ignore it. He used all his senses to assess the Wasp prisoner: the way he moved, how he used his eyes, what his weaknesses might be. On the surface of it, Chyko didn’t look like much. He was small and wiry, with very little muscle on his bones. Picking up the weapon as if it were unfamiliar, the offender tossed it from hand to hand, made a few rather awkward practice strokes, and nodded at Tarquin that he was ready.

  It was over in seconds. Quintar remembered making a test pass or two at the archer, who fell back and parried clumsily. He was thinking that despite the stranger’s crimes and flagrant disrespect, it would be a shame to dishonour him by humiliating him publicly because he was not allowed to use a weapon of his choice. He had shown masterful skill with dart and bow, and ought not to be thrashed now.

  Then again, the stranger had humiliated some of his best guards and insulted him as well. Best to sort him out and teach him a lesson. Quintar spotted an opportunity and acted on it.

  The next thing he knew, his own sword was flying through the air end over end even as his legs were being taken out from under him. He ended up on his back with the point of his opponent’s sword snuggling into his throat. He looked up the blade into Chyko’s laughing eyes.

  ‘Ah, Quintar!’ called Ysse, applauding – for she had a way of sniffing out trouble in Jai Khalar and appearing on the scene without warning. ‘Well done. I see you have found a friend at last.’

  The word ‘friend’ was the farthest thing from Quintar’s mind at that moment; but Ysse, as was her irritating wont, turned out to be correct in the long run. Chyko joined the Company, and his mere presence among the other men was enough not only to entertain and electrify but to raise the collective standard of proficiency. For Chyko alone held himself to be Tarquin’s equal. For the other men, Quintar felt the affection of a father for his sons or a master for his hounds; and they, for their part, spent hour after hour speculating about him, exchanging stories about him; inventing nicknames and looking for ways to break through his exterior without ever succeeding, for Quintar’s bond with his men depended on him holding himself apart, keeping them in fear of him. Yet Chyko was different. He stood out even among the individualists of Quintar’s Company. He did not need to be declared Free by anybody: he had declared himself Free, and spent most of his time getting in and out of trouble of one kind or another. Over him Quintar had no authority.

  Quintar lost count of how many times Chyko had angered him almost to the point of violence. Yet it had been impossible to hold a grudge against someone who had so much zest for life. Chyko had taken such pleasure in battle as Quintar had never seen. Some of it had rubbed off on the Company and Quintar himself; but all of that was before Jai Pendu, in times of honest battles using flesh and steel. They had been the greatest days of Quintar’s life, and they would never come again.

  A door slammed somewhere nearby, and he whirled, following the echo to its source. Ajiko had come out of the office carrying his crossbow and several large scrolls.

  What, Tarquin wondered, was the preoccupation with paper in Jai Khalar of late? If a man couldn’t remember everything he needed to know without writing it down, he probably knew too much for his own good.

  Tarquin swung down from the ring and went towards the general. Ajiko had been an outstanding fighter in his time. He had missed going to Jai Pendu with the Company only because he had been injured just before Ysse dispatched them on their fateful mission. He had also been the foremost archer in Everien until Chyko came along and changed all the standards.

  Ajiko saw him and halted.

  ‘What have you got there?’ Tarquin asked, gesturing to the scrolls.

  Ajiko shifted restlessly for a moment before squaring himself to face Tarquin, as if this were a conversation he did not wish to have. He slid his crossbow on to his back and Tarquin noted that it was charred and scratched with long use. The symbols of his Clan had been carved along its length, unintelligible to Tarquin but probably telling something of his family history and boasting of battle prowess. The general himself was built like a small bull, with black hair going grey and a rugged face whose nose was displaced half an inch to one side after having been broken one time too many. He grimaced slightly as he withdrew a scroll case from his leather coat. He used large, blunt teeth to open the knot binding it, then spread out the map on the pavement, weighting it with raw lumps of glass. The drawing had been painstakingly labelled in his small, neat hand, with lines and arrows indicating troop and supply movement in contrasting colours, and enemy positions with dates written beside them. The whole thing was coded according to what seemed an incredibly complex system of signs. It was a far cry from Tarquin’s recollection of sketches drawn in sand with the occasional use of a boot to indicate a warship.

  ‘Are these your troop numbers?’ Tarquin said incredulously. ‘Where have you found so many?’

  ‘My army uses men of all ages, in different capacities. We use women behind the lines. And there is a whole generation grown to adulthood since you left.’

  ‘But so many all together? It reminds me of Pharice.’ He had not meant it as a compliment, but Ajiko took it that way.

  ‘Pharice has a highly effective system,’ Ajiko said proudly. ‘Our forces are highly disciplined, tightly organized, and swiftly coordinated. Despite what you heard in the Council today, the majority of Everien is safe from the Sekk under this regime – and it would be safer still if the king would only let go of Mhani and the Knowledge that she has made us all dependent on.’

  Looking at the complicated map, Tarquin felt slightly out of his depth. If what was needed in a warrior today was book learning and map-making, then better that he had stayed in the wild lands.

  ‘But Everien seems so empty,’ he murmured. ‘I thought the war must be going very badly.’

  ‘Everien is one country,’ Ajiko said, as though reciting a well-practised speech. ‘We cannot afford to sit in our Clan holdings bickering like a nest of seahawks while the Sekk prey on us. We must unite against a common enemy. As Ysse believed, so do I.’

  ‘Maybe there is a chance against Pharice after all,’ Tarquin acknowledged awkwardly. ‘I had never seen so many arms together as made up the Pharician force. But if all is as you say, it may be that the enemy can be cut apart and repelled. Are your elite fighters to hand? Can you reach them through the Eyes, or bring them here?’

  ‘We do not rely on elite warriors as of old,’ Ajiko answered. ‘Again, you are thinking in terms that no longer apply. It is dangerous, very dangerous, to allow a powerful fighter to engage with the Sekk. For if he is turned and Enslaved, not only have we lost his strength, but it can be used against us.’

  ‘This is news to me,’ Tarquin said. ‘In our Company we had the best men in Everien, and not one of them was ever Enslaved.’

  Ajiko gazed at him, and his face was like a wall. ‘We live in swiftly changing times,’ he said.

  Tarquin, thinking of the implications of Ajiko’s policy, became agitated. ‘But the Pharicians treat th
eir soldiers as sheep, or worse. Often the Pharician soldier is merely a prisoner from one of their conquered lands, without rights or land of his own. Why would you wish to model Clan warfare on Pharician ways? I would say that by building these big armies, you are making the Clansmen into servants, little better than Slaves. The Clan warrior must uphold family honour and tradition, but the way in which he expresses these legacies is his own to choose. He lays his life down for his people; therefore he is not meant to be bound by the same rules as others. All our great warriors were men of strong will and strong imagination. To march in formation this way, to be made to subvert their instincts in favour of the Knowledge gained by the Artifacts – this would be intolerable to such a man.’

  ‘Such a man as you describe,’ Ajiko said carefully, ‘would soon find himself to be an officer in my system. Much as you were an officer under Ysse. A great leader can take men anywhere, do anything with them.’

  ‘Ysse was such a leader,’ Tarquin agreed. ‘She was barely mortal in the eyes of her subjects. But we never fought as you ask your men to fight, Ajiko. Ysse always inspired the man, the group, but the strength came from within. If there is no desire within, no fighting spirit, then all the discipline in the world cannot put it there by artificial means. They will only ever fight out of sheer terror, and this will make them vulnerable to Slaving. No administrative technique, however clever, will make your men heroes if it takes away their self-will.’

  ‘Heroes?’ Ajiko said bitterly. ‘I have no hopes that they would be heroes. The heroes of Everien are long dead. I must work with what is left over, and these men do not have the talent to be the kind of warrior you led in your day.’

  ‘Nonsense! What about the younger generation?’

  ‘They have no experience of a world without the Knowledge. They believe in the Artifacts. They don’t wish it to be any other way. We have had eighteen years of relative peace now, thanks to the Water of Glass.’

  Tarquin noted the clumsy flattery and felt like ripping Ajiko up with his teeth. ‘Show me your men, then. I would like to look on this army for myself.’

  ‘Most of our forces are deployed high in the western hills, in Wolf Country and in Snake Country. The east is patrolled but has got off lightly of late, so we have diverted most of these men to support the west.’ He indicated the trend on the map.

  Tarquin frowned. He had seen no evidence of a large force anywhere in the north-western mountains through which he’d passed in recent days on his way from Pharice; so this must mean that Ajiko’s troops were farther south, closer to the sea plateau. He pointed to the area on the map and said, ‘So they are somewhere around here now?’

  Ajiko’s face gave away nothing. Indicating the map, Tarquin said, ‘If we could mobilize our forces in these hills, we might make a stand on the sea plateau at the mouth of Everien. We could fight them from a superior position on the edge of the sea plateau, among the waterfalls and rockslides. If this fails, we’ll draw the Pharicians into the mountain gates and so contain their assault.’ He was getting into the spirit of things now, and he added excitedly, ‘They’ll get bottlenecked in these hills, and we can rain fire down from above with our Wasp archers. I suggest you move half of these troops to the sea plateau and occupy the high ground. The other half should wait in the mountains above the gates. If we can establish a supply train, we might hold them off indefinitely. At the same time, we must determine their supply lines and attack them. An army this size cannot be easy to feed. What is going on in Jundun, the capital?’

  The general’s famously dispassionate countenance allowed a flat smile. ‘You are ahead of yourself. We need to see this Pharician army before we can move troops. And as of yet the Eyes do not show it.’

  ‘The Eyes this, the Eyes that! What good are they?’ He didn’t attempt to disguise his annoyance. He was not surprised that the hardheaded general should be uncooperative, but it seemed incredible to him that Ajiko had become so reliant on the Knowledge – ironically, on the very Knowledge that Tarquin had brought to Everien personally in the form of the Water of Glass.

  ‘The Eyes would be extremely useful if the Seers who use them would pay more attention to their military applications. Eyes help us to monitor the high country, where the Sekk are most likely to move in and Enslave people. I have to protect people from themselves, and that’s never easy with the Clans competing with each other to see who can be more proud, more self-sufficient, more indifferent to suffering. It calls for subtlety of method.’

  Taken aback, Tarquin said nothing for a moment. The pragmatic Ajiko had always impressed him as having about as much imagination as a cheese, yet now he sounded like a Seer. He couldn’t think how to respond to this unexpectedly philosophical analysis; then he shook himself a little. ‘But the high country is practically empty. If they’re not in the mountains, then where are all your men?’

  He kicked sand at the map and saw Ajiko throttle his anger.

  ‘I have much to do,’ Ajiko said. He bent and collected his map. ‘You should be satisfied: the king rides to Wolf Country in the morning to gather up our forces. He will attempt to verify your claims through the monitor towers on the way, and if the Pharicians are behaving as you say, he will make a stand by the sea gates.’

  ‘It’s not an answer, Ajiko,’ Tarquin called after him as he left. ‘What is the matter with you people? None of you can deal with confrontation. No wonder you hide in Jai Khalar. You can’t even answer a straight question.’

  But Ajiko was gone.

  Eighteen years. Tarquin sent his gaze around the silent training ground. Again he pictured his men – valiant or crazed, it hadn’t mattered in those days.

  A Light Snack Between Meals

  It took hours before Istar located the entrance to the Eye Tower lurking under a large potted fern. When she made her way inside, she found her mother kneeling on the brink of the Water, eyes closed, one finger touching its mirrory surface.

  ‘I know Xiriel spied on us,’ Mhani said by way of greeting. ‘He is a devil when it comes to shortcuts and tricks in the Knowledge.’

  ‘I don’t believe this is happening,’ Istar replied, not bothering to apologize. She certainly wasn’t sorry.

  Mhani murmured, ‘Connectivity. The Water of Glass connects that which is separate. The connection is broken, but what can break water?’

  Istar stamped her foot. ‘Mother! This is no time for Philosophy. Where is Tarquin?’

  ‘He is sleeping,’ Mhani said tonelessly. ‘Leave him be. He’s exhausted.’

  ‘Not you, too. Why is everyone on his side?’

  ‘Once,’ Mhani said, ‘Chyko was caught by a Sekk. It was a powerful Master, and it enthralled Chyko and he could not escape.’

  ‘My father, Enslaved? That’s impossible.’ Istar was revulsed at the thought.

  ‘Quintar broke the spell.’

  ‘Always Quintar!’ Istar snarled. ‘Saving Chyko; saving Everien; Ysse’s favourite – always fucking Quintar!’

  Mhani didn’t seem to be listening.

  ‘Chyko must have been lying if he told you that,’ Istar went on. ‘Or drunk. It can’t be a true story. I’m sick of hearing about the past, anyway. Tarquin’s crazy, I’m telling you.’

  ‘They thought Ysse was crazy to seek the Artifacts of Jai Pendu. Before that, she was a mere girl, an Honorary with less status than yourself.’

  Istar looked at her mother as if she’d blasphemed. Mhani added, ‘Oh, she was better than many, a valued fighter – but an Honorary nevertheless, and no match for the best men. Until she got it in her head to ride the White Road to Jai Pendu. Then the Fire of Glass changed everything. She had tapped into the Knowledge and she returned … different. Better. She was still an Honorary, but none could bend her will.’

  Yearningly, Istar said, ‘That’s why I have to go to Jai Pendu. My father was Chyko! If anyone was ever born to fight, it’s me.’

  ‘Istar, it’s never the same problem or the same solution. Ysse’s time was dif
ferent. The Sekk have changed us. Always we warred among ourselves. Always we honoured the fighter. But the Clans were untame people in the years before we came to Everien. The Knowledge gave us a taste of something we had never tasted. It refined our ways, civilized us. So that when the Sekk came to take the family of a Clan warrior, it was a battle unlike any he had ever known. It was a seduction, and every man of every Clan had to learn to resist it. Every man stood alone. Every one was a dedicated warrior, bound body and blood to his Clan and territory, but free in his heart. He trained only in hope of remaining free. In the hope that the day he encountered not merely one of its monsters, but a Sekk Master itself, he might stand his ground, resist the Slaving. And if he was worthy, he hoped to destroy the Sekk. For if he failed, his will would be taken and he would go mad, slay his own family and stock, and ultimately kill himself under the domination of the Sekk. There was no army to speak of before Ysse came, and the Sekk were a terrible scourge in those days – far worse than anything you have seen, Istar.’

  ‘I find that difficult to believe.’

  ‘I hope you never have to pay the price of underestimating them. Their beauty is haunting and irresistible.’

  ‘I have resisted it,’ Istar boasted. ‘I killed one, Mhani. No one seems to remember that when they deal with me.’

  Mhani shook her head. ‘Stop being such a child! You know next to nothing, Istar. Ysse would have had you for a light snack between meals.’

  Istar went quiet at the name of the queen. Mhani’s cheeks were pink with indignation as she continued. ‘It is recorded that when Ysse returned from Jai Pendu with the Fire of Glass, this entire valley lay under sway of the Sekk. Our people had been driven up into the mountains but for a small band of us who held the Fire Houses, where we made our swords. We had lost all our territory, but what Clan warrior would relinquish a weapon in favour of mere grass, of mere sunlight? We held the Fire Houses until Ysse came with the Artifact and awakened the Fire Knowledge, opened Jai Khalar, and ushered in the beginning of our present age. Nothing has been the same since.’