331 - Freedom of choice

As I watched the solas stack their arms and unfasten their red-lacquered armour grudgingly slowly, looking wretched as Arkans always do when they strip, the thoughts came like one stone setting another into motion in a rockslide. If I change what I do after a battle I must change what I do going into it. I must change the way I do everything.

If it went chalk, I would have no idea what I was doing, I realized. That had never been part of any of my generalship training. Everything taught in the Circle School, or on the field, or anywhere in the Yeoli military, is predicated entirely on defense of Yeola-e, or seizing land in compensation and driving whoever was there off. That had been the choice of our ancestors, and up until now we’d stuck to it. It wasn’t just me; any chakrachaseye the people chose to send on this adventure would have been a babe in the woods.

When you don’t know, seek experts. I had them on my command council: Arzaktaj, Misiali, Peyepallo. Some of my mercenaries had fought for Arko, the most expert conquerors in the world, and so learned their practices. Alas, I had eschewed books on it when I’d been in the Mezem, and if I had books that touched on it, I had eschewed those chapters or skimmed over those sentences, despite my avowals that I’d be back with an army. I hadn’t been in my right mind, then. How I wished those books in my hands again.

All this was passing through my mind when a hearty voice I knew said, with a thick Roskati accent, “There you are—much happier than last time I saw you!” Mirko threw his arms around me in a bear-hug. “But older,” he said, more seriously, as he got a closer look at my face. I hadn’t been quite full-grown when I’d been with him last; now I was, my eyes at about the middle of his nose. “What a mill you went through. You’ll have to tell me the stories, as we march war’s highway. I know, I know, procedure and all that, but you and I know full well it’s going to go chalk.”

His losses, I gathered, had not been bad, about the same as mine. Roskat was not liberated entire in letter—there were still small Arkan garrisons in other cities and towns—but in spirit it was, and might be in letter more than we knew, soon, as his pigeons with the news went out to fellow rebels. Occupation is done mostly with fear, not numbers; liberation is done mostly by lifting fear.

That night we celebrated, of course. The Three-Moon graduates had fought bravely and well and were blooded to a person; their commanders had made sure of that. I decorated them generously, as well as awarding Azaila and their other teachers for teaching them.

Minohaier’s commander reported to me quietly that he’d fought with plenty relish, and then pursued as ordered, but was troubled afterwards about pursuing, which means sticking enemies who are fleeing in terror, and thus helpless, in the back. His elite sell-sword comrades—the kind who ceased having discernable hearts years, if not decades, ago, and are proud of their missing body parts—reminded him thoroughly that this was part of what he’d signed up for, but reassured him that he’d get used to it. I can’t imagine what war must be to a Haian; but then I couldn’t have imagined a Haian undertaking it.

The next day we tucked into Roskati national business while the armies rested. The best part was that Vaneesh was here. She greeted me, and then hugged me, with the easy familiarity of someone you’ve made love with who isn’t trying to forget it. When she ran her finger along the scar on my cheek, her face turning serious with sympathy, the touch went all through me, like an internal caress of slow lightning, reminding me she was a person of the Divine, with the gift of healing.

With the yoke that Arko had laid on Roskat essentially broken, there were disputes now about how, and by whom, it should be ruled in its freedom. Suddenly I found politics here was my business; at the head of this army, I was the power here, for now; I’d have influence even after we left Roskat, whether I was just semanakraseye, or semanakraseye and Imperator.

There were only two true contenders for the throne, the other being a man named Fuun son of Mikel, who claimed descent from an old Roskati royal family, wearing and sealing his letters with an ancient monarchic signet. Mirko wanted to form a Roskati Assembly and be a regent semanakraseye, pending the coming of age of a child trained to it from birth. “Very Yeoli,” I cut in before he enthusiastically explained all this any further. “I take it you’re looking for my backing.”

In a flicker of his dark eyebrows, I saw the thought, This isn’t the grief-fuddled youth I dealt with before. Still, smoothly enough for an aspiring ruler, he answered, “At this point, I merely wish to inform you how things stand, since it is of interest to you.”

“Roskat is, to my mind, independent and free now to settle its own matters, as we agreed,” I said. There were those who would say I was allowing too easy an interpretation of the agreement, that I should keep them beholden to me until the war was over, since they were on our border and the way between Yeola-e and Arko. Krero’s words: “One would think a Roskati never led you into quicksand.”

But I should show I trusted those who had trusted me. “I know how it is,” I said. “As a people, you’re out of practice in running your affairs free; there must be virtually no one left who has it in living memory. Like adults that have been treated like children for a long time, you have to remember you are adults, and reclaim not just power, but the feeling of it.” He signed chalk grudgingly.

“It’s still not for me to sit in judgment between two rivals, and no one can truly want Roskati slaying Roskati. To my mind there is only one fair way to choose: put it to a vote of your people.”

“True,” he said. “If I want things that way, I have to agree to start that way. But…” His voice took on the hard edge of an old grudge. “I don’t know if Fuun can be convinced of that.”

“He must be here,” I said. Someone as wise as Mirko would hardly have made a serious rival stay back, quietly garnering support while he was off fighting. He stepped out of the tent to send for Fuun, and I leaned close to Vaneesh to whisper, “You, I trust to be entirely even-handed. What’s really going on here?”

She laughed. “Ahh, Chevenga. Mirko tells no lies, but he is a little harsh on Fuun. I think he’d be surprised at what he could be convinced of. They are both good men, in truth, so I prefer neither over the other as a leader; I do prefer Mirko’s plan over Fuun’s, which is simple kingship, though. Of course you interrupted before you heard all of it.” I began to say it was none of my business when Mirko came back in. The second Roskati, who I knew as Fuun by his brocade-trimmed tunic and the heavy signet on one finger, followed soon. He was also a big man, but more slender and greyer-haired than Mirko, at least fifty or so.

I said the same thing to him as I had to Mirko. He stood up and began pacing back and forth, his hands clasped tensely behind his back, as I spoke. When I was done, he turned suddenly, half-gesturing in the Roskati way, and said, “Do you mean to require this vote, Fourth Chevenga? You certainly have the power to, now.”

“Yes,” I wanted to say, “and I have the power to do more, so watch your tongue.” I’ve gotten too used to being able to make threats, I thought, veiled or open. Requiring a vote is like trying to force free speech at swords-point. The count would be easy to call into question, the people would remember that not all had submitted willingly, and resentments could linger.

“No,” I said. “Be assured, Roskat hasn’t exchanged Arkan oppressors for Yeoli. I just believe it is the fairest way, and the least likely to lead to bloodshed. I’m curious, so tell me, both of you: how did you propose to settle it before I suggested this?”

They eyed each other like duelists, while Vaneesh let out an ironic and yet gentle laugh. “I guess each of you was looking to the other to back down, out of concern that there be no bloodshed,” I said. “Which would guarantee that the one who is greedier and more careless of his people’s lives would take the office.” Vaneesh didn’t laugh this time, but could not stifle her smile.

I could see what both were bursting to say: “That’s why I didn’t back down!” I wished I could be the king from before the Fire who judged between the two mothers, awarding the baby to the one who would give it up to the other to keep it from being cut in half. “What are you both in this for, anyway? The greater good of Roskat, no? Is that not the only thing that is truly important? If so, you are not rivals in that, but share it.”

Fuun looked angry, in truth, at me. He’d been a warrior for a good decade, probably, before I’d been born, and I’d been a stripling anaraseye until just three years ago. He kept it in, though. “I am willing to submit to a vote,” Mirko said. “As I said before, it is what I stand for. Win or lose, I will abide by the will of the people of Roskat.”

One could see the old royalism, the feeling the people should serve the king, not the other way around, stir in Fuun. But he had integrity in him enough to answer Mirko’s courage with his own, agreeing to the same. I got them both to sign to it (Fuun using that signet) before they could change their minds. As I signed as witness, I said casually, “If the loser has good ideas or ability, it need not be lost to the people; the winner can always give him a high position. You do both have the greater good of Roskat in mind.” They eyed each other again, but this time in a different light, with possibility in their eyes that had not been there before. Obvious; but people out of practice in power don’t think of it.

I brought out the Saekrberk then, to celebrate. “Now I know he’s no longer trying to persuade me,” I said to Vaneesh, “what is the rest of Mirko’s plan, that I interrupted?”

She laughed her wise woman’s laugh again. “None of your business, hmm? He wants to regent for a child, as he said. Because I am Priestess, and belong to no faction, we thought it best that the Roskati demarchic line start with me. If our people chalk it, of course.”

She said this aloud, which showed me that Fuun knew about it, too. “But that child can’t just come from you,” I said. “Best the father belong to no faction, also. Who’s he?”

Fuun and Mirko shared a glance, both stifling grins. I wondered when was the last time the two had done that, even as I was wondering why they were doing it now. Vaneesh let her beautiful smile broaden, picked up my sword-hand in her tender slim fingers, and touched the demarchic signet.

“One who, yes, belongs to no Roskati faction, who is proven fertile, and who himself has very well-proven demarchic blood.” In respect of my own freedom of choice, she let go my hand, as my jaw dropped. “If, of course, he will.”