254 - The intent total

General transferred after Yeoli loss

By Lesas Amanas fessas with files from Filias Metras fessas
The Pages, Aras 12, 56th-to-last YPA

The general Abatzas Kallen Aitzas has been dismissed from his position as General of All Forces in Yeola-e and sent to command garrisons in the northern steppes of Okulyara, after leading a losing battle to the barbarians in the northernmost region of the nation’s plains.

He has been replaced by Perisalas Kem Aitzas.

“Our losses were minor, but we were still forced into retreat,” said Morekas Tenas fessas, a spokesman for the new general. “Barbarians will tend to use beastly tactics, and that was demonstrated well by their engaging us with the Lakan monsters called ‘mamok’. These Hayel-spawned creatures are terrifying to any horses not savage enough themselves to tolerate them, and so hindered the efforts of our noble-steeded horsemen. The Honourable General Perisalas, however, is confident of finding a way to counter them.”

Abatzas’s new posting will be relatively sedate, since border incursions are rare in the area. He was not available for comment.

“I am very sorry to hear this,” Fourth Shefen-kas Shaeranoias, the king of Yeola-e and war-leader of the Yeoli forces, said, on receiving the news. “I say in all sincerity, every moment I fought against him was a pleasure, and his company was very enjoyable when he was here as my captive and guest.”

Ser Tenas noted in explanation, “It is true that General Abatzas was captured by the Yeolis, and did suffer what that entails. Any denials of this fact are not to be credited.”

General Perisalas is confident that his leadership will stem the Yeoli resurgence. “I am charged by Imperium to have the province entirely pacified by the end of fighting season,” he said. “I am entirely confident of this outcome, and certain that the Gods of Arko will see Shefen-kas’s extraordinary luck run out, so he may be recaptured in the very near future.”

Of course a battle is not over when it is over. I’d known from the start there would be a lot of javelin-wounds; the Lakans on the mamokal who’d crossed the river had got it the worst, one in ten of them dead and most of the rest wounded, even though the beasts had taken nine out of ten of the javelins; but of course a Lakan on the back of a mamoka with a javelin in him is actually not out of the fight, even if he can’t draw bow. The part that line had had in the victory had been accomplished after it had taken virtually all of those wounds.

So I sent out a call both to the people of Lisere and surrounds, and the army, to aid the wounded, which included throwing together a second infirmary. We’d gained Haians again, which helped, but a lot of apprentices, I learned later, got their training in how to excise barbed javelins by doing it that day. At least I’d be able to celebrate late tonight; Kaninjer wouldn’t be around to order me to bed.

There were also the spoils in the Arkan camp to collect. I had put out standing orders not to harm anyone not war-trained, or under fourteen in the case of squires; when they surrendered, we’d set them free, though we knew that meant they’d be back assisting the next army. Sadly, Abatzas and Perisalas both had got away in good enough time to take their treasury. At least there were some fairly fine things in some of the Aitzas tents.

The assembly for decorations was long—a lot of people deserved them—and then the people of Lisere hauled wine out of their cellars. The only irritation in the whole day was when Krero said, once we’d bathed, “Cheng, have you had Kaninjer look at whatever happened to you in the battle?” and then, when I assured him I’d got no worse than the usual scratches and bruises, “You look pale.” If I have to grind your face in the dust to prove nothing happened to me, I will, I thought, and put enough of it into my look, it seemed, that he backed off.

Next day I rested my warriors, did long visits to both infirmaries, and got a pile of demarchic paperwork done; the day after that we marched long, right to sunset, as we’d do until we got to Chinisinal. The Arkans were walling across where the valley narrows there, before it widens the last time before central Yeola-e, so as to hold it even with fewer numbers. The sooner we got there, the lower that wall would be.

On the march I passed the time by doing such things as establishing a standing policy and set of rules for all my allies to follow in their dealings with local people. I’d already given standing orders not to get in any fights, steal or harm anything, but I was still getting complaints of rudeness. I’d been visiting the tavern in Lisere and some of its interesting regulars with Reknarja when he’d mentioned a sub-officer of his by the name of Oliajan, who’d codified rules of civility for his unit. What I learned meeting with him was the beginning of the policy.

By night I went campfire-hopping. I had made it my habit right from the start to visit the allies’ campfires as much as the Yeoli, part of what had provoked the petition. (That seemed to be dead now, despite the best efforts of my shadow-father and the leaders of those who agreed with him; since it had been outstripped by the counter-petition, I could safely ignore it.)

In fact, I extended to foreigners the other war-camp custom of ours as well, that a semanakraseye should accept as many sexual offers as he is capable of, though of course fewer foreigners than Yeolis asked. (Niku had accepted this once I’d made it clear to her that it was duty, not a wandering eye on my part. Extending it to foreigners made Krero and a few others shit potsherds, but the one person who did try to kill me that way, and perhaps would have succeeded, had I not touched his hand without warning to see if he’d jump—was at a Yeoli campfire, disguised as a Yeoli.)

That was the last time I ever let it be known in advance where I would appear. The other precaution I had to take was never to have too much wine; do that every night, and it enslaves you.

So, one night on that march, which was in unseasonably hot weather, making everyone’s temper worse, I was happily discoursing on tactics at an Enchian fire, while one or two of the men made secret eyes at me, when Sishana came running up, screeching in her high voice. “Cheng! Cheng! They’re fighting! Niku and Esora-e are fighting!”

It was her tone that told me it was more than fisticuffs. I soon lost her, so she had to yell from behind me that it was a mixed Niah and Yeoli campfire, and which way it was. Up ahead I saw a crowd in firelight, and heard people say as I dashed by, “Thank All-Spirit you’re here, you’ve got to stop them!” then, as I got closer, “No, All-Spirit help us, stop! Stop for his sake, stop for the war’s sake, can’t you see what a disaster this would be either way?” In weapon-sense I felt the moves of a sword in his style, and the two Niah axes in hers, the intent total.

Everyone faded out of my way. In time they’d tell the story that I flung myself between the two of them without regard for my own life just as two cuts were coming in that, between them, should have killed me except they were stopped by some mystical force. The truth is I flung myself between the two of them without regard for my own life, but yelling “Stand down!” to wake the dead.

Niku backed off, axes down. Esora-e tried to go around me after her, eyes slitted as if she were an Arkan, and yet less impersonal than with Arkans. “Sheathe it!” I shouted, getting in his way. “Sheathe it or I’ll kyashin disown you!” Shock froze him, his eyes going white all around, so into the silence I said, “That’s an order.” He did it, as did Niku the axes, and everyone started bellowing their version of what had happened, until I’d screamed “Shut up!” enough that my throat hurt when I asked them to raise hands to be recognized. I decided to let Niku and Esora-e speak last, though I was not sure I was doing that to get a truer sense, or because I didn’t want to hear either of their voices.

The watchers, many of whom were deep into their cups, agreed well enough that I knew it was true that it had started as a sparring-match, Esora-e having challenged Niku, but then had turned deadly. They did not agree on whose intent had altered first, the A-niah saying Esora-e and the Yeolis saying Niku, naturally, which I took to mean it hadn’t been clear. Most likely one had wrongly read the other’s intent as deadly and answered in kind, making the first do likewise. Thus their stories would be identical, even under truth-drug, if I went that far. I wondered if I’d ever know who had made the error.

“We must cheer when these dirt-skins are decorated, but we never see a thing they’ve done,” someone with a Leyere accent spat. “How can you blame us for wondering whether it’s real, Chevenga?” Someone else said, “Look, we’re all drunk, kras’. You can’t blame anyone for anything,” as if the dead that drunkenness has killed are any less dead than other dead. It was this and other nonsense, with a little sense mixed in, until I knew I need not hear more from those who had watched, and should ask those who had acted.

I let Niku speak first, reminding Esora-e, when I felt him bristle beside me, “that means you get the last word.”

She was shaking with anger, her eyes and the sweat on her face glistening in the firelight. “He challenged me,” she said, her accent thickening with anger, as it does. “He pretended it was just to try each other, just for fun. I saw in his eyes the moment we were going that his intent was to defeat me and laugh at me, to shame all my people. He came here to prove I am no good, and we are no good, and I am not good enough for you—that’s why he came!” The other A-niah all joined in a yammer of agreement, signing chalk with flashes of their light-palmed hands and saying, “It was obvious, Vaimoy!”

“Well, that didn’t happen,” Niku said. “So then he got angry, and started fighting like—”

“I was defending myself from you trying to kill me, you brown shit-eater!” I smacked my hand over his mouth and snapped, “You’ll get your turn!”

“He got angry and started fighting deadly. I couldn’t back off, omores, or else he’d kill me. And there were fools”—she glared at some of the Yeolis—“who were egging him on, like the people who come to the Mezem.” She knew what would touch me. Or thought she did.

I turned to him. “Yes, I made the challenge,” he said. “It’s as others have said; we don’t know what they do, we only see them get rewarded and lauded and fawned over by you. You want to marry her, a foreigner, a primitive, a dark woman, instead of one of your own as if your own are not good enough for you! No, I was not trying to kill, until she lost control of her savage’s rage, but I don’t think it would be that terrible a thing if she died—” He was drowned out there by a shout of anger from the A-niah side and protest from some of the Yeolis.

I grabbed his sword-hand wrist, dragged him to her and grabbed hers with my other hand. I saw them both tighten their lips, hiding pain; I wasn’t gripping gently. “Both of you, all of you, listen!”

“Niku—if you had killed him, how would it have been? Friends of his, or perhaps some of all the Yeolis around, jumping in to avenge him, A-niah jumping in too, naturally, and so a full-blown sword-brawl… leaving how many dead? What would that have done to the alliance? You know how important your people are. What would that have done to the bond we made between Niah-lur-ana and sept Yeola-e, now kin in the eyes of the Wasteega and the Gods?” She flinched her eyes shut.

“Even if everyone else had held off so only he had died, or even been wounded, then what? My people would have called for an equal punishment for you, and I’d have had to do it, semana kra, and then your people would have considered me a kin-killer, and then, same thing, yes?” She turned away, but I didn’t let go.

“Esora-e—if you had killed her… no, you don’t know what they do and how important it is; go ask Emao-e then, or Krero, or Achanga, how important it is. We would not be where we are now without them, nor have a prospect of getting to Tinga-e by the end of fighting season, nor perhaps have a prospect of winning this war at all. Deny it and you call me a liar.”

He didn’t flinch or clench his eyes shut, but his face went stony as if with numbness. “Fine, Fourth Chevenga, then—”

“I’m not finished yet!” It was satisfying, to see him give back, even just a trace. “I was addressing what I must first, out of duty, what it would be to the war. Now, I’ll say it would have been to me personally.

“Both of you—you think it wouldn’t have broken my heart, either way? You both know what the other is to me, the bond of love, of kinship with one, of passion with the other! Shadow-father, you want to kill the one woman who was willing to marry me, who carries my heart in her hands, who is the other half of my soul? Wife-to-be, you want to kill one of the four who saw me out of the womb and the stream, who held my hands when I first walked, who first war-trained me? Would you both like to imagine my face when I found out? What I would have said, how I’d have…” Imagining it myself, I lost words to sobs for a bit. Everyone had gone dead silent; I heard only the fire crackling. “If it had been a brawl, how many would I be mourning? Who would have been hurt worse than me, with people I love on both sides? Who would have been more hit with the horror? Who’d have had to live with it for the rest of his life?

“Or what if it had been the worst—one of you dead, and the other’s people demanding equal recompense? What then? What if one of you forced me to kill you, who I love, by killing the other, who I love? You know I think it’s right that I do my own executions—would you have liked that? And yet can you imagine it would have been any easier for me to order someone else to do it?” Feeling roared up in me like fire, and for a bit I could let out nothing but shrieks like a baby’s, then words in shreds, like when I’d been on Haiu Menshir. “I call you out… chiravesa… be me! You don’t… give a shit… for each other… fine… then… be me… who you do… give a shit for… or at least claim to… and imagine this!”

“Omores…” Niku stood bent, with one hand thrown over her face; I saw a tear drip between two fingers. “I am sorry… I am sorry… you are right, I am sorry.” Her anger had snuffed out, as it does, letting her see sense. Mine at her went just as fast. I let go her wrist.

“So she has the sense to admit the fault,” Esora-e said icily, unbent, unmoved, remorseless. “In her heart she knows full well she’s not good enough for y—”

It rang all through my arms, bone on bone, the bang of the back of my knuckles against his temple. He wasn’t on his knees, but from a superior it was still a blow of humiliation. It knocked him reeling, not all the way down, but his eyes were dull enough that I waited, and watched his mind come back into them, before I grabbed his hair and tore the pin of the darya semanakraseye off his collar. I wanted to make sure he knew what I was doing as I was doing it.

He stared at me as if I’d stabbed him, then sank to the ground face down as if he were dying of it. “Tennunga, heart’s brother,” he said, his voice going high like a child’s. “Why did you have to die?”