The Past The Hazard
… it should be known, the first great war was between demons and the mortals who became witches …
—Scrap of document in written Saredi, found in Ada-behar archives, in the Witchlands
It still hadn’t rained by nightfall and the air was damp and pent with energy when Kai started a last round of the encampment.
He liked to make certain that everyone he was directly responsible for was where they were supposed to be or otherwise accounted for, and that they had some opportunity to eat or sleep if possible.
It was habit from being Kai-Enna, a Saredi chief of scouts who led demons and mortals.
This entailed visiting his Arike cadre at their various posts.
They always urged him to go rest himself, but they didn’t seem to mind it when he stopped to check on them.
Before the Hierarchs, the Saredi hadn’t fought a war since Grandmother’s treaty with the underworld, but the captains understood the value of making sure everyone knew in their bones that they would be missed and searched for if something happened to them.
So tonight Kai walked out past the paddocks to check with Arsha and Hartel at their sentry posts and then headed back into the main camp.
No one was allowed open fires after sunset and by this time the encampment was blanketed in darkness.
Kai’s ability to see in the dark had been left behind with Enna, though he thought he was still a little better at it than most mortals.
The moon was full somewhere above the clouds and just enough light came through to outline shapes.
Kai found himself navigating more by the scents: oiled canvas and leather, pungent crushed grasses, the nutty soap most Arike used, the lavender oil that was supposed to keep bugs away, and traces of horse dung on boots.
The horses liked to bury their dung but they tended to not be very good at it.
The civilians from the various city guilds and the envoys had made their camps inside the caravanserai’s shelter.
Bashasa and Hiranan and the other Prince-heirs kept to their usual practice and slept with their cadres and the outguard and the rest of the troops in small nondescript tents, now pitched in the field on the caravanserai’s north side.
Kai walked around to the supply train where it was camped up against the innermost paddock’s wall. He circled around the field where the giant wallwalkers munched on waist-deep grass; it only came up to the tops of their clawed feet. With the breeze negligible, their musky stench hung in the air.
The jumbled collection of supply train tents were domes of oilcloth staked into the flattened grass, and most were closer together than the soldiers pitched theirs; some of the Prince-heirs’ various cadres were still divided by old rivalries that didn’t seem to matter to the rest of the Arike.
Only a few carefully shielded candlelamps lit the way between the tents, groups gathered around each one, talking quietly or drinking or finishing up a late meal.
They watched Kai go by, but only the sentries walking their patrol acknowledged him.
Kai crossed in front of a tent where the group gathered outside all went silent as he passed.
Amabel sat alone outside the Witches’ little collection of tents, cradling a battered metal cup in their hands.
Kai sat down in front of them, catching a scent of anise.
Amabel smiled and signed in Witchspeak, All is well, Fourth Prince.
They were young, short like an Arike but with the more amber skin that was common in the borderlands and the west. Their dark hair had been braided into a neat cap around their head.
They were wearing an Enalin caftan and robe, probably to make them less conspicuous on their journey or just because their old clothes had finally worn out.
Are you in for the night? Kai signed back.
No, I am to patrol later. Amabel offered the cup of anise-flavored water to Kai.
Kai refused it with a thank-you gesture.
Has Mother Hiraga read any more messages?
They were the elder who had seen the fall of the Summer Halls in running water and had guided their family to meet Bashasa at the river.
To meet the future, Kai reminded himself, because the exact wording of these things was important.
Amabel’s brow furrowed. Mother has not. They haven’t been talking lately. Isa says Mother has dust in their throat but they can’t figure out why.
That was concerning for more than a few different reasons. Does Isa think Mother needs a mortal doctor, or is it a portent?
From Amabel’s expression, they had been asking themself the same question.
Fourth Prince knows portents are unreliable at best. And if this is one, it defies all our effort to interpret it.
With the air of coming to a decision on a thorny issue, Amabel added, Perhaps a mortal doctor might be for the best.
Tonight? Kai asked. There were several physicians among the Prince-heirs’ followers, and Kai actually almost trusted Bashasa’s. I can bring one.
Mother is asleep and won’t like being woken. Tomorrow is soon enough. Amabel smiled again. Fourth Prince cares for us.
That made Kai wince, possibly because his failure with the demons of the Cageling Court still sat in his heart like shards of rock. He said, It’s my duty, as a sub-captain to Prince-heir Bashasa.
Unimpressed, Amabel snorted, and made a throw-away gesture, refusing Kai’s words
Kai wasn’t going to argue with them. He signed a good night but before he could stand, an Arike from the group at the nearby tent came toward them. The person, young, dressed like a man, hesitated a few steps away, then eased closer and said, in broken Imperial, “Amabel, would give him this?”
Amabel nodded and held out their hand. The Arike moved close enough to drop something into Amabel’s palm and then retreated hastily back to his own group.
Amabel held it out to Kai, who leaned closer to see.
It was a little metal trinket, barely the length of the tip of one of Amabel’s calloused fingers, shaped vaguely like a sitting person.
It had an elaborate headdress or helmet, and something like a javelin gripped in one hand and an urn-shaped vessel in the other. “What is that?” Kai said aloud.
Amabel shrugged. They said in Imperial, “They give them to us, different shapes. Are they coins, luck tokens, spirit symbols?” They shrugged again. “We have nothing to give back.”
Kai knew the supply train had been grateful for the Witches’ ability to find springs and to chase away the malevolent spirits that sometimes clustered around them. Whatever it was, it seemed harmless and well-meant. He held out his hand and let Amabel drop the little figure into it.
Kai knew his cadre had set up a tent for him and Ziede to one side of Bashasa’s and for Tahren and Dahin on the other, though he hadn’t been by that part of the camp yet.
They did it for Tahren because she had refused the offer of a cadre—partly because she didn’t need one and partly because there were a host of political ramifications around the idea of putting Arike soldiers under the command of an Immortal Marshall, even a disgraced Immortal Marshall who was a traitor to the Blessed.
Apparently nobody had ever given a cadre to a demon before so those political ramifications didn’t apply to Kai.
Ziede hadn’t accepted one because she did most of her scouting from the air and could only carry one or two people with her, and that not for long.
Also, Kai suspected she just preferred to work alone most of the time.
Kai found his way through the clumps of tents in the dark. The occasional glow of a shielded lamp lit the stamped-down grass, and it was quiet except for rustling and soft half-heard conversations. As he neared Bashasa’s camp, he heard familiar voices.
“My friend Cerala, how many Hierarchs’ heads did the good Prince-heir of Descar-arik take, do you recall?”
“My memory is excellent, friend Nirana, I believe it was exactly none.”
Kai sighed, and followed the sound to a narrow corridor between sheets of canvas that led into a circle of tents where a little candlelight glowed.
He stepped around one of Bashasa’s cadre, who nodded to him as he passed.
She was expertly coiling extra tent rope around her right forearm, which ended in a stump.
Only two shielded lamps were lit, but it was enough to see Nirana and Cerala outside Kai and Ziede’s tent, and Bashasa’s cadre busy straightening up the area, packing away unneeded gear, and stowing bedrolls.
Nirana continued, “Yes, I believe you are correct, friend Cerala.” Her audience seemed to be several soldiers and civilians lurking on the far side of the circle. “I recall it because exactly none is the same number of expositors that the good Prince-heir of Descar-arik has killed—”
“It isn’t a fair comparison!” a younger voice objected, and Kai snorted a laugh. “The Prince-heir of Benais-arik had help from a demon prince—”
Cerala and Nirana both leapt on that like horses on a snake. “Unfairness! Descar-arik concedes our point and pleads unfairness because they don’t have a demon prince too—”
Someone from Bashasa’s cadre contributed, “I weep for them! Such sadness—”
Another one said, “Excuses aplenty!”
“How do we know that’s true?” a voice said out of the dark. “Isn’t it a lie, so your drunken Prince-heir can stay in command?”
Stillness crashed over the camp like an upended cart. Almost in unison, Bashasa’s cadre turned toward the speaker.
Cerala, her voice suddenly even and deadly cold, said, “Shut your teeth, or I’ll ram them down your throat.”
“I was there, I saw it with my own eyes, you puddle of piss!” Nirana grabbed up a bucket and swung it back to throw.
“We need that bucket.” Kai walked into the dim light.