The Wall of Storms, page 47
Zomi began to cry. “I have disappointed you. I am more ashamed than there are words in the world.”
“You have had too many successes at too young an age,” said Gin. “But humiliation can be a good teacher as well. I once crawled between the legs of a man and thought I would never again be able to lift my head; yet he taught me the need to play the long game. You have talent, Zomi Kidosu, but you must learn to guide that talent with wisdom, which can only be taught by failures.”
“Please punish me,” said Zomi.
“You have been punished enough,” said Gin. “That is why I left you here for the night by yourself. We are always our own harshest critics.” She bent down to lift her up. “What you need now is forgiveness and the resolve to go into battle against doubt anew.”
To the Emperor of Dara:
Rénga’s threats of an invasion have quite surprised us. Does the emperor seek to emulate the fools of ancient legends told by Ra Oji, who sought to strike at stones with eggs and hope for success?
The emperor speaks of raising armies and navies and fleets of airships, but we have already defeated your army once, and why should you expect the outcome to be different in a repeat contest? You may hold an advantage in numbers, but what is the use of such advantage when each garinafin under the guidance of brave Lyucu warriors is capable of defeating a thousand men-at-arms of Dara? We have seen the capabilities of the best that the fighting men of Dara can offer, and we’re not impressed.
Moreover, with the passage of time, our advantage grows while your strength diminishes. Without a source of lift gas, how will you keep your airships aloft over time? We will upgrade the equipment of our warriors with the seized weapons from the armories in Dasu and Rui. The people of Dara already tremble at the mention of the Great Pékyu’s name, and the more time passes, the greater the fear grows. They will not fight for you with conviction. To seek to threaten the stronger when you’re the weaker is not the act of a wise sovereign.
Prince Timu is a happy guest here and has no wish to return, and we have no doubt he will come to see the wisdom of submission to a superior lord. In time, perhaps, Timu will ascend the Throne of Dara and rule some parts of Dara as a loyal thane of the Lyucu.
While the wondrous garinafins enjoy the well-deserved respite of the fragrant hay after their soaring victories in Rui and Dasu, the Great Pékyu is looking forward to seeing you soon. I hope our first encounter will be akin to the ancient spearman prostrating himself to welcome the arrival of the sun, symbol of the Great Pékyu himself. Our winged beasts, riding on the city-ships gifted by Mapidéré, shall determine just who is the true master of Dara.
—Pékyu Tenryo, Protector of Dara,
speaking through your erstwhile servant, Ra Olu
“Shameless! Shameless!” Emperor Ragin roared as he stomped through the Great Audience Hall. “We must attack immediately.”
Mün Çakri and Than Carucono focused on reading the letter and made no reply.
“Kuni, you must consider this carefully,” said Risana. “We don’t know how to defeat the garinafin riders, and a rash attack will not benefit Timu but cause needless deaths.”
“But as times goes on, more and more of our airships will have to be grounded without a new source of lift gas. Waiting will only make us weaker,” countered Jia.
“I am most enraged by Ra Olu’s betrayal,” said Kuni. “How could a man who studied the books of Kon Fiji and worked alongside Zato Ruthi be so utterly without shame? I truly was blind when I made him regent of Dasu and then asked him to assist Timu.”
“Rénga, I think it’s more concerning that you may be blinded by concern for the safety of the prince,” said Cogo Yelu.
“What are you talking about?”
“The prime minister is right,” said Zomi Kidosu. “It’s too late to worry about mistakes made in the past; best we focus on how to make the most of what we have.”
Kuni glanced at Zomi suspiciously, not bothering to disguise his distaste for the woman. He had accepted Zomi’s resignation without any regret, believing her character to be suspect after she confessed her stolen pass to the Grand Examination—which, in truth, didn’t bother Kuni much—and recanted her accusation against Gin Mazoti, which did. The only reason she wasn’t punished more was because digging for the truth behind her errors would have created a great scandal for the Imperial family.
“The path you’re advocating is rather convenient for yourself, don’t you think?” asked Kuni.
Zomi’s face flushed, but she refused to back down.
“Even if a knife has injured you in the past, it’s still a good knife if you wield it right.”
Princess Théra had vouched for Zomi and asked for her to be made into one of her personal advisers. With Dara once again in all-out war, Kuni had decided that it was time to give Théra more responsibility, as scholarly objections to the participation of women in political and military affairs had to be temporarily checked in favor of finding talent wherever talent chose to reside. Théra’s role in putting down the rebellion of Tunoa certainly proved that she had some skills in the mechanical arts, and having Zomi, the prized student of the great engineer Luan Zya, assist the princess could be a way to build up a new, untapped base of power for Théra. Thus, Kuni had named Théra a consulting liaison to the engineering academies of Ginpen and Pan, with the charge to research weaponry for Phyro and the generals and to coordinate intelligence analysis with Rin Coda’s former department.
“Father,” Théra whispered, and pulled on the emperor’s sleeves. “Please!”
The emperor sighed and gestured for Zomi to continue.
“Even though Ra Olu has betrayed your trust by acting as an amanuensis for the barbarian king, his desire to please his new master with florid prose may provide us with useful intelligence. In my experience, Ra Olu and Lady Lon are a vain couple who feel the constant need to boast and strut and cannot suffer humiliation—this may explain the ease with which they betrayed you as well as give us an advantage.”
“You speak like an Incentivist,” said Kuni.
“Incentivism has its uses,” said Zomi.
“What useful intelligence have you gathered from this letter then?” asked Risana.
“In an effort to cover the shame of his own betrayal, Olu speaks of Prince Timu as a ‘happy guest.’ But this tells us at least that Prince Timu is not in immediate danger, so you need not act rashly.”
Jia’s face, tense until this point, relaxed slightly.
“And his boast of a strategic imbalance between the two sides is confirmed by our own scouting, which tells us that the Lyucu are confident and their morale is high,” said Cogo. “A frontal assault is not a good idea.”
“But we can’t just wait for them to invade! How will we defend against these aerial beasts, who seem invincible?”
“Perhaps Ra Olu’s letter has unwittingly given us more clues in that regard as well,” said Théra. “We just have to know how to read the letter.”
The emperor paced some more and seemed deep in thought. Zomi and Théra shared an encouraging smile with each other.
“It is the next-to-last sentence that is most odd,” said a thoughtful Cogo Yelu. “I’m not aware of any Classical Ano allusion to a spearman welcoming the sun.”
“Maybe it’s a reference to some barbarian legend,” scoffed the emperor. “Why should he limit himself to Ano allusions now that he serves a different master?”
“No, that’s not it,” said Zomi Kidosu.
Everyone turned to gaze at her. Struggling to hold back her excitement and appear calm, Zomi said, “Ra Olu has always had a contempt for the natives of Dasu, but he fancies himself a good regent and makes an effort to study local phrases and references that he finds colorful and exotic. Sometimes he peppers his speech and writing with them in an effort to appear to be close to the people. The Spearman is the name of a summer constellation recognized by the peasants of Dasu, and the only time it can be seen in the east, right before dawn, is early spring.”
“So Minister Olu may have inadvertently revealed to us the Lyucu’s plan to invade in the spring,” Théra said.
“That gives us some time to prepare,” said the emperor. The way he looked at Zomi Kidosu was now friendlier, and the young woman nodded back in acknowledgment.
“I think there’s even more,” Zomi said. As she continued to speak, her demeanor grew more confident. This reminded her of the experience of deciphering obscure Ano logograms with Luan Zya on those carefree nights riding across Dara in the swaying gondola of Curious Turtle. “The mention of the city-ships tells us that the garinafins are incapable of long-distance flight. I think this means they’re like the long-legged leopards of Écofi, and flight is a matter of enormous exertion that they’re capable of only in short spurts. For transportation across the sea, they need ships.”
“And the reference to hay is also interesting,” said Jia, who was catching on to this method of reading. “It suggests that the garinafins live on grass, not meat.” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “They must be cared for in a similar fashion as cattle. The journey across the sea has weakened the creatures significantly, which is why they need to rest over the winter and put on some weight.” Since Jia’s family had been ranchers in Faça, she knew the habits of ranching quite well.
“But that means the best time to attack is now!” said Kuni. “If we’re making the right inferences from Ra Olu’s careless disclosures, then the Lyucu will never be as weak as they are now, and we should take advantage of this opportunity to strike.”
This seemed reasonable, and Kuni’s advisers agreed.
“We need to come up with a plan to counter the garinafins as soon as possible,” said Than Carucono.
“I’ll prepare the army for an invasion,” said Mün Çakri.
“We should be ready to attack in no more than two months, while it’s still winter,” said Kuni. “Puma Yemu can wrap up his affairs in Arulugi and lead the vanguard.”
The fact that he didn’t name a commander in chief was not missed by anyone. Everyone thought of the marshal, who refused to emerge from her house arrest.
Mün Çakri and Than Carucono looked at each other, and both were just about to volunteer when Jia spoke up.
“You are Timu’s father. The soldiers will be more inspired if you take the lead and act as commander in chief yourself.”
Risana, Phyro, and Théra were all about to object, but Kuni stopped them. “The empress is right. Sometimes we all have to fight our own battles. Maybe this is the only way to restore full faith in the throne after recent . . . irregularities.”
The panic that had seized all of Dara gradually subsided, now that the Lyucu appeared to be content with only Rui and Dasu, at least for the moment.
The nobles of Dara sent secret detachments to the northern shore of the Big Island to await orders for further deployment, but even after two weeks, there was no announced date for when the emperor’s vanguard would leave the Big Island.
Rumors went around the camps that the emperor’s generals, at a loss without their marshal, were bickering incessantly and could not come to agreement on a suitable plan.
Four women came to visit Gin Mazoti in her suite.
This was a rare sight. The disgraced marshal seldom had visitors these days, as nobles and military commanders wished to avoid the complications of having to explain their association with a traitor who refused to repent.
Captain Dafiro’s eyes widened when he realized who these visitors were, but he kept his silence and simply bowed and stepped aside.
“How may I assist Your Imperial Majesty?” asked Gin. Her tone was respectful, but the tension in the air was as cold as the wintry wind outside the door.
Empress Jia nodded and came into the room; behind her was Consort Risana, and then Princess Théra and Zomi Kidosu.
“The emperor intends to invade Rui,” said Jia. “We come to ask for your help.” She presented a copy of Ra Olu’s letter with both hands. “There is some valuable information in this letter.”
But Gin did not accept it. She turned away from the women. “I am no longer the Marshal of Dara. A broken sword has no business to be thinking of warfare. I’ve been doing nothing but composing poems and sampling the wines Your Imperial Majesty has so generously supplied me with.”
“Mün Çakri and Than Carucono cannot come up with a plan to defeat the beasts,” said Jia.
“And Phyro has been trying to help, but though he’s clever, he is no tactician,” said Risana.
“Planning an invasion of this scale is not like plotting the downfall of a recalcitrant and foolish noble,” said Gin. “It takes time.”
Jia’s face flushed, but she kept her voice even. “Timu must be suffering daily as a prisoner. As a mother, surely you must understand how I feel.”
Gin did not turn around, but her shoulders softened. “Aya has nothing to do with your political games. It is unfair of you to try to manipulate me that way.”
“Is there anything I can say that will not be interpreted as manipulation by you?” asked Jia, heat finally coming into her voice.
Théra broke in, “Auntie Gin, the generals have always relied on your leadership, and it is not their fault that they’ve been put in this position. Please, I know you’ve always cared for the lives of those who follow you. Help us for their sake, if not the sake of my family.”
Gin turned to look at her. The familiar form of address brought to mind happier times, when mistrust and doubt had not crept between her and Kuni’s family. She sighed. “Give me that letter.”
While Gin paced back and forth in the room, the other women sat in géüpa, watching her intently.
“. . . so these beasts rely on hay and feed . . . and they require rest . . .”
The other women looked at each other and smiled, glad to have their own interpretations confirmed by the great marshal.
Gin stopped. “I haven’t been entirely idle—old habits die hard. I’ve been thinking about the beasts’ methods of attack as reported in Timu’s letter and considering countermeasures, but they are simply too massive, tough, and fast for most of our weapons.”
The faces of the women fell.
“This letter does give me some new ideas,” Gin added.
Hope flared on everyone’s face again.
“The key, for me, is this passage near the beginning: ‘each garinafin under the guidance of brave Lyucu warriors.’ He seems to be saying that the garinafins require the riders to be effective.”
“So they’re not quite intelligent enough to attack on their own?” asked Théra. “Is it like the stories of the wars in ancient Écofi, when the Ano were able to defeat the elephant-towers of the natives by aiming for the riders instead of the armored beasts?”
Gin nodded approvingly. “That’s one theory that’s worth testing, in the absence of anything better.”
“It’s easier to strike at the pilots than the mount,” said Risana. “Just as it’s easier to catch the king than all his soldiers.”
“In theory,” said Gin. “But what is really needed, of course, is better intelligence and understanding of the beasts. Knowing the enemy is more than half the battle.”
Everyone nodded. The discussion only highlighted the value of Ra Olu’s letter.
“But the mirror situation is also true,” said Gin. “Much of the initiative during that initial engagement on Dasu was lost due to the Lyucu’s apparent familiarity with our airship tactics and capabilities. They were perfectly prepared for everything our ships could throw at them, so to speak. I do not like to speak poorly of the dead, but I suspect Master Zato Ruthi’s belief in Kon Fiji as a guide in military affairs was at least partly responsible.”
Théra and Zomi both found themselves nodding at this.
Gin continued, “Now that they think they know everything our airships can do, it also gives us an opportunity to surprise them.”
“My mother has an idea along those lines that we wanted your opinion on,” said Théra.
“Oh?”
“It is perhaps an idle thought,” said Jia. “I have never been very knowledgeable about the ways of war. But Théra said I should at least bring it up and see if you could help make it better.”
Gin nodded, gesturing for the empress to continue.
“I grew up as a rancher’s daughter,” said Jia. “And though my interest was in herbs and medicines, I played the same kind of games that children of ranchers everywhere did and perhaps still do.” Her face turned red for some reason, as if what she was about to say was rather embarrassing.
“She had a lot more fun than I did,” said Théra. “While I was cooped up in a palace most of my life, my mother ran around in the fields all day and got into plenty of trouble.”
Gin looked at Jia, who looked regal even in a plain yellow robe instead of her courtly dress, and had a hard time picturing her as a young girl running wild after herds of cattle and sheep.
“Our laborers gathered the manure of cows, sheep, and pigs into pits and fermented it to produce fertilizer that could be sold to the farmers nearby,” said Jia. “Such pits were quite dangerous, as the fermenting manure produced noxious fumes that could be fatal and were very volatile.”
Gin nodded. “The use of dried cow and horse dung as a fuel is well known to every soldier.”
“But you probably didn’t play the same games we did. Some of the more adventurous children and I used to grind up dried dung and place the powder in a sealed jar with water, and let the fumes out through a bamboo tube that could be lit to produce a lamp of sorts. If we let the pressure build up enough, the flame could shoot out quite far, as though the jar were breathing fire. This was quite dangerous, and I knew a boy who was severely injured when one of the jars exploded in his face. The adults forbade us from playing in this manner, and I only brought it up because Théra often begs me to tell her stories about my youth.”
“You can fight fire with fire,” said Théra excitedly. “Just like I fought the mirror cult of the Hegemon with more mirrors.”
