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“
He is demanding a horse. Not asking, sir. Demanding, like I was a servant.”

I thought about it and then arranged one for him and another for Rastrian and had them join me at the back of their troop. I rode at the back so that I could see how they were holding up and also see if anyone dropped out, as the old man had.

Rastrian took his horse with gratitude and fell in with me and my original command of six. The old man in the bright clothing did the same with an arrogant assumption that he would be welcome that I had to admire. They both rode well enough that I didn't feel I had to worry about them.

“
You must be the Shaman.”

The old man turned his face to me, utterly without expression. His eyes were the same. It was like there was no one behind them. He didn't answer at once. If he had not turned to face me I would have thought he didn't know I was there.

“
I am Dubaku, Shaman to the Urindu.”

I gave him my name and position. For some reason he demanded my respect on a level I couldn't quite define. I have met kings and felt less need to show them any respect.

“
You're a priest, then?”

He tutted in disapproval and turned away. No, I corrected myself. He had said something. I reproduced the sound and he turned back to me, laughing openly, though none of his facial expression touched his eyes, which I thought was a neat trick.

“
What does it mean?” I made the noise again.

He didn't hesitate. “Idiot.”

“
Exactly that?”

“
You could say callow, young, ignorant. Same thing.” He said something else, mostly clicks and plosives and I repeated it exactly.

“
You are a mimic.”

“
No. I'm just good with languages. What did that mean?”

“
A Shaman is not a rapist.”

I said it again, to make sure I had it. “And priests are?”

“
They take spirits of their followers, binding them in life and warping them in death to serve as tools without minds or will. A Shaman touches the spirits of his own ancestors, and sometimes others, and asks those with ability for aid which they sometimes give.”

We of the city are not much interested in religion. The fact that there was some form of existence after death was well known and considered indisputable. Our philosophy teaches that life is for the living and death for the dead. The dead seem to feel the same way about it, revealing nothing of whatever their experience might be. I had not made any study of foreign practices, though I knew that priests could summon spirits that each had a power or ability. My ancestors had slaughtered many such and destroyed many temples. Most of the sacred writings were also burned. We do not like rivals, and priests were rivals to our sorcery. Individuals we now tended to leave alone as curiosities, but any attempt to preach or propagate a faith would still be mercilessly put down.

“
I see the distinction.”

He looked away from me. It was so clearly a dismissal that I almost laughed aloud at his arrogance. What was he, a patron? I took no offense. I liked him. And I wanted to learn his language while the opportunity was there. I have a thirst for learning that is just fundamentally part of my make-up.

I turned to Kerral. “Look out for stragglers, I'm riding ahead for a while. Rastrian, would you join me?”

Together we rode out.

“
Where did you find him?”

“
Dubaku? A few years ago I was in the army of the King of Gherkellik, he was tired of pirates coming across the Prian Straits so he hired mercenaries and sent us and his own troops over the sea to take a piece of their lands. Dubaku joined us there after convincing me of his usefulness.”

“
Whose side was he on?”

Rastrian shrugged. “His own. I think he still is. Still, it's a free company and as long as he obeys orders he will do for me.”

“
As long as he doesn't try and convert anyone.”

“
He won't. He says his teachings are secrets for his son.”

That struck me as sensible even as another aspect of it struck me as odd. “Where is this son he is supposed to be teaching his secrets to?”

Rastrian shrugged. “I guess he has children somewhere, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren. He says he's a hundred and thirty years old but I'm guessing he lost count.”

Magic could be used to extend life. The head of the healer's guild had two hundred years under his belt. But that was sorcery. What could a spirit do to extend life? I assumed he was lying for effect or using a different counting system.

We were riding beyond the ditch at the side of the road. Small bunches of trees had begun to spring up here and there on the otherwise bare terrain. A line of hills was angling toward the road, and ahead I could see a farm close to the road. We were entering the province of Lirria. Soon enough we would pass the town of Huprew. I decided I wanted to talk to Tul and ordered Rastrian back to my troop. They were still mine, at least for now. The earlier meeting with Tul had gone well enough for me. He had made it clear that as there was no proof either way he was going to let it pass, but that it or anything like it had better not happen again. He was staring at his errant aide when he said this so I knew that he was sure in his own mind that I was innocent of blame. He had given me the hundred crossbowmen to command on the basis that “someone has to command them and no one else is free” but I suspected it was a reward for handling things well enough. We were cousins and under normal circumstances he would favor me heavily as family and a natural ally. My reputation had scotched that but I was repairing things as fast as I could.

I caught up with the head of the army a few minutes later and pulled up near enough to Tul that he could choose to acknowledge or ignore me as he chose. He decided on the former and I asked if I could speak with him. After a moment he nodded, commanded his people to keep the pace, and pulled his horse off the road. We sat for just a moment watching the army pass us by.

“
If I might ask, why the increase in pace?”

“
Maybe I'm just getting your crossbowmen fit.”

“
Possible, but I don't think so.”

He watched me for a while, obviously considering. “Keep it to yourself. The Prashuli and Orduli are rising. There have been deaths among the merchants who have had free passage until now. The Ensibi have lost a town in the north of their territories. Orthand is in a fury. He can see his client people slipping through his fingers and they are worth a good income to him. He has sent back to his family and friends to raise forces and send them north.”

“
So we are not just going to hurt the Alendi and leave.”

“
No. I'm guessing that Orthand means to pacify the whole region as far as the mountains. Might take a year.”

Or more. There are other tribes that might get involved, they doubtless also have alliances and blood ties. I worried it over for a moment then told him what I had sent Sheo north to do.

He glared at me. Then laughed out loud, suddenly good-natured. “I should have guessed you would not sit back and take orders. Any news on how he is doing?”

I shamefacedly admitted that I had not instructed him to send messages.

“
He will anyway. Wouldn't you?”

I nodded. “What about the crossbowmen?”

“
Keep them. You and I will both be under Orthand as overall commander in any case. He has the biggest unit and the most seniority. Unless the assembly of patrons sends a consul or something drastic.”

“
Peshna Itherian has his four legions busy in the east.”

“
Yes, greedy bastard.”

The senior consul gets four legions paid for by the state. Then he goes and fights a war somewhere and makes a fortune. Everyone did it. Over the last seven hundred years we have conquered and either lost, sold or given up territories a thousand miles away and more as families rise and fall, as some sons are more industrious than others. A client state gives the best reward for the least administrative effort. Often we will trade freely with kingdoms we have once held, yet sometimes they will turn on us and have to be dealt with again. I couldn't remember what the situation was in the east.

“
Will I get away with it?”

“
You will now, I'm betting. Orthand can't take them off you, assuming Sheo has done his job and I'm sure he will. A magistrate could but Orthand isn't holding office at the moment, just dealing with his own problem.”

“
Let's hope that's the way it stays.”

Tul snorted in derision. “Of course it will. When was the last time the state was at war?”

“
A hundred and seventy two years ago.”

“
Exactly.” He made no move to leave so I let him be for a while, eventually he changed the subject. “I'm not going to offer you joint command but if you join with my troops I'll let you have second and autonomous command of your own cohort so long as you obey my orders.”

I didn't say anything.

“
I'll include you in my letter of authority to raise troops, loan your man my white rod. But keep it to yourself for now.”

“
Agreed, cousin.” I didn't not see fit to tell him that Sheo already had a white rod of his own.

#

I worried about Sheo, now. It had only been a few days but I hadn't heard anything and it bothered me. Tul was right, Sheo would send me a message. I stepped over to my desk, which now had a few papers on it. A hundred men, and the healers and battle mages. And my original six. The demands of command were increasing. There was also a satchel containing scrip, promises that the war chest of Tulian Dural Verrans would pay cash to whoever presented it to him. The responsibilities of command.

Looking down at the letter that Sapphire had delivered to my tent an hour ago, my initial anger flooded back.

I had taken the letter warily. “My father sent a letter for me to you?”

Sapphire had shrugged and said nothing, his cold blue eyes unwavering.

“
Get out.”

When he'd gone I opened the letter and read it. It didn't take long.

I understand that you have not disgraced yourself. I am relieved.

That was it. Bastard.

#

I had written the letter to the head of Tahal's family, offering my assistance in the rescue of their son should it become possible. I resolved to put it with the official dispatches in the morning. I was still curious about what, if anything, the Samant family were doing to come to the aid of their son, Tahal. They appeared to be doing nothing, and that was not right. True, they were a small family and no longer wealthy. I could not remember the last time a Samant had been consul, for example, but it was impossible that they be doing nothing. Could they be so poor that they could not raise any troops at all? I tried to remember the family members but could not. Was Tahal the only man left of the line? Was Irian Samant recently dead and I hadn't heard? Were his female relatives reliant on friends and blood ties? Orelia had asked me to intervene because her family would not, on the premise that Tahal was merely her betrothed and not her husband, but what were his own family doing? Well, the letter was written and they might confide in me.