even reached the square, which probably meant that Kavi’s services were still held to be worth something. Either that, or they didn’t trust him to walk around the Hrum camp unwatched. Though now it was beginning to look more like a town than a camp. Kavi eyed the elaborate bronze patterning on Patrius’ breast plate—it hadn’t changed. “Tactimian still? I thought everyone was getting themselves promoted, now that Garren’s a governor and all.”
“Not everyone, just the ones that don’t arg—why do I say things like that around you?” Patrius demanded.
“Because you know I don’t like Garren any better than you do,” said Kavi. Because you trust me.
The thought didn’t show in his expression. Kavi had been betting his life on lies for almost a year now. He could control his face. But something in his heart still ached at the thought. He liked Patrius. Betraying him hurt—far more than betraying the deghans had.
Patrius turned, leading the way toward the officer’s quarters, and Kavi followed.
Betraying Patrius hurt, because Patrius had been honest and dealt fairly with Kavi, and the deghans hadn’t. No, he felt few regrets for his part in casting the deghans out of power—but they hadn’t deserved to be taken into slavery, either. At least, not all of them. Kavi remembered the hatred in the eyes of the deghass—he’d never learned her name, for a deghass didn’t offer her name to a wandering peddler—who’d accompanied that lady-bitch Soraya when he first met her. Almost as plain as the other was beautiful, she’d been as decent as her class allowed her to be. His last sight of her had been in the slave pens, about to be shipped off to a strange land and sold. As if a girl—any girl!—was of no more worth than a goat.
No, he had to get the slaves back. And to stop this madness of drafting peasant boys for soldiers as well. If that meant betraying Patrius in turn, then so be it. Kavi had long since decided that consistency was an overrated virtue, but by the time this was over, he’d be having everyone on both sides out for his hide. And as so many people had told him, a peddler with a crippled hand wasn’t hard to find. Kavi flexed the weakened hand that had cost him his true trade, and might betray him in yet another way if his part in any of this ever came out.
So I’d better lie well.
He’d already started, speaking quietly to the angry, adventurous young men. The same young men the Hrum were about to start drafting, though they’d only given their three-month notification in the cities so far. Just a few small suggestions that when the army came this way, it might be slowed a bit if this bridge was gone, those fields flooded . . . And of course, you couldn’t draft a man you’d never seen a sign of, now could you? Or tax grain that was no longer in the storage bins?
They all knew him, of course, so there was noway to keep his name out of it—and Kavi knew that if he kept on with this to the point it started to cause the Hrum real problems, sooner or later, they’d come looking for the source. So when the peasants asked him who was behind all this—couldn’t be him, after all; a peasant just turned twenty?—he’d given them a name.
At first they laughed, then their faces turned thoughtful, and finally glowed with relief. Surely only a deghan would dare to claim that name. Kavi thought them insane, to actually want a deghan in command of this insanity. But if it made them feel better—and made him a bit safer!—let them think what they would. The cursed deghans had to be good for something.
The square to which Patrius led him was surrounded by wooden buildings now, though the common soldiers were still living in tents. Kavi was amused to see they’d laid out their new town in the same formation they’d laid out their camps.
“You people are being fond of squares, aren’t you?”
Patrius shrugged. “It works. Everyone knows where everything is. A messenger
“Not everyone, just the ones that don’t arg—why do I say things like that around you?” Patrius demanded.
“Because you know I don’t like Garren any better than you do,” said Kavi. Because you trust me.
The thought didn’t show in his expression. Kavi had been betting his life on lies for almost a year now. He could control his face. But something in his heart still ached at the thought. He liked Patrius. Betraying him hurt—far more than betraying the deghans had.
Patrius turned, leading the way toward the officer’s quarters, and Kavi followed.
Betraying Patrius hurt, because Patrius had been honest and dealt fairly with Kavi, and the deghans hadn’t. No, he felt few regrets for his part in casting the deghans out of power—but they hadn’t deserved to be taken into slavery, either. At least, not all of them. Kavi remembered the hatred in the eyes of the deghass—he’d never learned her name, for a deghass didn’t offer her name to a wandering peddler—who’d accompanied that lady-bitch Soraya when he first met her. Almost as plain as the other was beautiful, she’d been as decent as her class allowed her to be. His last sight of her had been in the slave pens, about to be shipped off to a strange land and sold. As if a girl—any girl!—was of no more worth than a goat.
No, he had to get the slaves back. And to stop this madness of drafting peasant boys for soldiers as well. If that meant betraying Patrius in turn, then so be it. Kavi had long since decided that consistency was an overrated virtue, but by the time this was over, he’d be having everyone on both sides out for his hide. And as so many people had told him, a peddler with a crippled hand wasn’t hard to find. Kavi flexed the weakened hand that had cost him his true trade, and might betray him in yet another way if his part in any of this ever came out.
So I’d better lie well.
He’d already started, speaking quietly to the angry, adventurous young men. The same young men the Hrum were about to start drafting, though they’d only given their three-month notification in the cities so far. Just a few small suggestions that when the army came this way, it might be slowed a bit if this bridge was gone, those fields flooded . . . And of course, you couldn’t draft a man you’d never seen a sign of, now could you? Or tax grain that was no longer in the storage bins?
They all knew him, of course, so there was noway to keep his name out of it—and Kavi knew that if he kept on with this to the point it started to cause the Hrum real problems, sooner or later, they’d come looking for the source. So when the peasants asked him who was behind all this—couldn’t be him, after all; a peasant just turned twenty?—he’d given them a name.
At first they laughed, then their faces turned thoughtful, and finally glowed with relief. Surely only a deghan would dare to claim that name. Kavi thought them insane, to actually want a deghan in command of this insanity. But if it made them feel better—and made him a bit safer!—let them think what they would. The cursed deghans had to be good for something.
The square to which Patrius led him was surrounded by wooden buildings now, though the common soldiers were still living in tents. Kavi was amused to see they’d laid out their new town in the same formation they’d laid out their camps.
“You people are being fond of squares, aren’t you?”
Patrius shrugged. “It works. Everyone knows where everything is. A messenger
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