6

The rustle of the breeze in the leaves above us the next morning sounded like a rushing stream, cool and fresh in the crisp spring air. Hakan’s voice followed me. “What would you change about the army if you could?”

I thought for several moments before I answered. “The army bases that used to guard the borders have been weakened by lack of men. Too many good, experienced soldiers are retiring, or have been killed in stupid campaigns like the one to the southwest against the Ophrani and the one to the northeast against the Tarvil. Men aren’t an inexhaustible resource, even for a king. Soldiers must have faith that their sacrifices are worthwhile. We’re not afraid to die, but no man wants to throw his life away needlessly.”

“What else? Anything in the training? In the pay?” Every question was followed by another.

“The training is very good, but it suffers as the best men retire. That’s what has given Erdem such strength. We have the numbers, the rigorous training, and the intelligent leadership to use our men well. Every soldier will say they would prefer to be paid more, but in truth the pay is fair enough. If you wanted to attract more volunteers, it would have to be raised.”

“The army is supposed to reward merit rather than birth. Is that true?”

“For the most part, yes.” They were good questions, and I was glad to hear him ask them.

“Good. That is good to know. What’s it like, being a Dari in Erdem? What is different for you than for a Tuyet?”

That one was harder, and I hesitated. “I’ve never been a Tuyet, so my perspective is limited.”

“Of course. And I know what the books say. But what have you seen?”

We had reached a small stream and I took off my boots and rolled up my breeches to wade across.

“In the army, I didn’t stand out as much. Soldiers have traveled around the country and most have seen Dari in the southeast and Senga in the south, so they aren’t as put off by my appearance. Civilians often fear me. Some of that is because I’m a soldier and there aren’t as many about the country now as there were in the past. Some of it is because of my dark skin and my size.” Some because of my green eyes, but not all Dari have that affliction. The stream came nearly to my knees, and I rolled my breeches up further before continuing on.

“What else? I know the Dari used to have a hard time of it in Erdem. How is it now?”

The Dari were never slaves, not as a race anyway, though slavery has existed in Erdem sporadically throughout history. Dari were prized as warriors, especially in the dawn of the Third Age and the Steeling, when their fighting prowess helped the tribes jostling for resources. The tribes were defined more by location than by race, and the Dari played a role larger perhaps than their numbers would justify.

But they were always viewed with a bit of suspicion by the Tuyets, and never fully assimilated into Tuyet culture. Most still live in Joris, in the southeastern mountains, where they don’t trouble Tuyets and Tuyets don’t trouble them. There has always been tension, perhaps a bit of disgust, on the part of Tuyets toward Dari. Our dark skin does not wash white.

I answered carefully, thinking about my words. “It’s not so bad, but better in the army. A man can earn respect by his deeds, and then he’s fully accepted regardless of his race. But outside among civilians, it’s different. Dari aren’t scattered about the country, so most Tuyets have no experience with Dari that they know and trust. There’s lingering aversion and fear in most areas, but no outright hatred. At least I haven’t seen any. The Dari are partly to blame for this too. They don’t mingle with Tuyets much to give Tuyets better memories to judge them by.” I wanted to be fair, but in truth this had stung me deeply.

“What about the Senga? Are they treated the same way?” The ground on the far side of the stream was rockier as we made our way slowly toward the hills that skirted the mountains.

“They are not seen as…” I hesitated again. I didn’t want to be unjust. “Tuyets generally see lighter skin as more beautiful. Senga have light skin, though it tans easily, and so despite their differences they’re more accepted. Dari are seen as ugly and dirty, which doesn’t help the persistent fear that Dari seem to inspire in Tuyets.” I took a breath. “But this is only one soldier’s limited experience.”

“Of course.” He walked behind me in silence so long I nearly forgot he was there. “What do you do when you’re not training or fighting?”

“What?” My mind was leagues away, in the southern deserts among the nomadic Senga. Their culture fascinated me, and someday I wanted to go back and learn more about them.

“For fun. For amusement. What do you do?”

I blinked. “I train.”

“I mean when you’re not training. Don’t you do anything for fun? What do you like? Do you like to read the old legends of heroes? Do you like to sing?”

I had no real answer for him. “What does a prince do for amusement?”

He laughed. “My father didn’t give me too much time to amuse myself. I studied a lot. I ride. I like to sing. Tibi and I sang together. Father thought it was stupid, of course, but Tibi said we were good. If I hadn’t been a prince, I might have enjoyed being a bard. I like to read, especially history.” Good. A king needs to know what mistakes others have made in the past, so he does not make them himself. History defines the people he rules and the challenges he faces. I hoped he understood what he read.

“You don’t do anything for fun then?”

I shook my head. “I train. I enjoy resting afterwards.”

The things that give me the most pleasure are things I cannot describe. The feel of wind on my face. A woman’s smile. Exhaustion from training, followed by the gradual slowing of my heartbeat, knowing I’m faster and stronger than the day before. The perfection of the moves, every muscle working together in exquisite coordination. The sound of water flowing over and around rocks in a river. A good meal after several days of an empty stomach.

We stayed mostly off the roads, but after a week in the woods I took to one of the smaller roads cutting northeast through the great forest. It had been paved, but in long stretches the paving stones were broken or missing, and the dirt was deeply rutted. I pulled several small trees that had fallen across the road off to the side so carts could pass, but it was still cold for most people to be traveling.

“Haven’t these roads been maintained at all?”

“Not much. Money ran out.”

“My father said the roads were the ‘cords of commerce’ across the country. He would have found a way if he’d known it was this bad.”

“This one is relatively good. They’re worse farther from Stonehaven.”

“I didn’t know there were any Dari in Llewton. Do you know if you were born there?”

The boy had an endless supply of questions. I would have preferred silence sometimes, but I tried to be patient.

“There aren’t now. Probably my mother was only passing through. No one remembered when I was old enough to ask. There was some tension between Dari and Tuyets then and I was told I should be glad I wasn’t left to starve.”

I glanced back to see him smile.

“Well I’m glad. Was that when plague broke out there?”

I was surprised he knew of it, since it wasn’t a large outbreak. “Yes, the year before I was born and then for two or three years after. I don’t remember it, of course.”

I had been accused of bringing it though. I’d been eight years old. Quite suddenly in the market a woman spit on me and shouted that I was the cause of the plague. When I’d looked at her in shocked terror, she’d shrieked that I’d put the plague on her with my demon eyes. I knew it was absurd, but I’d never forgotten the panic and fury in her voice.

I swallowed. “There were accusations that the Dari brought the plague, though I have no idea if it’s true.” I’d never told anyone that story, not even my grappling instructor, my favorite at the time.

“What do you know of the Dari people?”

“Not much else. That we are from the east. I don’t speak much Darin.”

“Temel wrote that the Dari shaped Erdemen history by supporting Kai Txomin over Inaki in the Steeling. Txomin was only able to unite the tribes with Dari help. But it doesn’t seem like you get much credit for that now. Doesn’t that bother you a little?”

I shrugged. “That was four hundred years ago. The plague is a more recent memory.” I was a little surprised he’d read Temel. His work was an unusually favorable assessment of Dari influence, and I wondered whether he meant to flatter me or whether he took Temel’s words as truth. Or whether he simply wanted to see my reaction.

“My father told me once that he wished we had such patriots now. But he didn’t blame the few Dari in Erdem for keeping a low profile; it’s only to be expected when Tuyets treat them so badly.”

“Badly is a bit harsh. I’d say with caution and sometimes fear.”

He ran up beside me and I slowed my pace a little. “They fear you, Kemen, and you can’t blame them. But not all Dari are soldiers. There are myriad reasons that few Dari live outside Joris, and many of those reasons are the fault of Tuyets.”

I would have preferred not to dwell on it. It stung me to compare my deep love of Erdem and my sacrifices and service to her with the cautious neutrality, fear, and sometimes even disgust and hatred I received in return. Unrequited love is a deep sorrow and a great joy.

The afternoon was fading into twilight, and we were perhaps a week’s walk from Benoa, the nearest town of any size. The nights were much warmer, even though we had been gradually climbing in elevation. That morning we’d seen one of my favorite sights of the foothills of the Sefu mountains, a small valley painted with an astonishingly vibrant carpet of bluecaps.

I heard Hakan behind me again, humming. I’d heard him before as we walked, but that time it was a little louder, cheerful despite his weariness.

Finally I said, “You can sing if you want.” He’d said he enjoyed it, but I’d never heard him sing.

He fell silent, and after a moment I turned around to face him. He flushed bright red and looked at the ground. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“I said you can sing if you want.”

He glanced up at me. “You don’t mind?”

I shrugged and started off again. For some time there were only the sounds of the leaves rustling in the wind, the rocks and dirt beneath our feet, and our own breathing. But then I heard his voice, tentative and a bit wavery with breathlessness.

I’m no musician. I have a terrible voice and precious little ability to tell good music from bad. But even I could recognize his talent. A gift like that isn’t given to many.

He sang a patriotic ballad of Erdem’s glory, an old song of pride. When he finished, I realized I was smiling, almost grinning, as I walked. My heart was lighter than it had been in years.