Chapter Thirteen #2
The captain’s smile was bitter, but when he spoke he sounded like an old man telling a tale around a campfire.
“It’s usually easy for us to take over valleys.
Because we’re strong, yes, but also because they make it easy.
They know we’re coming, they know they have no chance of defeating us, and still they fight alone.
They depend on their gods, or on some desperate chance, rather than trusting their neighbors and uniting to at least put up a good fight.
We say it’s because they lack leadership.
It’s because there’s no one in any of these little valleys who’s strong enough to pull them all together.
And then we laugh, and we wonder whether they’ll ever figure it out. ”
“You’re saying they did?”
Tamon nodded. “They found a leader.”
Theos stared. “Not that spying rat! He’s . . . in ten years, maybe. But now? He’s a boy!”
“No, not him. The young king of Elkat, a man named Alrik. But apparently there’s a younger brother. We’re told he’s a handsome fellow, a bit of a scholar, who was trained in healing before he was recruited to help his brother form alliances against the Torian threat. Sound familiar?”
“He was well within our territory when we found him. Who would he have been ‘forming alliances’ with back here?”
Theos had thought the question was intelligent enough, but Photina looked at him almost pityingly and didn’t speak.
Theos worked it through. “With the warlord?” he demanded. “That’s—that’s treason!”
“Not yet,” Tamon said. “Not until we formally declare war on the Elkati. If that happens, and the warlord refuses to invade, or helps them in any way? Then it would be treason.”
“Why haven’t we declared war? If we knew this alliance was a threat, why didn’t we strike quickly and end it?”
The captain grimaced. “Because the Elkati have been buying time. Emptying their coffers, and possibly those of their neighbors, sending bribes to the Torian warlords in the nearby valleys. Sending bribes back east, too, we believe.”
“What’s the point of taking bribes? Why not just attack and take their treasures once we’ve conquered them?”
“Because the proceeds of an invasion are divided up,” Photina said as if it were obvious.
“As a soldier, you’d get some. Your commanders would get some.
A fair part of the rest would be shipped to the central valleys, some of it would go into the general coffers of our valley.
But bribes? Bribes go to individuals, those who are powerful enough to postpone the invasion even if they don’t have good reasons for it. ”
“But what about the central valleys? If someone misbehaves here . . . I mean, if the warlord . . . You make it sound like there could be civil war! Like he might have his men attack other Torians!” Theos waited for them to object, but they didn’t.
“Surely the central valleys wouldn’t tolerate it.
The warlord can’t be planning for that, can he?
There’s no point in him seizing control of Windthorn for the winter if he’s executed for treason in the spring! ”
“The Empire doesn’t much care who’s in charge of the western valleys, not as long as we keep sending slaves and soldiers and tribute in their direction,” the captain said with a rueful shake of his head.
“And an alliance with Elkat would give the warlord the resources he’d need to send his own bribes east, enough money to take care of anyone who does bother to question what’s happening out here. ”
Theos’s head was spinning. “So . . .” He left the door and sank into one of the deep leather chairs by the reeve’s desk.
“For some time, there’s been corruption in the Empire.
People have been living in luxury while fellow Torians starve.
The warlord here and maybe warlords in neighboring valleys wanted a taste of this.
They were approached by Finnvid, or some other Elkati, and were offered bribes to hold off on invading Elkat.
Then, while we hesitated, the Elkati have been building alliances in order to better defend themselves.
The warlord wants to take control of Windthorn, and east isn’t likely to interfere with his plan.
He wants Finnvid gone or dead in order to keep us from finding out about all this. ” He looked up at them. “Is that it?”
Tamon nodded. “That’s the big part, yes.
The warlord kept us from questioning the Elkati prisoners, so we don’t have as many details as we’d like.
But based on what we do know? I assume the warlord would prefer to have Finnvid escape alive; it would be much harder for him to cement an alliance with the Elkati if they know their young prince died on his watch.
” He hesitated, then said, “I imagine that if the prince does die, the warlord will have someone in mind to blame. Maybe the same man who’s been treating the prince like a slave . . .”
Theos nodded. He wasn’t too worried about a bunch of Elkati wanting his blood. “So what’s next? Is it finally time to do something, or will you be sitting around and waiting for a bit longer?”
“I’ve organized a search of the barracks, looking for a possible equipment or weapons cache to aid the escape.”
“And if you find it?”
“We can try to identify the source. Examine the materials and see if there’s anything distinctive about any of it.”
“What about the key? There aren’t many of those, are there? Couldn’t you figure out whose is missing?”
“There are quite a few in circulation. And it wouldn’t be hard for a locksmith to make a new one, if requested.”
“So couldn’t we ask the locksmiths if anyone had asked for a key to be made?”
“All this will be done,” Tamon said. “We’ll investigate.”
“Wait,” Theos said. “Who’s ‘we’? Who’s involved in all this?”
“That’s not anything you need to know,” Photina said firmly. “Until things are finalized, we intend to maintain confidentiality.”
Theos sighed. He was being shut out again; then he remembered that he wanted out of this mess. “Fine. Is that it? I’m done?”
Tamon didn’t say anything, so Theos headed toward the door. “I’m sure you can handle it without me,” he offered. “Maybe it’s not too late for me to find a festival partner.” Or at least something to drink.
“I need your help with the prisoner,” Tamon said.
“Just one? There are two prisoners, aren’t there?”
Photina shook her head and strode toward the exit.
“No. There’s one prisoner, and one honored guest of the reeve of Windthorn.
” She opened the door and stepped into the outer office, carrying their lantern with her.
Theos could imagine the formal smile on her face as he heard her say, “Prince Finnvid, is it? I apologize for this misunderstanding. We’ve only recently become aware of your true identity.
But now that we know you’re here, we’re eager to discuss a possible relationship between our valleys.
I hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable. ”
Theos whirled toward Tamon, who winced. “Divide and conquer,” he muttered. “If the other valleys are allied with the Elkati and their neighbors, we can’t stand against them. But if the Elkati confederacy can be persuaded to support us . . .”
“We’re playing their games, now? Secret allies, favored friends? Will our allies be supported with Elkati bribes as well?” Theos frowned. “Wait. Not ‘we.’ Not ‘our.’ I’m not part of this. I stumbled into it, but now I’m out. I’m done.” He turned his back on Tamon and started for the door.
He was in the outer office, ignoring Photina where she was crouched beside the Elkati, sawing at his bonds, when he heard the captain bark, “Sacrati!”
Theos froze. He was Sacrati, and this was his sworn commander. “Sir,” he forced himself to say.
“You’ll assist me with the prisoner,” the captain said firmly as he walked into the room. “I don’t expect a direct attack, but I can’t be sure. I’ve got Galen and Andros on guard out front; call them in, and we’ll get going.”
“Galen and Andros?” Theos stared at the captain. His peripheral vision told him Photina had straightened and was watching them with interest. He tried to ignore the audience. “Andros is working with you?”
“He is.”
“You’ve told Andros all this? He knew all along? About the—the alliances, and the Elkati, and . . . all of it?”
“There hasn’t been an ‘all along,’” the captain retorted. “We’ve been working it out as we go.”
“But . . . ‘we.’ Andros is part of this.”
“He is.”
Theos tried to make sense of it. Andros.
His friend. The one he’d complained to, joked with.
The one he’d trusted. Andros was Sacrati.
He was Theos’s brother-in-arms. Theos had been talking things through with him, trying to figure out what was going on, while Andros had known exactly what was going on.
But Andros hadn’t trusted him with the truth, and neither had anyone else. “You trust Andros, but not me.”
“Andros is easier to read,” Photina said.
Her voice was just as neutral as Theos’s, and he wondered whether she was hiding the same turmoil.
Probably not. Probably she really didn’t care.
She went on, “You’re a loyal soldier. You do as you’re told without giving much thought to why the orders were given.
You need to understand, Theos: if you had known what we were up to and it had gone wrong, you could have been in direct violation of orders from the warlord.
We could all end up disobeying the Empress.
How would you react if you were given an order you didn’t agree with?
You’re so well trained. So . . . dedicated.
If you received an order, would you question it? ”
“Would I question an order from authority?” Theos asked quietly.
He glanced at the captain. “Authority like yours. I mean, the only reason I follow your orders is because of your place in the command structure. If the command structure is contaminated, corrupted, then does it still have authority?” Theos’s brain was twisting and turning, roiling like a pit of snakes.
“You think I’m too brainwashed to resist. You think I’m a trained dog who can only follow orders, not think for himself.
” He nodded slowly. This made sense. They’d been happy to use him, forcing him to spend time with their pet Elkati, but that didn’t mean they trusted him.
“Maybe I’ve got no mind of my own,” he said.
He looked at his mother, saw her impassive face, and shrugged.
“Or maybe I do.” The first step toward the door felt right, so he took another.
Then he half turned, just enough to catch the captain’s gaze. “You can escort your own prisoner,” he said. “I’m done.”
And he spun sharply and strode out of the building, taking the back door because he didn’t want to look at Andros’s lying face.
The remains of the festival were between him and the city gates, but he didn’t even glance over.
He wasn’t fit for any sort of company, so he headed for the drill grounds and groped around in the dark equipment shed until he found the weighted iron swords.
One in each hand, he jogged to the heavy wooden beam and began his drills.
Hacking, slashing, using his whole body so the metal hit the wood with maximum power.
The jolts traveled up his arm and through his core, and he welcomed the numbness that soon followed.
It was stupid to push too hard at a drill like this, knew he was inviting an injury, but he didn’t care, and pressed on.
It took longer than it should have, but eventually he found his discipline again. He had no doubts, and no weakness. He was what he was meant to be: he was Sacrati.
But there was no ignoring the truth hidden beneath the title. He was still Sacrati; but he no longer knew what that meant.