356 - To purify my oath with blood

“Hmm, what…!? Oh yes.” Veresinga turned back to me fast from watching the Arkan join the queue and begin stepping forward in pace with Bukangt and everyone else, the two Yeolis on either side of him keeping pace with him. “I like it. Well done.”

“Oh wait… I forgot the beads spent, death-hour sweating and so on. Add to the end, I have spent... I’ll figure it out, how many beads, how many days… I wonder, though, if I make it too many beads... they’ll wonder, why should it take him so long?”

“If they ask, explain the great respect you have for them and the level at which these questions concern you. Explain that while you wish you could dash out a brief reply, you consider the matter too serious for that. That you would like to brush the matter off and sleep soundly, but the simple fact is that you do not. But that’s only if they ask. It should be separate, perhaps a postscript. Something to set it aside slightly from the actual response. Or you might even want to hold that in reserve for next time.”

“I’ll do that. So we’re done; thank you, Veresinga. Chinisa, my next open dinner is with him and his wife.” It always seemed to surprise him that I’d hug him, but he returned it warmly enough.

The people in the queue before the Arkan brought typical messages. From stores, we know we can’t forage from a farm that’s merely abandoned, what about one where the house has burned down, and what if we have a shortage… From aide to general of such-and-such nationality, the animosity between him and general of other nationality has risen to such heat that I felt I must draw it to your attention before something irreversible takes place… From engineers, report on the progress of wind-carriage building, we’ve just completed the four-thousandth, cannot keep to your schedule without three times as many non-marching days, request a personal appearance on your part to congratulate and encourage the crews... the one thing I’d heard the Arkan say, “They surrendered in good faith, under your oath,” gave me a sinking feeling about what he’d come to tell me.

When his turn came, I let him climb the ladder but Krero insisted on three of the elite darya, led by himself, to be there as well, as if I couldn’t handle myself while full-geared against one who was unarmed and unarmoured. “Speak equal-to-equal, as it’s what I understand best,” I told him.

“I’m from Osijitz. I’m not a prisoner because I was home on leave, not in the army, though I’d have fought you if there’d been a fight. I know all solas have orders not to leave the city, but I didn’t see who else was going to get word to you. That Lakan with the unpronounceable name you left in charge… if there’s an incident, like someone gets in a fight with one of the garrison Yeolis or Roskatis, he’ll take one of the prisoners and hang him in the square.”

“Well, someone who does something like that should be punished,” I said. “It’s harsh, perhaps...” I had never given the garrison commanders orders on how severe they should be with Arkans who committed crimes against warriors in the garrison, I realized.

“No, no, it’s not the ones who do it, no one knows who did these things, they were never caught! It’s the prisoners, who surrendered!”

Everything froze for a long moment. Tingles went down into my hands and feet. “You are certain of this?” I said, when I could. “How do you know?”

“It’s totally public, Durakis. He’s doing it to terrify the town, so it has to be known. I’ve seen them on the gibbets, and heard the announcements why… everybody has.”

So easily provable or disprovable; he wouldn’t be lying. He knew I could have him truth-drugged with a wave of my finger. I felt sick. “How many have been hanged?” I said.

“Four when I left, Durakis. It might be more now.”

Part of me wanted to sit or lie down; part of me wanted a fight. Why am I hearing this from an Arkan? Why not from someone in the garrison—they all know kyashin well it’s wrong! I got up from my chair to pace. If you get the feel of a mamoka’s gait, you can time your pacing to it. Zindkardt, you are demoted… no I have to do more than that, for undoing my oath, for turning my word to a lie in every mouth, kyashin flog him… no, kevyala, men have died… kyashin execute him then… but what repercussions might that have for the alliance? I’d executed for stealing before, but that had been after I’d made a clear standing order forbidding it on pain of death. This was not so clear. “Ilachesa! Get Arzaktaj here on the double.” The runner he sent went like his heels were on fire.

“What… what incidents… were they hanged… in reparation for?” I asked the Arkan, while I waited.

“One for a Yeoli woman being raped and murdered… she shouldn’t have been walking out alone if you ask me, Durakis. One for a pair of Roskatis who were beaten up by a mob—but not killed! The other two, just for fights in taverns… for all anyone knows, it was the Yeoli or the Roskati who started it.”

He is Arkan, I reminded myself. His story will lean towards making the Arkans look good. I believed him about the bones of it, though, and there was no excuse anyway.

I saw Arzaktaj cantering up on his fine black. I asked the Arkan his name and noted it, and sent him down the ladder to walk beside us. “No time for pleasantries,” I said to Arzaktaj, once he was with me; even in a war, Lakan nobles want their pleasantries. I told him what I’d been told.

“It’s the traditional practice,” he said mildly, looking puzzled as to why I should be upset. “Did we not talk about that, when we were going over how to rule occupied country?”

“No,” I said. “We did not. Those Arkans are prisoners because they surrendered on my oath, that they’d be spared! This renders my word false to every Arkan in the Empire!”

“Ah,” he said. “I can understand why you’d be angry, if you take it that way. But the people of the city are violating their rulers’ oath of surrender, by doing these things, so it’s fair, to my mind. Do you plan to censure him anyway?”

He didn’t seem to understand, somehow. I had to get through to him. “No,” I said. “I plan to chop his kyashin head off! I only called you up here to ask what the implications might be to the alliance, when it’s different from the no-stealing executions because I didn’t specifically forbid holding prisoners as hostages to a town’s good behaviour, and make sure you’ll help me smooth things with the Lakan warriors if necessary, because as far as I’m concerned, when I made the Arkans an oath that they’d be spared, and everyone knew it, such a forbiddance went without kyashin saying!”

He stared at me frozen, first in shock; then it seemed to harden to anger, even while remaining partly torn. His hand was suddenly on his sword-hilt; it’s an instinct, for many Lakans. I’d never seen him do it, though. Of course if he tried anything, I could have his head off, or my sword-edge on his throat, before his sword-tip cleared the scabbard, even without my hand already on Chirel. I can do that with most warriors, and he was elderly. But why would he even be urged that way? “Arzaktaj,” I said, making my voice as calm as a pond. “What is it?”

“He is my nephew,” he said between his teeth.

All my breath heaved out of me. I smacked my hand across my brow. “I guess you are not the one I should be talking to, then,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Timnimuz Akdan… J’vengka,” he said. “He is just doing his best, in the way he knows how. If you think it is wrong, tell him and of course he’ll cease and desist, but—”

“If I think it is wrong? Does he have no idea that breaking an oath is wrong, even if someone else has broken theirs? Does it not occur to him that those prisoners did absolutely nothing to deserve any punishment? Do neither him or you, general, understand that we are winning as much of it as we are bloodlessly due to Arkans trusting my oath and my word? Do neither you nor he see that he’s as good as fighting for the Arkans, like a kyashin traitor, by this? Do neither you nor he see what his doing this makes me into, a fikken liar whose word isn’t worth a copper speck? Do neither you nor he see how it’s going to be for me to be Imperator after that?”

His hand tightened on his hilt. “He may have made a mistake,” he said icily. “But my brother’s son is no traitor. He is keeping order in that city for you.”

Not the one I should be talking to, I remembered saying. We stood frozen, our eyes locked, his hand on his hilt and mine ready to go there on a thought, all else fading away. I felt myself shaking inside; I didn’t know if it showed. He’s the elder, I thought, but I’m the more disinterested, even if I don’t feel as if I am; it should be me who shows control. I took a deep breath. “Here is what we are going to do,” I said.

“I have this on the word of one Arkan, so it needs confirming. I’m going to dispatch people to Osijitz to investigate, and learn the exact truth—Yeolis and Lakans mixed, so all is honest. And I’m going to write your King. In the meantime, you are not going to breathe a word of this to anyone—including writing to Zindkardt—that’s an order. It may be that there are mitigating circumstances; if so I’ll take them into account, of course. One other thing…” I flicked my eyes down to his swordhand and back. “I am not the enemy. Stand down.”

He took a deep breath, and slowly loosened his hand from the hilt. “Yes… Ak… dan.” I saw what it cost him, knew I would have to make it up to him. He climbed down the mamoka-ladder with stiffness in his back as if his spine had turned into a spear.

I was buying time, though I didn’t like it. An investigation would have to be done anyway, but my preference would have been to authorize whomever I sent to try, judge and execute Zindkardt on the same trip, instead of bringing the results back to me to judge. Perhaps I’d do that anyway, and simply say that I’d ordered them to report rather than act only in the case of mitigating circumstances.

Astalaz, I had a feeling, would understand. Even if he disagreed with me, it was simply a matter of keeping order among the underlings, as royalty must do; that kinship he felt with me, royalty to royalty, would be a boon now. Especially if I put it to him that way. He’d understand why I would want to purify my oath with blood, too. Another thing I was doing, I realized, was making an example of Zindkardt, so every other garrison commander would think twice before being so casual about what I’d sworn to. All-Spirit… could this be happening anywhere else? I decided to send people to the others, to make sure.

But no one reported… I have to make an example of the whole kyashin garrison. Censure every single cursed person, down to the squires; they all have minds and mouths and writing hands, they all could have reported. No, not severe enough… Five lashes, I decided, for everyone warrior-age and up, censure only for the squires. Let everyone, Arkan, Lakan, Yeoli and every other nationality on the Earthsphere, know that I take my own oath kevyalin seriously.

I took another deep breath, then made it three for good measure, knowing anger might be thinking for me, deciding to sleep on it before I sent out any final orders. I wanted to get the letter to Astalaz done and off, though, as well as the investigators. Maybe Arzaktaj hoped he was buying time, too; he didn’t know how fast things could proceed, when we were willing to send wings openly. I dismissed the Arkan who’d told me with orders to go back to Osijitz to stay there, set Krero and Eretrardt to choosing the investigators, and wrote the letter to Astalaz, while the queue waited.

“The Arkan scribbler wants to see you, Cheng,” said Krero, that night after dark had fallen. “He’s sweating like a pig on a skillet about to hear judgment on his soul... watch yourself, will you?”

Sinimas did have a sheen of sweat on his brow as I welcomed him into the tent office. He kept glancing over his shoulders as if he had committed a crime, or was about to.

“This one.... has a letter for the exalted one...” It was a plain package with no marks on the outside; the white ribbon trembled slightly as he held it. “Th... the writer wished this one to offer... to place bare hands upon it... if the exalted wishes...”

“Sinimas, I thought I had you trained to speak equal-to-equal and call me by name. Yes, go ahead, but it’s probably best you don’t read it while you do so, assuming you haven’t already.” Could I be so fortunate that it was from his employer in the Marble Palace?

“No... Shefen-kas... this one... I... haven’t broken the seal.” Once he’d stripped one hand and run his fingers thoroughly over the packet, I opened it without touching the paper inside, and had him take it out and do it again. The stationery was made of the flower-crafted paper typical of Imperial stationery, and the seal was silver, with the Aan sunburst seal, with fewer and simpler rays.

“Thank you.” I read. Ten years younger than me put Minis at thirteen now, his fourteenth birthday coming soon. His handwriting had become smoother and more confident.

Sinimas stood still, as if he was waiting for something. “He wants you to take my answer? Have a seat while I read.” He did. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He was indeed committing a crime. I pulled the flask of Saekrberk out of my desk and handed it to him. He took it and knocked back a swig wordlessly.

Dear Chevenga, Durakis, semanakraseye d’Yeola-e:

I cannot imagine that you and I could still be friends. In fact I imagine you must place me in the same category as my Father in your mind. Given that, and that fact that you intend to conquer Arko… Would you consider trading the Empire for me?

Would you consider, given Kurkas’s death and my formal surrender to you, letting my little brother Ilesias assume the Crystal Throne? If this arrangement would be acceptable to you, I would see it through. I would be willing to give myself into your hand – for whatever fate you decreed to satisfy the personal debt between youself and my family – freely.

Please reply through the writer who delivered this message into your hand.

Spark of the Sun’s Ray, Chip of the Effulgent Light
Minis Kurkas Joras Amitzas Aan