Chapter 14

Zezili’s week of leave was complicated again by the arrival of her near-cousin, Tanasai Laosina, as Zezili and Monshara completed their plans for their assault on the largest of the dajian camps, circling around each other in Zezili’s increasingly cramped estate.

Tanasai’s arrival was heralded by pounding on the door and the screaming of Zezili’s name. Her usual greeting. She enjoyed getting drunk and blaming the hardships and shortcomings of her life on Zezili.

Zezili had given Daolyn permission to admit near-kin, but even Zezili was surprised when Tanasai burst through the estate and pounded directly into Zezili’s chamber where Zezili sat astride Anavha.

Tanasai shouted, “Why did she give you this campaign? I was up next for a grand campaign and you gutted it!”

Zezili pushed herself off Anavha and stood, naked. “What’s this about?”

Tanasai’s dark eyes were wild, red-rimmed. She sounded as if she’d been drinking. She pulled off her helm, letting loose her matted mane of stringy curls.

“I come home and the whole city’s talking about it, her giving you some secret campaign. Is she having you take over my legion, too? Is she trying to take off my title?”

Anavha was reaching for his clothes, making little ducking motions, as if hoping Tanasai would not see him.

“She said nothing of the sort,” Zezili said. “Go sit down. I’ll dress. Daolyn will bring you some… tea.”

“I want answers, near-cousin,” Tanasai spat.

Tanasai trudged into the courtyard.

Zezili dressed and met Tanasai in the sitting room. Tanasai had already broken the lock on the liquor cabinet and acquired a flagon of wine.

“So, what’s this business?” Tanasai asked.

“I’m fucking my husband,” Zezili said. “What’s your business?”

“You know what I’m asking.”

“It’s just an errand for the Empress. Not a campaign. We won’t invade Aaldia or Tordin without you,” Zezili said.

“You better not.”

“I’m on leave.”

“And making the most of it,” Tanasai sneered.

“I don’t have to pay for sex,” Zezili said. Zezili had shared Anavha with her four blood-sisters, but not Tanasai. She couldn’t abide the idea of Tanasai touching anything that belonged to her.

“She always liked you best,” Tanasai said, and Zezili wondered if Tanasai meant her mother or the Empress. Likely both. Zezili’s mother had hated Zezili, but when Zezili’s mother’s sister died, she had hated the burden of caring for wild-haired Tanasai more.

“You know what you came to know,” Zezili said. “Go tend your pasture of drunks.”

Tanasai’s face flushed a deep red. She shoved her helm back on. She sputtered something – maybe something in Tordinian – that sounded like a curse and stepped abruptly out of the sitting room, carrying several bottles of Zezili’s liquor. She marched through the courtyard, screaming at dajians as she went. Tanasai had good reason to want to lead a legion against Tordin. It was the only way she would make a name for herself that wasn’t synonymous with that of a drunkard.

Zezili followed her to the door. Daolyn locked the gate behind her.

“Do I have to let her in anymore?” Daolyn asked.

“No. If I’m not here, don’t let her enter. She won’t be happy until this campaign is over and the Empress sends us to fight the people we should actually be fighting.”

The rest of her leave passed uneventfully. Anavha cried a bit over some perceived hurt or other, and Zezili ignored him until he became docile again. He had no more… episodes. She chalked up the business in his room to some outside anomaly. On the day of her departure, he threw himself at her feet and cried and begged her not to go. Zezili curled a lip in disgust. She made Daolyn pull him off.

She dressed in a clean tunic and newly polished armor, and cinched on her skirt of metal and dajians’ hair. Daolyn checked all of her straps and knots, and Zezili took her leave. Daolyn closed the door behind her. Zezili patted her massive dog, Dakar, in greeting, fed him a treat, and mounted.

Monshara already waited there, sitting atop a massive black-and-white bear. Dakar did not take well to the bear. Zezili could both hear and feel him growling low. She thumped his rump. Training bears and dogs to tolerate one another started early; she had made sure to select him from a kennel that raised him alongside bear cubs. But there was no accounting for individual dislike. She wasn’t fond of Monshara or the bear either.

“There’s been enough fucking in your house for eight women,” Monshara said.

“I fight better than I fuck, if that’s any consolation,” Zezili said.

“I look forward to finally seeing it.”

They traveled northeast, to the city of Cholina, and met Zezili’s second, Syre Jasoi, and three hundred of the five thousand members of Zezili’s legion. Jasoi had cleaned up for the occasion and smelled heavily of pomade. She had knobby knees and a pinched, fox-like face, but she was good with a blade and smart on the field for a Tordinian.

Monshara inspected the lines of women for nearly an hour before finally reining up beside Zezili. “They’ll do,” she said. “Some are very drunk, however.”

“We’re only killing a few dajians,” Zezili said, “not invading Saiduan.”

Monshara barked a hollow laugh. The laugh went on and on, far more laughter than Zezili thought the joke warranted.

“Will you introduce me?” Monshara asked when she recovered.

Zezili grimaced but spurred her dog forward and called to the line, “This is Monshara, my co-general. You will obey her as you would me. Disobeying her is disobeying me. I will personally mete out punishment to any woman displaying insubordination. You’ll be stripped and lashed to start, and hung if necessary. Our duty in the coming months is a simple but critical task. I received it from the lips of the Empress herself.” Zezili paused for effect. Tried to think how she’d have responded if her own superior told her what she was about to propose.

“For centuries, the dajians have been a plague on our country. Cannibalistic parasites whose cheap labor keeps you all from cozy jobs in your old age. You spent your youth on patrols, putting down petty dajian insurgencies instead of conquering land for the Empress. You’ve wasted the better part of your lives policing a people that are little better to us than pack animals. Now the day has come to put our country in order. Our Empress has tasked us with their removal. We free our country from their tyranny. We free ourselves. We march to the Saolyndara camp to the north, and we offer their blood to Rhea. Today, we take back our country.”

The cheer then was more exuberant than Zezili expected. She plastered a grin onto her face. I’m Dorinah, she thought. If there was any doubt, today will prove that.

The killing started not long after. They purged three small camps of half-starved dajians near Saolyndara, rounding them up from the local farms that rented them for day labor. Zezili killed at least forty herself, with her own hands. It was a strange, senseless sort of killing that drove Zezili to drink after. She had no trouble killing people for a cause, but this was a waste of her talent and the talent of her women. There was no honor in it, no satisfaction. It was like murdering litters of puppies.

What was the Empress trying to accomplish? She had to know how much this would disrupt the harvest next year. Half of Dorinah would starve if the dajians were dead. Zezili wanted to ask Monshara but feared the answer. Do as you’re told, the Empress would say. Don’t you trust my love for you?

Then they cleared the big camp inside Saolyndara proper. They murdered eight hundred and forty-seven dajians there.

As Zezili sat in her tent that afternoon, penning a long, laborious letter to the Empress, the muddy blood of the dead caked her boots. The day was clear and warm, but the blood had turned the field to mud.

Monshara met her in the tent after the count was made. She removed her shiny armored helm and regarded Zezili with gray eyes.

“What?” Zezili asked.

“You were right,” Monshara said.

“You are better at killing than fucking,” Monshara said.

“You best consult with my husband before making that judgment.”

“I could consult or know for myself.”

Zezili snorted. “I don’t rent him out.”

“I’m still not interested.”

“A shame.” Monshara put her helm back on, so when Zezili finally looked at her, she could not see her expression clearly. She half thought the woman was joking.

“It’s a week’s travel to the next camp,” Zezili said. “If you’re itching, Cholina has a good mardana.”

“It’s not that kind of itch,” Monshara said, and left the tent.

Zezili frowned. She heard something drip onto the page, and saw a spot of blood. She looked up. Someone had tossed a bloody severed arm onto the top of the tent. Blood had soaked through the thin hide.

She grimaced and moved to the other side of the table.

Saolyndara’s done, she wrote. Eight hundred and forty-seven dajians dispatched at the main camp, at your order. We begin our march to our next camp tomorrow. I will update you at its end. I do hope you will give me a more challenging campaign. My women make better fighters than butchers.

She sealed the letter.

Outside, she heard someone keening.

The cry was cut short.

She scratched out “forty-seven” and wrote “forty-eight.”

Monshara ducked back into the tent. “Are you coming?”

“For what?” Zezili asked.

“We’re opening a gate,” Monshara said. “My sovereign wants to meet you, and I don’t want all this fine Dhai blood to go to waste.”