The Wall of Storms, page 37
“That’s enough.”
Noda and Doru stopped moving, still prostrate.
“You’ve committed treason against the emperor. What good is pleading for mercy from me?”
Noda parsed Gin’s words carefully. The very fact that Gin was asking questions instead of throwing them into a prisoner wagon bound for Pan was a good sign. The fact that she spoke of the emperor and herself in two separate sentences was another.
“Most Sagacious and Honored Queen, Paragon of Virtue!” he said, still not lifting his face from the floor. “We have been foolish in thinking that it was possible for mere grass to resist the might of the Imperial scythe, or for lowly praying mantises to dare stand against the march of the Imperial carriage. We can only blame our own greed and ambition for our sorry state and know that death is our just desert. Emperor Ragin is truly peerless in the arts of war and a commander of men without equal.”
Gin listened, a slight frown creasing her brows. Noda stole a quick glance at the brightly polished surface of the sword lying at Gin’s feet and saw the reflection of the queen’s face. He almost smiled but quickly lowered his head again. Ah, vanity.
“You were arrogant,” said Gin, standing up. “That was why you lost to a mere child on the battlefield. Trusting in the prowess of men lost in a feverish dream is a tactic that Mata Zyndu relied on to great success, but you two are no Mata Zyndu. Had I been—” She checked herself. “This is all beside the point. There is nothing I can do for you. I will give you a comfortable bed and a good meal tonight, and send you on your way to Pan in the morning.”
Noda and Doru crawled forward and each grabbed one of Gin’s feet. “Mercy! Mercy! Oh, Merciful Queen, Lord Rufizo Reborn, if you send us to Pan, we’ll be faced with a fate worse than death! The emperor will make us into examples. He will slaughter our families and followers, and all the members of their families within three degrees of relatedness.”
“What is that to me?”
“Once before, when we fought on the side of the Hegemon against the emperor, you showed mercy and let us go. We pray that you again repeat that act of great courage so that your immortal name may live on in song and story. In war, it has always been the rule that the nobles are treated differently from common men at arms.”
“Is that so?” said Gin. “I suppose that’s true—you certainly deserve a fate far worse than the fools who followed you. I doubt you’ll find a single Lord of Dara who would disagree on this point.”
“Yet surely it is not true that all the Lords of Dara are equal! Everyone knows that of all the emperor’s advisers, the only one who can bring her sword into the palace and whose counsel the emperor heeds is you!” Once again, Noda went back to knocking his forehead against the floor, and Doru copied him.
Gin frowned again. Though their effort at appealing to her pride was rather transparent, she had to admit that it was working—after all, who had done more to build Kuni’s empire than she? If he was going to listen to anyone, he should listen to her.
But she wasn’t so foolish as to want to risk her reputation for the likes of Noda Mi and Doru Solofi. She was far more curious about the fact that the two of them had gotten as far as they had—and managed to drag Théca Kimo into their plot as well. Considering how much effort Rin Coda had put into the Imperial security apparatus, something didn’t smell right.
“If you want me to help you,” said Gin, “tell me everything that’s happened to you since the time you decided to rebel. Leave no details out.”
As Noda and Doru recounted their run of good luck, Gin’s face gradually darkened, and then brightened.
Finally, she extricated herself gently but firmly from their groveling. “Gentlemen, do not debase yourselves further. You are my guests for tonight, and I will decide what to do on the morrow.”
Zomi Kidosu frowned as she surveyed the open plaza before the queen’s grand audience hall. Dozens of men and a few women were camped out on bedrolls, making the place appear as a beggar’s lane.
“Who are these people?” asked ten-year-old Princess Aya Mazoti, who walked next to her. She had the wiry frame of her mother and the same sharp features, though her skin was darker. The queen had never said who her father was, and none of Mazoti’s generals and ministers had dared to probe. The kings of Dara had never felt the need to explain to their followers who they pleased to bed, and Mazoti had always acted as though the same rules applied to her. She had taken many men to bed, but none dared to think that deed made them special.
“These are the followers of Noda Mi and Doru Solofi,” said Zomi. “They escaped Tunoa and are seeking asylum with your mother.”
“Is she going to protect them?”
“I’m not sure,” Zomi said. It had been a few days since Mi and Solofi had arrived with their retinue, and Gin seemed unable to make up her mind. As soon as Zomi saw Doru Solofi’s shifting mien, arrogant and groveling by turns, she had recognized him as the brute who had attempted to extort her and the other patrons of the Three-Legged Jug years ago. Unsettled by emotions and memories she had long pushed out of her mind, Zomi had avoided going to the queen, as she did not trust herself to offer objective counsel. But the queen had summoned her, and Zomi was glad to run into Princess Aya on the way to the audience hall—it would delay the unpleasant discussion a little further.
“If they’re traitors, then Mother should kill them on the spot,” said Aya.
Gin Mazoti had never shied away from letting her daughter know how she came by her throne, and Zomi was used to the way the princess spoke easily of killing and warfare. In truth, since her arrival in Géjira, she had been working to moderate some of Gin’s more militaristic instincts to administer the realm with a gentler hand. For instance, she had encouraged Gin to freeze the military budget and divert more funds into building village schools for the poor modeled on the learning huts of old Haan. She was using them to experiment with a new curriculum that emphasized writing in the vernacular and practical skills like mental arithmetic and geometry that eschewed proofs. Gin had been far more amenable to her suggestions than the Imperial bureaucracy, and Zomi felt that she was finally finding a perch from which she could shine. Gin’s generous stipend also allowed her to send a lot more money home to Dasu. Everything in her life seemed to be moving in the right direction.
“That looks like fun!” Aya said.
Zomi followed her gaze and saw one of the fugitives, a young man about eighteen or nineteen years of age, exercising with one of the hitching stones at the edge of the plaza. With both hands, he grabbed the protruding ring to which the horse’s lead was supposed to be tied and, with a grunt, tossed the stone into the air. Although the stone must have weighed close to two hundred pounds, he managed to toss it up about ten feet or so. Then he caught it with both arms and gently set it down. He repeated this several more times. The other fugitives, having grown inured to the sight of this feat of strength, ignored him.
Aya ran up to him. “You must be a great warrior,” she said, her voice full of admiration. Ever since she was a toddler, Gin had been teaching her wrestling and knife fighting, and she was a tomboy through and through.
Mota Kiphi put the stone down and wiped his face. “Thank you, young mistress.”
“You should call me Your Highness,” said Aya.
“Your Highness,” said Mota dutifully.
Zomi called to the princess. “Come, Your Highness. The queen doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I want to talk to this man,” said Aya stubbornly. Zomi had no choice but to walk over. She had been avoiding the fugitives in order to maintain objectivity and advise the queen properly, but now that she was here, it seemed impolite to say nothing.
“Have you always been this strong?” As soon as Zomi asked the question, she felt foolish, but she had never been good at small talk.
Mota shook his head and smiled shyly. “I was a lot like my father, rather sickly and weak as a child.”
“So what happened?”
“My father left to fight with the Hegemon against Mapidéré before I was born, and he never returned. I’ve always wanted to be like him. I remembered the tales about how Marshal Dazu Zyndu had also been weak as a child but carried a calf around until he became strong as an ox. So I plowed the fields for my neighbors and hauled their fish until things changed.”
Though he told his tale in a matter-of-fact manner, Zomi could hear behind it years of sweat and dedication, years of yearning for a dream.
Zomi thought of her father, who had died to look for a prince. She thought of her brothers, who had died because a noble called for them to fight. She thought of the way Princess Théra had managed to get her into the Grand Examination with a single word.
We suffer because we are the grass upon which giants stride.
She also thought of the complicated meaning of the word “talent.” She thought of her own years of hard work and toil. She thought about the ways in which she did not feel at home among the nobles at the Imperial court and the refined scholars who were her colleagues in the College of Advocates. She thought about the ways in which she did not feel at home when she was actually home in Dasu.
If a carp has leapt over the Rufizo Falls, does the carp-turned-dyran not owe a duty to do what she can for the other carp?
This was why she had not wanted to know these men at all. Knowing someone’s stories made you vulnerable.
“You are strong,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“Yes, I am,” Mota said. He wasn’t bragging, just acknowledging a truth. “But I wish I had listened to my mother, who didn’t want me to come fight at all. She said that the great lords like King Noda and King Doru like to gamble, but it’s always the people who have to scrabble for a living who pay the price.”
Zomi said nothing.
“My mother will make whoever hurt you pay,” said Aya. “She’s a greater lord than them all.”
Zomi went around to talk to the other fugitives. Some were scholars who had failed to place in the Imperial examinations and hoped to find an outlet for their talent; some were desperadoes who thought of the rebellion as an opportunity to accumulate wealth; but most were simple young peasants like Mota Kiphi, who fought because they were told it was the right thing to do, and they trusted the nobles to know better.
Zomi left for the audience hall.
“You cannot do this,” said Zomi.
“I cannot?” asked Gin Mazoti, amused. “Why not?”
“Because it would be wrong to offer up Noda and Doru’s followers to the emperor’s executioners when those two are responsible! That they would even suggest such a thing is beyond the pale.”
“I can’t offer up Noda and Doru,” said Gin, her voice hard. “They came to me, thinking that I could save their lives. I would have no shred of honor left if I don’t even try.”
“You’re talking about saving face—”
“Honor is everything!”
Zomi took a deep breath. “But then why offer up their followers?”
“Because things are no longer as they were in Pan,” said Gin. “The emperor has not asked me to lead the war against Théca Kimo, though I am still nominally the Marshal of Dara. Neither did he come to me for aid with the situation in Tunoa. I suspect that . . . Never mind, there are things you’re not meant to understand. I have to give him something.”
“You think the winds have changed in Pan?” asked Zomi. “Do you . . . think the emperor suspects you of ambition?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Gin. “The signs from Pan are conflicting, and I think this rebellion in Tunoa is more complicated than it might appear. Someone powerful in Pan is plotting against those who have done the most to bring about the rise of the House of Dandelion.”
“If you think the empress . . . I must say that you are wrong.”
“How do you know this?”
I can’t betray the empress’s trust, thought Zomi. I can’t let the queen know how the empress has been misunderstood. “I just know. But if you really must reassure yourself, surely you can go to Consort—”
Gin silenced her adviser with a cold and proud glare. “If you’re going to suggest that I go to Consort Risana for protection, hold your tongue. I made my name upon the tip of my sword. I will not go groveling to the wives of my lord.”
“You speak of honor in shielding Noda and Doru, yet you would give up their followers to assure the emperor. I do not think the two can be reconciled.”
Gin laughed bitterly. “Consistency has always been a trap into which only small minds wish to leap.”
“Are you certain that you’re not simply offering protection to Noda and Doru to see if you still have the emperor’s trust, to see that you are still the Marshal of Dara in his heart?”
Gin looked away, saying nothing.
If the prince and the duke press men and women of talent who hold a different opinion too severely, they’ll need a refuge in Dara.
This must be the moment the empress had meant, thought Zomi. Oh, Queen Gin, if only you knew that the empress and you are on the same side!
“If you intend to preserve your honor and influence,” said Zomi, “you must protect not only Noda and Doru, but also all their men.”
Gin quirked a brow at her.
“I have spoken to the men who followed them here. They have been misled or have become dissatisfied with the emperor, but many of them are men of talent.
“Prince Phyro is young and rash while Duke Coda is embarrassed at having almost lost against the rebels. It’s natural that they’d portray these men as unredeemable traitors. Presently, the emperor is enraged by Théca Kimo’s betrayal, and if you hand these men over, he will no doubt execute them, only to regret the decision later.
“Blood begets more blood, Your Majesty, and Dara cannot afford more blood. The wise course of action is to shield all these men until the emperor has had a chance to calm down, and then he will thank you for your steady hand and cool counsel. This is the best way to secure your honor in his heart and to prove your loyalty.”
Gin gazed severely at her. “Are you certain that you’re not trying to protect these men because they remind you of you? Of your rise from base birth to greatness?”
Zomi shot back, “You were once just like them!”
“This is dangerous counsel.”
Do what is right for Dara, no matter the consequences.
Zomi had never been more certain in her life that she was doing the right thing.
“Yet you have made your name upon the tip of your sword.”
As Gin continued to look at Zomi, her face gradually relaxed.
“Tell Noda and Doru’s men to move into the guest quarters with their lords. Tonight, we feast and welcome them all to Géjira.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EMPRESS AND MARSHAL
PAN: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE ELEVENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
“Rénga, I must advise against this course of action,” said Prime Minister Cogo Yelu. “Puma Yemu may have suffered some defeats, but risking yourself is not going to be the answer.”
“Puma Yemu has always been so effective,” said Jia. “One wonders why this war is going so poorly.”
Cogo looked at the empress and was about to speak, but then he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t know what Puma is thinking,” said an irritated Kuni. “I don’t seem to know my generals at all anymore. But I have no choice but to go to war. Shall I stand by while the people whisper that I have lost my will to fight?”
“You could summon Queen Gin,” said Jia.
“I did not summon her earlier because I thought it would be awkward for her to fight against one of her old friends,” said Kuni. “And now that things are going poorly, you want me to crawl to her for help? Will you make me into the laughingstock of Dara?”
“She did win Dara for you,” said Jia quietly.
A long, awkward silence. Kuni’s face darkened.
“I think what the empress meant to say,” Risana broke in timidly, “is that Gin Mazoti has a certain skill—”
“You do not need to explain what she meant,” said Kuni. He swept his sleeve through the air angrily. “If even my wife thinks that I must rely on the sword of Gin Mazoti to keep my empire, then so must half of Dara. Is my throne so insecure that I must beg her to intervene whenever one of the nobles grows ambitious? Is she the emperor or am I?”
“I spoke rashly, Kuni,” said Jia. “I’m sorry.”
Kuni ignored her. “Risana, prepare your luggage. We leave with the army in the morning. I’m going to Arulugi personally to oversee this war, and I will not come back until either Théca Kimo is dead or I join the Hegemon.”
Kuni stormed away.
“Do not hold this against him,” said Risana to Jia. “He’s just used to having me with him on campaigns. He is . . . under a great deal of stress.”
Jia inclined her head and smiled. “Thank you, sister. I had not thought my husband and I were such strangers that I needed marital advice.”
Risana blushed, bowed, and hurried away, leaving Cogo Yelu and the empress alone.
“What is your counsel, Prime Minister?” asked the empress.
“I am certain that the emperor will do what is right for Dara,” said Cogo, bowing and keeping his eyes calmly focused on the tip of his nose. “As will the empress and Consort Risana.”
Jia laughed. “How many years have we known each other now, Cogo? You need not act like Consort Risana in one of her dances: waving her long sleeves in every direction, pleasing admirers from every vantage point. If you think I’ve made a mistake, you have but to speak plainly to me.”
“It did seem ill-advised to bring up the topic of Queen Gin when the emperor had already decided to go to war himself.”
“Because he would be insulted?”
