“The rebels must die,” stated Myar Mal, the weight in his voice crushing. “All of them. They must die, their mansion must be blasted to pieces and covered with salt so that nothing grows here, and everyone can witness what happens to those who oppose Dahls.”
“I’m not denying that, I just can’t support the mindless charging,” said Raison Dal. “Especially from you, Innam Ar. You trained every single soldier you’re now sending to die.”
The vessár of the First Cohort looked him in the eye. “I sent them to die when they left my Cohort,” he replied calmly. “I gave them the best training I could; what they do with it is their responsibility.”
“Is that what Iria In taught?”
Innam Ar leaned back in his chair. “I already saw leaders who spent their lives contemplating every single death, wondering if there was anything they could have done to prevent it. It consumed them.”
“Ah. It’s good to hear our leadership is holding human life in such high esteem.”
“We’re wasting time,” said Myar Mal. His tone made it clear he was not interested in further objections. “The losses are inevitable and if you have a problem with that, I suggest changing your line of work.” He drew his gaze over all of the vessár-ai. “I want you to survey and regroup your Cohorts. Engage your haip if you must.”
Haip-vessár-ai were first in every dozen. It was a semi-official position at most times but it had its uses. If only I had any idea who the fuck my haip-ai were…
“I expect to see your reports in an hour. Keep them short. Also, tell your people to start preparing. Those with medical training stay with the wounded. All sorcerers with a score of one point three and above are to report immediately to Kiarn At in Cohort Four to prepare the blurring spell. Now come on, move it!” He made a shooing motion and the vessár-ai scrambled from their chairs. “Aldait Han, you stay.”
Fuck.
Myar Mal waited until everyone else had left, so I had a few seconds to figure out what to say. But every option that came to my mind seemed worse than the previous one. When the tent flap fell behind the last vessár we sat in silence for an uncomfortably long moment.
“Is that girl a friend of yours?” asked Myar Mal finally.
I shuddered. Not the question I expected, but no less terrifying.
“We grew up together.”
Too late, I remembered I was supposed to pretend she lived here.
“And I guess you’d be terribly sad if something bad happened to her.”
I clenched my teeth. She was my compatriot, if nothing else, and I didn’t wish her harm. On the other hand, she made her choice—she was a rebel, and according to Myar Mal’s own words, they all had to die. I didn’t want to die with her. I didn’t want to die for her.
But then I already decided to lie. Should I change my story now? Admit to my lies? I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So, I kept my mouth shut and waited for the kar-vessár to elaborate.
He didn’t.
“All right,” he said instead, “let’s get back to more pressing matters.”
Maybe it was because of his macabre look, but there was only one other pressing matter on my mind. I exhaled nervously and started speaking:
“Myar Mal, I assure you, I had nothing to do—”
“If I had any doubts, you wouldn’t be here,” he cut me short, stern and to-the-point and I felt a pang of annoyance. “Sit back.”
I obliged automatically, slumping into my chair and clasping my hands together.
“If there’s one thing that incident taught me, it’s you would never be able to plot,” he said, despite his half-closed eyes managing to look at me as piercingly as before.
Despite the paralyzing anxiety, I felt a pang of annoyance. “You think I’m too stupid?”
“More like… too straightforward. But someone heard you threatening me.”
Annoyance melted into embarrassment. I started wringing my hands under the table. “I’m sorry, kar-vessár. It was inappropriate of me. I want to assure you—”
“That you don’t know when to shut up. Yeah, I noticed. But I need you to do it now. Yesterday in the hangar. Do you remember who was there?”
I paused my wringing, taking a moment to consider. “Vessár-ai, me, the kas’sham… but I doubt it’s them.”
At moment like this I was glad that Dahlsi-é had no grammatical genders, because I had no idea how to tell kas’sham men and women—and others—apart.
“Why not?”
I scoffed. “Everyone knows Tarvissi are speciesists. I can’t imagine non-humans working with us.”
“Who said Tarvissi had anything to do with that?”
I snapped my head up, my hands frozen in place. “I beg your pardon?”
He put his mask on and inhaled deeply before his next words. “Do you know what happens when kar-vessár dies?”
I hesitated, not sure what answer he expected. I had some ideas. We would be left without leadership, without direction. No attack could be planned, and we would become open for an enemy charge.
But his reply came before I could say any of this.
“Another one gets appointed. It’s even better when the whole thing can be blamed on someone they already hate. I mean, he’s Tarvissi, he has been seen arguing with current kar-vessár, he has the means. It’s all too perfect, don’t you think?”
I tensed. Previously, I reached a similar conclusion, but I still assumed all of this led back to the Tarvissi. Was I wrong? Did the conspiracy originate within our own ranks?
“No offense, kar-vessár,” I asked weakly, “but could any Dahlsi handle carai-nut?”
“Some of us are more resilient than others. Some of us have good relations with non-humans.”
I remembered the other person that was in the hangar. “You mean the kas’sham—”
I stopped abruptly. I realized I didn’t even know his name.
“Dria’ri Na.” He waved his hand dismissively. “He died in yesterday’s charge. But it doesn’t matter, really. At best he was just a pawn. It’s the head I want to get to.”
Understandable.
