Saral Tal tilted his head quizzically. “I meant a professional relationship.”
Or I was just an idiot over-analyzing everything. I was so transfixed on Tayrel Kan’s story—and his personality—that all I could think of concerning him were romantic relationships.
“What do you mean?” I asked, desperate to shift the attention away from my gaffe. Luckily, Saral Tal was too polite to comment on it.
“Tayrel Kan doesn’t take orders very well,” he explained. “And Myar Mal doesn’t like being disobeyed. So them two are constantly at each other’s throats.”
“But Myar Mal is kar-vessár. How can Tayrel Kan disobey him?”
Saral Tal wave-shrugged. “Have you seen him when he’s angry? Or, you know, annoyed? No sane person would stand in his way. Even now, though he technically works for Mespana, he does what he wants. No vessár would put up with him, so Myar Mal created this position just to keep him in. I’ve heard he wanted to save him for special assignments, you know, the ones you wouldn’t send anyone else on, but Tayrel Kan doesn’t really like doing anything. For better or worse, he’s often in a state in which he can’t object. And Myar Mal takes advantage of that.”
I thought about Tayrel Kan’s hazy eyes and how I never saw him without tchalka.
“You’re talking about his drug addiction?”
Saral Tal hesitated for a moment before replying, “Well, I’ve heard people swearing they’ve seen Myar Mal handing him drugs.”
“And no one does anything about it?”
“Would you like to stand between those two? Good luck, Aldait Han. And goodbye. I hope that the next vessár will be with us a while longer.”
I sent a last look after the men, but they were gone. Probably preparing for a battle.
Speaking of which…
“How is our Cohort?” I asked.
Saral Tal straightened his back and raised his hand in a mock salute. “Ready when you are, vessár.”
I nodded my head towards Laik Var’s tent and he spun around and started walking towards it. I, however, froze as my eyes fell at a figure standing nearby. Amma La. She faced the same spot I was watching a moment ago, her hair obscuring her face, arms wrapped around her torso.
Did she know? A shiver ran down my spine. I thought I should walk to her, talk to her, offer my condolences or… something; but I couldn’t bring myself to make a step.
Saral Tal waited a few paces ahead, his head tilted. “Are you coming?”
I swallowed, nodded, and rushed after him.
* * *
As I sat back in the vessár’s chair, my eyes turned toward the cupboard filled with scrolls. With a slight pang of guilt, I realized I should probably go through Laik Var’s papers and learn as much as possible about the Seventh Cohort.
My Cohort.
But what was the point, if some of its members were already dead and more were about to die? It would be easier if they remained anonymous.
I wondered how Laik Var lived with it. How anyone could live with it? Although, it was the first time we’d lost so many people at once. Did that make it harder? Or easier, turning real people into a slew of numbers?
“A report, vessár.” I looked at Saral Tal before my eyes drifted to the scroll he handed me.
It was a simple list, one Dahlsian hundred names divided neatly into twelve dozens. Occasional green rings with numbers inside denoted sorcerers and their magic potential. Some names were crossed out; others were merely darkened to signify injuries.
Malyn Tol-Syne.
Argan Am-Trever.
I wrested my eyes from the scroll.
“We need to disband the last two dozen.” The words came from my mouth, but it felt like it was someone else talking. “Distribute their members across the others, fill in the blanks.”
We didn’t get any official word from Myar Mal about what to do with empty spaces in our ranks. I guess we all were too afraid to ask—as if the act somehow made it more real.
“Yes, vessár.”
I exhaled heavily. My eyes fell on the scroll again.
“You probably knew them all.”
I wasn’t sure where it came from. They say a hundred people was the perfect size for one’s social group, but I couldn’t remember if they meant decimal hundred or dozenal. Well, my social group consisted of one, so it didn’t make any difference.
Saral Tal hesitated. “I was familiar with most, yes, but I can’t say I really knew them.”
“Some?”
Another moment of hesitance. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“It’s all right, vessár. It’s… in the job description.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
He didn’t answer, and for a moment we sat in silence.
“How are you holding up?” he asked unexpectedly.
I shuddered, not expecting this question and my mind instantly went blank. When I collected myself enough to speak, I only managed to stammer, “could be better.”
“Could be better.”
“Yeah. You could be kar-vessár.”
I flinched back and stared at him, stumped. He grinned, though it was paler than his usual smile.“Just kidding.” He knew me well enough to clarify. “I know we’re in a pretty deep shit, but at least you’re vessár now. That must be nice.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. Truth is, until then, I didn’t even stop to think about that. It all happened too quickly. One Dahlsian day ago I was in the middle of Sorox, with my greatest dream being a full bath. Since then I was promoted, passed on, arrested for attempted murder, cleared, and promoted again.
And the man I trusted with my life has died.
But amid all that chaos… I was promoted. I earned enough trust to be put in this position, even though both of my superiors had other motives.
“Weird,” I admitted finally. “I mean, I think we all know I’m the worst possible person for that job.”
A nervous chuckle escaped my lips, and I raised my hand to stop it.
“You’re not that bad.” He leaned forward to give my arm a friendly punch. “You just need a bit of confidence.”
The dark veil clouding my thoughts
