The Origin of Storms--The Lotus Kingdoms, Book Three, page 7
The only sound that answered her was like the shushing of water over rocks: a hundred or so bare or sandaled or silk-slippered feet, shuffling as their owners rocked uneasily over the green- and blue-tiled stones. She was rather proud of her phrasing and how it implied that a lot of men would fail in rapid sequence if they tried.
She gave them plenty of time to step forward, and plenty of time to feel ashamed. And, she hoped, not enough time to start feeling outrage and anger.
“Right,” Mrithuri whispered behind her hand to Hnarisha. “Send in Anuraja’s fucking lieutenants, would you?”
* * *
In the corridor beyond the doors to the Hall of the Empty Throne, the Dead Man stood with his back against a wall and cleaned his fingernails with a sharp little poignard. Beside him was a smaller door, this one leading to an anteroom in which waited what passed for the leaders of Anuraja’s army. The Dead Man did not know if it was by happenstance, architecture, or sorcery, but they—and he—could clearly hear the proceedings of the Dharasaaba from there.
They’d gotten lucky. The old monster’s own conviction that the sun rose and set in his arse had played out to their advantage, as there wasn’t an established hierarchy or a body of institutional knowledge to take his place once he was gone. The Dead Man, product of an organization that was nothing but established hierarchy supporting a body of institutional knowledge, found himself moderately dazzled by the lack of foresight.
Being dazzled by a lack of foresight was a frequent state for him. Perhaps he should nurture a deeper cynicism.
As he was chuckling to himself, the door into the antechamber opened and a worried face peered out. It was one of the heathen soldiers. One, the Dead Man thought, that Sayeh Rajni had selected as part of the delegation. He searched his memory for the name, a procedure that seemed to grow more strenuous with every passing year. Vaneer, he thought, and felt an unreasonable flare of triumph for such a small victory.
It was really time to retire and buy some land and grow persimmons, or dates, or something.
“Begging your pardon,” Vaneer said to the Dead Man, “but we’ve been listening to the rajnis speak—”
So had the Dead Man, with half an ear, since he already knew what was to be said. He nodded.
The soldier cleared his throat. “You know these people. And you seem like a sensible sort, for a heathen.”
In the interests of harmony, the Dead Man withheld his comments on religious orthodoxy.
The other man said, “If we’re going to war, and the Dowager has no heir and Sayeh Rajni has misplaced hers, and Lord Anuraja died heirless, and the cripple up in Chandranath can’t get his dick hard to get one … and if we need an emperor on the Peacock Throne to hold off demons and sorcerers … hadn’t one of that lot better get a brat pretty quick? If all that’s holding this monster in his closet is the blood of the old emperor and the spells that he put on it?”
Half a dozen answers occurred to the Dead Man. Temporizations, and sly responses. In the end, though, he just said, “I believe they are working on it. And the Lord of Chandranath does have brothers.”
He was spared a continuation of the conversation when the door to the Hall swung wide, Hnarisha’s fine-featured face peering out. “They’re ready for you.”
* * *
Sayeh reseated herself and watched as servants efficiently redecorated the echoing Hall to facilitate a smaller, more intimate meeting. A long board was set upon trestles, as for a banquet, and cushions brought in. The majority of the lords of the Dharasaaba were ushered out—or lured out, more precisely, with the promise of refreshments. Though how pleasant those could be in a city still recovering from siege, she did not know and did not care to guess.
Those that remained behind were (from Sayeh’s understanding) the wealthiest, those responsible for governing the largest portion of the population. And thusly the most powerful, and the ones most involved in the manning, payment, and disposition of the army. The Alchemical Emperor had not permitted his vassals to levy troops of their own. Part of his technique for maintaining his hegemony had been that he provided the armies that defended their land, while conscripting soldiers from his lords’ demesnes to defend other lords’ cities and provide the bulk of the army.
After the Empire shattered, that had changed. In Sayeh’s land and in Chandranath, where there were few people and not much desirable land to defend, the local lords had their little warbands, and the raja or rajni commanded a small army whose main purpose was keeping the roads open and at least nominally free of brigands. Since some of those brigands were indistinguishable from the warbands of the local lords, the situation could become politically complicated. Here in Sarathai-tia, the nucleus of the old empire, the rajni did levy soldiers. In Sarathai-lae, Anuraja had maintained an army as large as all of his neighbors combined.
No doubt some of these Tian lords maintained “personal guards” whose number pushed the limit of law and custom. But the garrisons on their land were still nominally Mrithuri’s to command.
Those that had not run away or been wiped out by the Laeish army on its march to the capital. Those whose commanders would choose to follow her orders, not that Sayeh was bitter about the insubordination of her own war leaders.
Well, the captains who had disobeyed her orders to evacuate Ansh-Sahal were all dead now, she thought, and the soldiers who had listened had lived. It was a catastrophic tragedy that they had taken so many of her civilian subjects with them by demanding those folk return to their homes in the face of earthquake and upheaval. She had only been spared herself because when the cataclysm happened, she, Nazia, Ümmühan, Tsering, and Vidhya had been with a small warband of their own, pursuing Himadra and his men through the hills, trying to reclaim her kidnapped son.
She could not bring her slain people back. All she could do was find and protect the ones that remained, and try to find and reclaim her son.
It chafed to be there in Sarathai-tia when Drupada was being held in Chandranath, and when the relatives of Himadra’s that she might take hostage and exchange for Drupada were probably in Sarathai-lae.
But all human endeavors involved a certain amount of bustling and thrashing and self-organization before any real work could be done. Sayeh comforted herself that these were necessary arguments. The overture to progress, as it were.
Speaking of which, the bustling and thrashing and self-organization at the foot of the dais seemed to be reaching their inevitable conclusion. The remaining lords had been joined by assorted soldiers, and all were milling around. Sayeh looked over at Mrithuri, who was inscrutable in her own thoughts. Serene, as royal women were taught to be serene, so no lines of character might mark their faces with the evidence of age or—Mother forbid—deep thinking.
Sayeh controlled her fury. That, too, was the habit of a lifetime, trained since she was small. She was glad, suddenly, that she had borne a son and not a daughter. She wondered if, as it became plain that she—Sayeh—was a girl, her own mother had felt the pangs of teaching her to be small, to be soft, to be constrained. If she had felt an undefinable frustration at what she was expected to raise her daughter to be—or if the frustration had all been sparked by Sayeh when Sayeh spoke too loudly, strode too briskly, waved her arms.
For the first time, Sayeh—looking at Mrithuri—realized that her mother’s frustration might have derived from feeling trapped in her own sex and being unable to bear watching anyone else stretch the boundaries of it. When she was younger, Sayeh knew she might have been angered by the revelation. But what she felt in her middle age was a tremendous gentleness toward other women and a desire to push wide the bars of their cages.
Mrithuri might have felt the pressure of her gaze, or might also have noticed that the table seemed to be ready. The Dowager—it amused Sayeh smugly every time she thought it—turned to return her regard.
“What do you think, Sayeh?”
Sayeh smiled grimly. “Let’s dazzle them, shall we?”
Mrithuri stood, and Sayeh stood with her, the poetess Ümmühan following stiffly a moment later. Mrithuri waited three breaths to allow her women to organize themselves, then swept down the steps, trailed first by Sayeh and then by the others. The Dowager allowed herself to be seated at the head of the table. Once she and Sayeh were in their places, the lords swiftly followed. Mrithuri’s advisors arranged themselves in a semicircle behind her while the soldiers and guardsmen found cushions.
Among the lords, Sayeh recognized those who had spoken out during the Dharasaaba: Lord Rushabha, who was some manner of a gentleman farmer, and wealthy Lord Partha. They sat among three others. Among the soldiers was Zirha, the nearest thing to a commander that Anuraja had supported, along with her own former guards Varjeet and Sanjay. Sayeh’s guard captain Vidhya was there, and Mrithuri’s paramour who was a Dead Man, and Mrithuri’s general Pranaj.
It had the look of a creditable council of war.
Tea was served, and once a cup sat before each person, Mrithuri cleared her throat. “We gather,” she said formally, “to speak of war.”
“That’s very nice, Your Abundance,” Lord Partha said. “But how do you propose to pay for it?”
Zirha lifted his chin. “Dowager, can you not pay my men?”
Mrithuri made a tinkling sound that some might have mistaken for a laugh, though Sayeh could not imagine how the men in the room would not know it was artificial. Those men seemed, however, enchanted.
She thought again of what her mother had taught her.
Mrithuri turned to Ata Akhimah. “The proofs, if you please.”
Akhimah produced a small folder from inside her waistcoat and laid it on the table. She opened it, revealing flawless mirror-bright gold, copper, and silver links and rings sewn onto the chamois. The flat side of each was stamped with a portrait and the legend Mrithuri I, Dowager Empress of Sarath, 1st Year of Her Reign. Mrithuri thought the profile was a little over-flattering, but the engraver had done very nice, crisp work, and the details could be seen even on the small gold links.
Bulls, peacocks, dolphins, and even one massive elephant that probably held all the gold from a single mask.
Zirha sighed with slightly too much relief. Sayeh reached out under cover of the table and patted his arm. It was never too soon to start getting on the man’s good side.
“You will be paid, Commander.” Mrithuri waved Lord Partha aside as if dismissing a child who was being ridiculous. “Have no fear on that account. And what we propose is to bring you home to Sarathai-lae, to your families and children, before all. I must see to the well-being of my people there.”
She spoke as low and soothingly as Sayeh herself could have managed, and it had the desired effect. On Commander Zirha at least. Lord Partha seemed less impressed. Or perhaps less credulous.
Zirha would take some shoring up. Anuraja had obviously not chosen the man for his military skills or his strength of character but for his malleability. He was not at all what they needed.
Unfortunately, he was what they had, and she did not think he would take kindly to being set beneath Pranaj or Vidhya. She looked at his soft hands, his jeweled collar, the arrogant bearing—and saw a rich lord’s son who had bought a commission, whom Anuraja found useful probably in large part because he had not had a lot of ideas of his own. Sayeh, to her sorrow, knew the type of old.
He had probably never expected to find himself actually in command of anything. Not with Anuraja around.
People had a remarkable ability to ignore contingencies when it suited them. Partha cleared his throat. “Will you be assessing taxes?”
He was a bull-fighting dog and not likely to be diverted from the question.
Mrithuri, though, smiled sweetly and said, “Not much more so than the usual, for now. Our treasury will stretch to cover our new vassals. Tian taxes will go to pay Tian soldiers and feed Tian refugees.”
Zirha looked smug, and Partha looked disgruntled. Down the table Sayeh saw her own captain eyeing the lord over the rim of his teacup. Vidhya said nothing, but Sayeh had known him long enough to read his expression and know that he had identified Partha as a threat. Sayeh wished she did not so thoroughly agree. There was nothing wrong with being guided by a prudent attention to one’s pocketbook. But to let miserliness get in the way of self-protection was a character flaw.
Golbahar murmured into Mrithuri’s ear behind her hand.
Mrithuri nodded, smiling sweetly. “And of course, now that Sarath is united as a kingdom once more, our resources are much greater than we have been used to.”
Aha. The stiffening of Partha’s expression told him that Golbahar had scored a direct hit. His self-regard was of course at stake, as well as his influence. Sarathai-lae was a richer kingdom than Sarathai-tia, with fertile farmland and a port to the Arid Sea. Partha’s wealth would not buy him the influence that it once had, when Mrithuri established herself as Dowager in truth.
Mrithuri turned her attention to another Lord down the table. “Lord Taymun,” she said, “what are the needs of the border garrisons with Chandranath?”
Taymun was an older man, his hair a thin band around a sun-spotted scalp. From his clothing and from Mrithuri’s question, Sayeh deduced that he came from the northwestern region of Sarathai-tia. “They will need to be rebuilt,” he said, without temporizing. “Not all of them, but two or three have been completely destroyed and pillaged. Himadra raids when he can and blames it on bandits.”
Sayeh was not prepared for the tongue of rage that licked through her at her enemy’s name. She spoke through her teeth. “It’s truth, if you accept that he is a bandit.”
Appreciative chuckles defused her fury enough that she regained her composure. Its return left her feeling let down, drained, as if some animating force had gone out of her. Perhaps she ought to get angry more often and be more loathe to let it go.
Mrithuri stood abruptly. Around the table, others scrambled to their feet. Golbahar and Yavashuri unobtrusively helped Sayeh and Ümmühan stand. Sayeh squeezed Golbahar’s hand in silent thanks and caught the wink in reply.
“Our royal progress to Sarathai-lae will begin in two nights,” Mrithuri said. “Thank you all for your time.”
* * *
Mrithuri’s stellar was not currently the quiet place of retirement she usually maintained. It was full of Wizards, waiting-women, and warriors of various inclinations, not to mention her ally and fellow rajni—who was fast becoming a friend. She’d never quite had a friend of her own rank (or close to it, now that she was—laughably—the Dowager Empress of Sarath), and she found it refreshing.
She looked around the room. Besides Sayeh, various cushions supported Nazia, Ata Akhimah, Tsering-la, Lady Golbahar, the Dead Man, Ümmühan, Pranaj, Hnarisha, and Vidhya. With the exception of Yavashuri and Nizhvashiti, she thought, this was her true council all assembled. These were the people beside whom she would go to war.
Some of them she had known only briefly. It didn’t matter. They all knew what the stakes were now, and they all believed. Everyone else would have to be swept along beside them.
She looked first at Sayeh. “It’s going to be up to you to keep Zirha in line, I’m afraid. I cannot promote Pranaj over him—”
Pranaj shrugged, averting any suggestion that he might feel insult with a turn of his hand. “My self-esteem is not at stake, as long as you do not expect me to take orders from him.”
She met his eyes. She had worried that he would not be ready to step into a role as general when he was forced into it. But he had blossomed after the death of her prior commander. “Whatever happens, know that my trust lies in you.”
Tsering-la said, “This Zirha may be a little dazed yet from the sorcerer’s hold over him.”
“Hmm.” Ata Akhimah frowned in agreement.
Sayeh tried not to sigh, but it got past her anyway. “I didn’t sign up to raise a general, but I suppose I will do it. Somebody has to give that man a little self-confidence to soften the arrogance with.”
“If he ever had any, it’s obvious Anuraja and Ravani kicked it out of him.” The Dead Man leaned against the wall beside the door, so motionless it would be easy to forget him—scarlet coat and all. “But we should not complain.”
“I’m complaining now,” said Mrithuri, “because now I need to use him. And it would be nice if that didn’t involve having to get out and push!”
A light scratch on the door announced Yavashuri. She peered around the edge as she slid it aside. “Well, this is convenient. Hello, everyone.”
She crossed the room, stepping over cushions and legs, walking as if carrying a weight. One by one, she removed some half dozen soft chamois bags from a pouch over her shoulder and laid them on the low table beside Mrithuri’s tea.
Milky, spiced tea with sugar. Too much sugar for Mrithuri to stomach comfortably at this stage in her recovery, but Ata Akhimah had insisted she take some more sustenance. So she sipped it slowly, leaning back against her bolster while her insides churned.
At least there was, again, Wizardry on the pot and the cup that kept the stuff inside fresh and warm.
“Well done,” she said to her oldest confidante.
“It won’t be enough for long,” Yavashuri said, with a gesture toward the bags.
“It will be enough for now, added to the treasury. And there’s nothing to stop us from melting down the silverware.” Mrithuri wrapped her hands around the cup for a moment longer. The warmth eased the aches in her bones. “Then we come up with the next thing. I like the dies, Ata Akhimah.”
Reluctantly, she set the tea aside and measured each of the bags with her hands, in turn. Two were smaller than the others, so light it seemed there was little inside—but they rustled and clicked when she moved them. The rest were shockingly heavy and clanked in a manner that reminded her of the Gage. For a moment she worried about the metal man, what he was doing in Himadra’s court, and the result of his desperate mission east. She did not know what had happened to him in the Singing City. Her bird had not been able to follow there.
