Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dryden had dinner with the men of the An-Dakal clan. The part of the castle they made into their home was nearly as sparse as the rest of the fortress. The food stank of spices to Dryden in an overpowering way. He did not know what they put into it, but it was a smell that he did not care for. Most of what he ate were the meats and large flatbreads they served. He avoided dishes with sauce at all costs, as he found with the first bite that it was hot and made him sweat, which he abhorred. The other men ate with their hands, which he found unappetizing as well. They brought him utensils to eat with. Kavala switched to utensils when Dryden did, not wanting him to be the only one doing so, but the rest of the men continued with their hands. They spoke only when dinner was winding down.

  Dryden was the one who broke the silence, “Where did you learn to speak Vastrum so well, Kavala?”

  The senior An-Dakal smirked, “I was schooled in Blackbridge.”

  Dryden was taken aback, “At the King’s school for wizards?”

  “Indeed. My brother Guranji and I were both taken into the care of King Victus when An-Surya came to power so many decades past and our father, the Shah, was killed. Guranji was raised at court, but I had a talent for sorcery, so I was sent to Blackbridge.”

  “I did not know, though I ought to have,” Dryden replied softly.

  “There is a great deal soldiers do not know. I think it is intentionally kept that way. To your king, you are a weapon only, a gun to be pointed and fired, to be discharged and used up without a care,” Dryden started to speak in defence of his king, but Kavala cut him off, “This is not a criticism of your king only, it is the way of all kings everywhere.”

  “You would be a king too,” Dryden replied flatly, “Will you not succumb to the same?”

  “I would be, yes. I hope that in knowing the pitfalls, I will be different, Major. Kings, soldiers, or farmers, it is the man who chooses what kind he is. A king must sometimes act with a hard heart, sometimes with an open one. I only hope I have the wisdom to know when one or the other is needed. Your king, Major, has a heart of fire. He lets passion burn, and with it, he chooses to be a conflagration burning across the world. You are the instrument of that fury.”

  “I am more than an instrument of another’s wrath,” Dryden replied coldly, feeling that this man spoke of what he did not fully understand. He was not a man of Vastrum, not a gentleman of the nobility of the West. Kavala could not know.

  Kavala shook his head, “Perhaps I have underestimated you; if so, I apologize for the offence given.”

  Dryden let the subject drop and changed the subject, “Think nothing of it. Did you know that Mr Pyke, the injured man you took into your care, was also schooled at Blackbridge?”

  “I suspected. It is rare the man that has gold eyes and is not trained in sorcery somewhere. For a Vastrum man, that place is often Blackbridge. I see that you care for this man; is he more than a comrade in arms?”

  Not so long ago, he was only a soldier in the same regiment, a fellow officer. Much had changed in the half-year since the massacre. “He is a friend to me,” Dryden admitted.

  “That does not seem unusual to me. He is one that survived Blackwater’s massacre?”

  “He was. Few of us lived.”

  “Not so few as you believe. Word comes to me from the city that many officers were captured and are held for ransom. Many civilians were sold as slaves. Know you that?”

  Surprise came onto Dryden’s face. He knew some had been captured, but it had seemed a distant prospect that the number was larger than a handful.

  “I have purchased some of these slaves myself.”

  Dryden’s breath caught in his throat, “You have some of our people here with you?”

  “I do. I have employed them as servants. I have treated them well, and I will happily sell them back to Vastrum for a fair price.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two hundred. Most were family to your Guludan and Dravani soldiers. They were not considered worthy of holding for ransom, but they were valuable enough at the slave market.”

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  “You will not simply give them back to us?”

  “I do not wish to turn a profit, only to be compensated for the expense of rescuing them.”

  “We are grateful to you. You will be compensated,” Dryden knew he did not have the authority to promise that either, though Haddock had permitted him to negotiate terms for the An-Dakal’s assistance. He also knew that the price would likely be such that the money could be raised from somewhere to return these women and children.

  “Very good, Major. Would you care to see your wizard friend now?”

  “I would see him shortly. First, though, may we speak of war against Kurush?” Dryden was eager to begin planning with the An-Dakal men. The longer the delay, the more that could go wrong.

  “Tomorrow. I find war is planned better on a night’s sleep. Please, let us see your friend.” Kavala stood.

  Dryden stood with him. A small serving boy with the jet-black skin of a Dravani led the way out of the room, and together, the two men followed. They went down a long stone hallway, up a small staircase, and through a door.

  Kavala stopped in front of a second door, this one with light shining behind it, “I will leave you now. This boy will take you to your room afterwards. Sleep well. We will discuss war at dawn.”

  He could hear a voice speaking that sounded like Mar. The voice laughed painfully. The room into which he came was well-lit by several orb-shaped oil lamps that hung from the ceiling. A bed was set against one wall, where Mar was leaning against a pillow. Next to the bed was a young Dravani woman. She was slight, with skin the colour of coal, a soft, pretty face, and a small nose. She looked strangely familiar to Dryden, though he did not know her.

  Mar looked up at Dryden’s entrance, “Ahh, John. Look who I’ve found! Or should I say, she has found me.” The wizard gestured to the Dravani servant.

  He looked at her, wondering if this was the person whose picture he had thrown into the pit at Dau. How did he not remember her? He thought it strange that a Dravani would be named Rosie. Then his jaw dropped. He realized that he did know this person. It was Rathma, Havor’s manservant. Rathma was a man, small, a little effeminate, but definitely a man. This was a woman kneeling next to Mar’s bed.

  “Eh?” Was all he could manage.

  “It’s Rathma!” Mar exclaimed.

  Rathma looked down and blushed.

  “I don’t understand,” Dryden said, “This is a woman. Rathma is a man.”

  “I know!” Mar exclaimed, “I just found out myself!” For some reason, he was excited about this revelation. He grinned at Dryden.

  This only made Dryden uncomfortable. The officers of the 13th had acted very ungentlemanly at times in front of this person. They had fought beside this person. Colonel Havor had been assisted with bathing, dressing, and more by this person who had been his manservant. Had she always been a woman? He was so alarmed by this that he forgot to speak and only stared at Rathma in something like shock.

  “I am sorry for my deception,” Rathma said, eyes downcast.

  “But why?” Dryden stammered. “How?” When there was silence at first, Dryden’s tone became harsh, “Speak.”

  “I always wanted to be a soldier,” She said, as if that explained the whole thing.

  “John, let it go. This is a friend here. She has been through an extraordinary trial. We have found her. Be easy.” Mar’s voice was soft and full of gentleness.

  Dryden took a deep breath. He looked at the young woman who knelt before them with downcast eyes. He saw pain that had not been there before, “What should we call you? Do you wish to be Rathma still, or…?”

  “I wish to be Rathma still if it is possible.”

  “You wish to dress as a man and pretend? To be a manservant still?”

  Tears formed in her eyes, “Yes.”

  Dryden knew it was not permitted for officers to have female servants in the army. While there were many washerwomen, cooks, soldier wives, and other women who followed the army, officers were permitted only male servants to avoid impropriety.

  “I will take Rathma as my servant,” Mar answered, “Even if others will not.”

  “A woman servant is not permitted to officers,” Dryden reminded him.

  “Dryden, I will leave it to you to decide whether to tell others about this,” Mar replied. For my part, I will regard you as a man, Rathma. Only serve me as well as you served Colonel Havor.”

  The words that Kavala had spoken at dinner suddenly came to mind, “It is the man who chooses what kind he is.” Dryden sat in silence, considering it for a moment; this person had done no harm, only served his officers well; they should not be punished; they should be free to choose who they were. Still, dishonesty was not something he could engage in, “I will not freely proffer this information, but if pressed, I will not lie for you or any other man.”

  “That is all we could ask and more than we could expect,” Mar replied.

  “Thank you, sahib,” Rathma said quietly.

  The last Dryden had seen of Rathma; it had been protecting a badly wounded Havor. He had seen Havor after briefly when the captured senior officers had been paraded in front of the surviving army, and Blackwater had fallen from his horse and died. Havor had been poorly at the time, “Know you of Havor’s fate?”

  Rathma shook his head sadly, “No. We were separated shortly after our capture. I know little of his fate.”

  Dryden slept fitfully, tossing and turning all that night. The bed was comfortable enough, but stress had built up, and his teeth ground together. He woke early, well before dawn. He found the same place where he had first met Kavala and waited for the dawn to rise over Vurun. Just when the sky was turning from dark blue to pink and orange, the An-Dakal warlord finally arrived.

  “Are you ready?” Kavala asked. His face was lit by the first morning sun.

  Dryden sat looking out at the sunrise backed by clouds of smoke, “I am. The mountains weep with the blood of the slaughtered. The bones of my brothers-in-arms call to me from the field at Golconda and up the rise at Settru Pass.”

  “What do they say, your slaughtered brothers?” Kavala asked, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the city of Vurun lay.

  Dryden frowned, “They cry for vengeance. Let us prepare this final battle and put an end to the usurper.”