Something in Loke’s grief-filled eyes had called to Arman, and so he had taken the child under his wing, doing what he could to ease his fears and make him laugh. It had taken a little while, because Loke had loved his father dearly and the change in their circumstances had been a great shock to him, but then the boy had responded, revealing a generous, bright spirit which for eight wonderful years had made Arman’s life mean something, if only because Loke depended on Arman as much as Arman loved and needed him.
How ironic that having eased Loke’s grief at the start of their friendship, Loke himself should be the cause of such pain at the end of it. Unfortunately, there was no lonely older boy with time on his hands and a need to assuage his own sadness to help Arman, as Arman had helped Loke. Now he was more alone than ever. His marriage acted as another barrier to interactions, even with those few people close to him. It was difficult to socialise with married friends without explaining why his wife did not come with him. No wonder he had spent so much time with the widowed Karus. But even Karus did not know, at least, not from Arman’s own lips, the truth of his relationship with Mayl. Karus assumed, as did everyone else, that Arman and the senator’s daughter had the perfect marriage, except for the lack of children. Arman laughed bitterly, remembering. Of course, even that flaw was now rectified.
With a shock, he saw the faintest pink glow on the horizon. Dawn. He had spent the entire night in this fashion, and now he was both disgusted at his self-indulgence and stiff as a board in punishment. He could see the dark outline of Kuprij’s largest island but the ship was still clearly some two or three hours from port. He supposed he had better try to get some more rest. Or at least polish his damn armour.
The noise was incredible. It wasn’t just the cheering, or the drums, or the trumpets, or the braying of the odd looking animals some of the soldiers were now riding. It was all those things together in a deafening roar that went on and on, numbing Kei’s mind as he and the others stumbled along the marble paved street, with soldiers massed to all sides of the hostages, their path led by drum-beating musicians and dancing women. Far ahead, he saw the ‘golden general’ on top of one of the mounts, dressed in his finest armour. Other than that, Kei could only see his fellow Darshianese, the backs of the soldiers, the tops of the huge stone buildings, and here and there, glimpses between their guard of the watching crowd, who yelled praise for the general and the soldiers, and jeered mightily as the Darshianese passed. Some even threw missiles, although the soldiers accompanying them quickly put a stop to it.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the emotions of the crowds. The fruit throwing was without particular malice towards them—more for the fun of it, and because such things were almost expected. There was much curiosity, some apprehension, a lot of excitement which may have been because of the general festivities going on around them. He and his comrades were an excuse for a mighty good holiday, he thought sourly.
Ironically, although they had finally reached the end of their long, long journey, he was now close to breaking point. He’d had no sleep at all, and once the ship was out on the open sea, many of the other hostages had woken up with severe seasickness. The provided buckets were soon close to overflowing, but it had taken a lot of determined banging and yelling to get the sailors’ attention, have the buckets removed and empty ones provided in their place. The sailors offered no remedy for the sickness—perhaps fortunately since Kei doubted it would be remotely effective—but it meant misery for afflicted and non-afflicted alike. Then, after hours and hours of this torture, they were removed from the ship under the guard of what seemed to be every soldier on Kuplik, and roped together like condemned criminals, to be exposed to the curious and disdainful gaze of thousands of idle Prij.
Kei would have been furious if he’d had the energy, but he, like the others, was too exhausted to work up anything other than a fervent need to just
stop
. To find out their fate, even if it meant death—to stop moving, stop walking and above all, stop being pushed around and stared at. Even Peit—the rock of the group, normally never bothered by any hardship, placid and strong—was close to tears now. They all felt that way.
Gods, would this journey never end? This street they were marching down was miles long, and held an endless supply of people—how could they fit them all in this city? They were the first Prijian civilians Kei had had a chance to look at in any detail. Like the soldiers, they were much fairer than the Darshianese. Here and there were heads of hair darker than the prevailing blonds and reds, but nothing like the black colour of Kei’s people, no one with dark brown eyes, and every one of them milk pale, unlike the brown tanned skins of the northerners. They should be close to burning to death in the heat. Some carried parasols, many wore hats against the punishing sun, although it was cooler than it had been in Urshek. He remembered one of his instructors in Darshek telling him once the Prij came originally from a much colder land, but had settled Kuprij centuries ago, having lost all connection with their ancestors. Perhaps their paleness was a holdover from that time. The Darshianese were the colour of earth by comparison.
He shook his head—he’d wandered off in his mind again, and had missed the fact their route had altered. They were now entering a large square, nearly as large as the main assembly forum in Darshek, filled with cheering people and surrounded by tall, metal and stone buildings which glittered in the sunlight. At the far end of this enormous place stood an imposing structure, all columns and statuary. Kei and the others were led to the front of it, and made to stop. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. The ‘golden general’ took off his helm, and made his mount stand still.
A blare of horns, and then a figure—a woman—appeared on the huge balcony, and stepped up onto a dais where a chair was in position for her. This would be the feared sovereign. The woman addressed as ‘Her Serenity’, Kita impossible name impossible name or other. Such a tiny person to have caused so much havoc.
There must have been a signal, because the general called out in a firm voice, three soldiers near the hostages discreetly translating his words for their benefit. “Your gracious Serenity, the land of Darshian now belongs to the Prijian Empire. I present to you your newest subjects.”
Slight exaggeration there, you urs fart
. They didn’t have
all
of Darshian yet, and hopefully, one day, not even what they laid claim to now. But he said none of this, of course. The general made a low bow from the back of his mount, and the sovereign raised a hand in acknowledgement. A courtier stepped forward and unrolled a scroll—these people really liked the flamboyant details, Kei noted—and made the response for the ruler. The soldiers continued translating, though Kei half-wished they hadn’t.
“Our dear and loyal general, Sei Arman, we thank you and our other generals, Jozo and Ritus, for the glory you have brought to Prij and to ourselves. The subjects you have brought to our attention this day will receive all the kindness and learn the benefits of life in the Prijian empire. We extend our hospitality to them during their stay.”
Kei stared at the speaker and the woman whose words he read in disbelief.
Hospitality
? Were these bastards
remotely
serious? Because if they were, he and his fellow Darshianese were in a lot more trouble than he thought. Their captors weren’t just aggressive warmongers.
They were completely insane.
~~~~~~~~
Arman walked through the palace corridors, wishing this day were over. He had a monstrous headache, and the nonsense he had just been witness to was insulting even to the wretched Darshianese. Kita was playing to the crowd again, presenting herself as the gracious, generous ruler. But she really stretched credulity if she thought anyone imagined the pitiful captives standing in front of her in bonds had been shown either kindness or hospitality—or that they would be treated with anything more than contempt by the Prij. They were defeated, and hostages. Pretending otherwise was offensive.
He kept his thoughts to himself, naturally. Dying at the hands of an enemy was one thing—being hanged as a traitor was entirely another. He waited in the antechamber before his presence was requested, and he walked in, his helmet under his arm.
“Our dear Arman, how good it is that you have returned safely.”
He knelt and took the offered hand. Small and dainty, apparently delicate like its owner—only a fool would mistake the appearance for reality. Her Serenity was five short feet of pure steel, tempered in acid—and after twenty-two years of life, as seasoned a politician as her father had been at twice her age. “Thank you, your highness.”
He waited to be asked to stand, and when he did, stood stiffly at attention, hoping his travel odour would inspire her to cut the interview short. Blikus, the Lord Commander, stood in the background, sharp eyes watching him carefully. “We have received your reports. A most successful campaign. Commendably little loss of our troops too. You and Jozo make a good team.”
“Thank you, your highness. It is an honour to serve with him.”
Blikus grunted at the fine words, sincerely meant for all their politeness. “The lack of resistance surprised him, I note. Do you think they’re playing some kind of game?”
“No, my Lord Commander. I believe they are simply degenerate. We were dealing with farmers and stupid ones at that. The day the North is populated with good Prijian citizens instead of Darshianese will be a proud one.”
Ah, he’d let his feelings get away from him. Blikus narrowed his eyes in disapproval, but Her Serenity was pleased. “Very true, Arman. Now, we’re sure you want to be on your way to your home.” She smiled slyly. “We believe you may have some good news awaiting you.”
Of course—he wasn’t supposed to know. “And what is that, your highness, may I be so bold as to ask?”
She tapped him on the cheek with her fan, an inappropriately coy look on her face. “No, no, we shan’t spoil the surprise. But let us just say we believe you will be
most
pleased. We have already rejoiced at your good fortune.”
“I look forward to this news which has brought you joy, your highness,” he said, trying not to let his disgust colour his voice. “Is there anything in my reports which you need more detail on?”
“None, Arman. They were most thorough, as usual. We see you lost your personal servant. Always a risk, is that not the case, Blikus? When civilians travel with the troops?”
“Yes, your highness. I’m sure the general is aware of that.” Arman bowed his head and gritted his teeth. “Arman, we should talk about the fine details but not today. As Her Serenity says, you must want to see your wife.”
“Yes, my lord. May I therefore be excused, your highness?”
“With our thanks, naturally,” Kita said, holding her hand out again for another formal kiss.
“I’ll walk you out, with your highness’s permission?” Kita nodded and Blikus strode out as Arman bowed and followed in his wake.
Their booted footsteps echoed in the marble halls, a sound Arman had become unused to in four months away. “Do you really believe we are dealing with degenerates?” Blikus asked. “Leaving aside, of course, your obvious hatred of the race.”
Like Jozo, Blikus disliked emotions being brought into decisions. “I only know what I saw, my lord. There was almost no resistance, and the captives had been no trouble at all. Were we dealing with Prijian farmers, I would have expected much more of a fight.”
“No resistance other than that incident at Darbin, you mean.”
“An isolated incident, my lord, easily dealt with. There was no repeat of anything resembling it.”
Blikus grunted. “As you say, it doesn’t speak well of their fighting ability, but I would caution you not to underestimate them. I have had much to do with the Darshianese, and they are neither stupid nor passive. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes, my lord. But the northerners seem to be of a different stock. Whatever the truth, we have taken the north with ease.”
“We have taken a collection of farms and villages. Darshek is a different proposition.”
“Yes, my lord. Is there anything else you wish clarification over?”
Blikus gave him a long look. “You seem...dissatisfied. Not like a general who’s just had a significant success. You and Jozo are on your way to senatorial status in your own right if you keep this up.”
As if he wanted
that
. “I’m tired, Lord Blikus, that’s all. It’s been a long campaign, however easy our success.”
“Hmmm. Very well. You’ll be on your way to your home?”
“Eventually. But there’s something I must do first.”
~~~~~~~~
The public humiliation, for all its disturbing nature, didn’t last long, for which Kei was wearily thankful. They were all taken inside the palace to a large, richly decorated but sparsely furnished hall, their bonds removed, and for the first time that morning, given food and drink and even a chance to wash arms and faces. Kei wondered if someone thought they stank.
And whose damn fault is it, if we do?