30. Farmers with Swords #2
“I think,” Imalroc began slowly, “you fail to see the problem that’s right in front of you.
The battleboxers here will not give their respect to your officers just because they have a shiny gold pin and a title.
No saluting, no snapping to attention, no running off to carry out orders without question.
You and your officers do not understand what you ask of a battleboxer when you expect a command to be followed. ”
“We ask for efficacy,” Tefka said immediately. “A hallmark of any effective military force is—”
“Obedience,” hissed Almatra. “You want obedience. From slaves who have risked all to be free from orders.”
“Then they shouldn’t have joined an army!” Tefka snapped. He looked as though he regretted it the minute it was in the open, but there was no apology.
Veshion set his empty bowl beside his feet and glowered at Tefka. “You should go back to your side, Tefka Quinn. If Dola wants to speak to you, she’ll find you.”
The captain opened his mouth, but shut it again when his gaze swung across the stony expressions around the fire.
He rose without another word and dipped into the dark.
Imalroc watched him head for the outer edges of the camp rather than walk back on the labyrinthine paths through the battleboxer shelters.
“Why does Dola keep involving them?” Almatra exploded. She stormed toward the river.
Imalroc hesitated, and then followed her. He caught up soon enough, but did not speak until they reached the water, the current patterned with moonlight.
“Alright?” he asked, looking out at the glistening ink and pearl water.
Almatra kicked a stone into the dark. A splash echoed. “I don’t understand why she insists on trying to build bridges to enemies.”
He understood. Trying to pretend that the battleboxers and the free soldiers were the same seemed pointless. Offensive, even. But perhaps… The soldiers could try to use the battleboxers, and the battleboxers could use the soldiers, and they could all get what they wanted out of it.
He’d made this argument to himself before. Look where that had led.
He stomped the thought down where he didn’t have to look at it. “Enemies might be putting it too strongly,” he said. “If we all want to defeat Kuraya, we might be better off together.”
“I don’t just want to defeat Kuraya; I want an end to the bloodsport. What if we follow their orders, obey their rules, fight for them, and then they let the battleboxes carry on anyway? They don’t want what we want.”
“Maybe they don’t. But maybe they could.
” Imalroc shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know.
But I do know that two uncoordinated forces bickering amongst each other will struggle to fend off the Red Guard she’s mustering.
If we try, and we can’t work together, then…
we move forward without them. But if there’s a chance we can be more unified… Don’t you think we should attempt it?”
Almatra chewed her lip. “Maybe,” she muttered after a long silence.
“For what it’s worth…” He stopped, uncertain. Dola and Almatra had drawn him into their circle so easily, with such generosity, it sometimes felt like he’d been there for a much longer time. He didn’t actually know them as well as he wanted to.
“Come on, champion, tell me.”
He inspected the toes of his boots. Not that he could properly see them in the dark. “Dola isn’t trying to hurt you by going to the soldiers. She’s doing what she thinks she must to give you, and all of us, a chance.”
“She’s too hopeful.” Almatra sighed. “And she sees the good in everyone, even people who don’t deserve it.”
“Clearly.” His throat tensed, but he tried it. “If she can put up with you—”
A pointy elbow drove into his arm. “Shut up.”
Imalroc grinned and cuffed her shoulder, pure and simple happiness fizzing in him at how easy it was to tease her. As if he’d been doing it all his life. “Should we go back?”
“Yes.” She turned toward him, dim light catching on her furrowed brow. “And we ought to discuss getting you your own tent.”
He pretended to stagger in shock. “You’re throwing me out?”
“No—”
“Is it so you can fu—”
“Earthbound gods, finish that sentence and I will rearrange your face with a frying pan.”
“I’ll duck and make sure Edim Morbank is right behind me.”
“That,” Almatra sniffed, “is an acceptable compromise.”
The following night, they sent a missive asking Captain Quinn to return and waited near their fire. He came late, his short-cropped hair damp with sweat, his eyes dark and wary. He settled on the empty mat Dola had arranged between herself and Imalroc, and gave each of them a somber nod.
“Fair evening,” Tefka said, in the subdued tone of someone who expected a tongue-lashing.
No one responded. Dola smiled, bright and anxious. Veshion tipped his chin suddenly at Imalroc.
They’d agreed beforehand that he would represent their position to Tefka. He hadn’t been nervous about it until right then. It was as if someone had placed an unfamiliar weapon in his hands, and he didn’t quite understand how to wield it, but he felt its weight.
Imalroc cleared his throat. “We wanted to continue the discussion from the other night. We’ve talked it over amongst ourselves and have agreed. You’re right about what you said before.”
Tefka looked startled. “Me?”
“We were given a choice. We could start again in the Southern Felds, or join the Southland Army. You should know that for some of us, this wouldn’t have felt like much of a choice. And some battleboxers may still leave if we try new arrangements. We do not want them treated as deserters.”
Tefka nodded slowly.
Imalroc barreled onward with the rest of their demands. “We want battleboxers promoted to captains, and we want our officers to be involved in battlefield planning and training decisions. We want a say in any decision that affects the whole camp.”
“It appears the battleboxers have self-selected their captains already. You all are running this side of camp, aren’t you?” Tefka looked pointedly around the fire at each of them.
Imalroc knew it was a possibility, but the thought of actually taking on the role and title made him want to get up and pace. He was tying himself to something huge and ungainly and not entirely in his control. And most dangerous of all, it made him wake up some mornings feeling hopeful.
“We plan to have a process by which the battleboxers can put names forward and vote,” Dola said. “But yes, I imagine you’ll owe most of the people at this fire a captain’s pin soon enough.”
“How are you going to get Morbank to agree to that?” Almatra asked.
Tefka laced his fingers, staring into the fire.
The light gleamed in his eyes. “It’ll take some planning, but we’ll work it out together.
First, we need to decide how and what to tell the troops.
I think it’s a good idea to begin by discussing it separately.
Give people a chance to, er, air their concerns. ”
Veshion scoffed. “What concerns would your sweet little soldiers have?”
Tefka arched an eyebrow at him, but his expression remained mild. He had a good handle on himself, this one. Not easily ruffled by insults.
Imalroc answered before they had to listen to whatever delicately phrased response Tefka assembled.
“They’re afraid of us. They’ll be concerned about fighting alongside wild animals incapable of rational thought who can’t control their anger.
” Like the response Morbank had pulled to the surface in him.
He leveled a cool look at Tefka. “Right?”
“You’re perceptive,” the captain said, digging his toe into the dirt.
“We can leave Veshion back at his tent,” Almatra volunteered. “That’ll probably make everyone feel better.”
“Fuck off, Almatra.”
It was a good sign that they were comfortable enough to bicker in front of Tefka.
The captain seemed to come to the same conclusion, leaning forward with a wry smile.
“I’ll leave that up to you lot. But yes, there are…
certain fears that I will attempt to address.
The best way to get past them is for the soldiers and battleboxers to actually meet each other.
We’ll need to make a formal move. Bring everyone together on the parade grounds, assign your captains and fighters to banner legions, and change the layout of camp quarters.
We should work out the training schedule in advance so that we can start right away—”
“Move slower on shifting the shelter arrangement,” Imalroc interjected. “Build some trust before any radical changes to the physical camp. And we need to offer the same army supplies to the battleboxers that were given to the soldiers.”
“Done,” Tefka said easily. “What do you think about splitting up weapons drills and sparring?”
There were more questions than answers, but as the plans grew and solidified, something akin to anticipation shifted in Imalroc’s gut. They might be getting somewhere, and this soldier might not be a complete idiot.
Tefka stayed late into the night and promised to return the following evening for more planning. Almatra volunteered to walk him back through the battleboxer's side of camp so that he didn’t, as she put it, “get murdered and eaten by the irrational wild animals.”
When Imalroc at last lay back to sleep in his own bedroll, he was surprised to find that he was optimistic.
His morning with Edim Morbank seemed very far away, but his stomach clenched as soon as the Medallion’s grinning face flashed through his mind.
He wondered if the fuckhead would allow battleboxers to have any part in an army he controlled.
As soon as they revealed their plans across the camp, they would find out.
A dark excitement spun in his stomach, and he quelled it breath by breath. He willed his body to relax. When sleep came at last, it was dreamless.