‘You would sacrifice our people for trade?’ Adel seethes.
Adviser Arash chuckles darkly. ‘Accuse me of greed, but humans like me only survive long enough to learn that pacifism, when possible, is the best option. In this case, it requires trading Mitra, a terrible choice, but sacrifices have to be made to save larger numbers of people.’
The Sepahbad waits for quiet. ‘Well,’ he begins. ‘Azadniabad wishes to unify its warlords and tribes into an empire. And empires are like newborn babes; they spend their early lives looking for an identity. Any state must develop an adhesive, an identity that unites every new clan and broken tribe, to be distinct from their past but also distinct from other kingdoms. Sometimes identities come at the expense of their own tribes. These are the prefectures and provinces.’
Adviser Arash raises a brow. ‘Sajamistan is that, no?’
‘Yes, while Azadniabad’s identity has an adhesive in the form of a common enemy – Sajamistan. Mitra exists to counter our hold on Za’skar. And when they back us into a corner with Mitra – we would be forced to agree to their terms. This is hung on conceding our territories in the Camel Road. Tell me, in negotiations, when a knife is held to your throat, would the agreement be fair and amiable, or is it twisted coercion? If one party holds unparalleled leverage, it’s no agreement at all, it’s servitude. Akashun holds leverage, forhepossesses Mitra. The possibility of a trade... or an alliance is a myth.’
Silence.
‘I await your answer, Adviser Arash.’
‘I stand by my words, Sepahbad Jezakiel.’
‘Then let them remain words. Now we begin,’ he answers coolly. The room bows.
The Sepahbad intends a double envelopment at the peak of the valley for elevated advantage. Four squadrons will station themselves in eastern and western flanks – replacing each fallen soldier by pulling from the elite centre cavalry concentrated with the most Eajiz – until the enemy is hemmed in.
An auxiliary will be hidden on the northern cliffs, arrows readied. At the Sepahbad’s signal, the flanks will form an outward line, and when we engage Azadniabad, they will fall back into a bow formation. The flanks will create a box, and from above, the auxiliary will pick the enemy apart. Capturing will not be a priority until the outcome of the invasion is determined. Given this is the frontier, we would only be battling garrison troops, not those of central Arsduq, ruled by Governess Bavsag. However, a drawn-out battle risks her reinforcements arriving.
‘If we do this, then prepare for war,’ Arash says severely.
‘Mitra’s existence means the war has begun. We are making the first blow.’
As the officers begin to parse out the logistics, I regard Adviser Arash with interest. Old men like him have achieved so much in their long careers through this kind of grey pragmatism, cutting furtive deals across enemy lines in shadowed corners. I’ve always thought of myself as coldly practical, but I see now that there is a spectrum of pragmatism, and his I don’t know if I align with. I wonder if he would reserve his judgement if he’d glimpsed what I did in the cavern – the decayed bodies.
Decayed bodies.A slow realisation runs through me. Would we battle Mitra creatures?
And only from guilt do I force myself to speak. ‘My viziers, if this underling may offer an urgent perspective.’
Adviser Arash turns his head, noticing me, for the first time, with a wrinkled stare. Though he is not the most powerful one in the room, somehow, he exudes authority. But it’s the Sepahbad who nods at me to continue.
‘There might be more than Arsduq troops,’ I speak quickly. ‘In thedepths of the caverns, I heard... I heard apprentices murmuring. They spoke of a falak serpent and souls used to bond it—’
Officer Samira baulks at this. ‘Impossible. Even the Qabl sages have never communed with the ancient falak.’
‘– and given the depth and dampness of the caverns, at least part of it must be located below a river grotto. Though we tried to destroy the caverns, there are likely more tunnels branching out beneath the valley. If this is true, Azadnian forces would re-route a bulk of their troops with the falak, from the south of our position, and engage in a two-pronged offence behind the mountains.’ Still holding their gazes, I say, ‘That is, unless we anticipate the serpent.’
The Sepahbad contemplates my words. ‘If this is true, we would have to risk changing the auxiliary’s positioning on the cliffs.’ He faces the room again. ‘To verify the tunnel entrances, we send one scout. We’ll feign a retreat to have them assume we know nothing of the tunnels. The bulk of our soldiers will be ready above the cliff side to pick them off like cattle. Or I drown them with the river.’ He makes a whirling motion with his finger.
Another hour passes before the soldiers are dismissed, but the Sepahbad nods at me to remain.
He points at my left hand. ‘I have a theory I’d like to test. Can you summon a sphere of nur?’
My bonds expand. ‘May I ask what this is for?’
‘Steam.’
Horror stills my bonds before I hold my expression to something neutral.
‘You extinguished your nur,’ he points out.
‘I was startled. How can this work when my nur is not hot, but cold?’
‘It’s cosmic light. Through Second-Stratum summoning, when it becomes dense enough, it compacts infinitely without assuming space, which can potentially obliterate the state of water upon interaction. Or must I teach this to you?’
‘No. I would never have thought of creating steam,’ I lie.
