A jab about our encounter. I realise he cares little about these answers. My eyes burn but I blink hard. ‘I would only like to enlist in your army. I-I have nothing left for me.’
The Sepahbad doesn’t loosen his gaze. ‘What is your name?’
‘Khamilla.’
‘Clan.’
‘Usur. Khamilla Usur-Khan.’ It is difficult to hear him as my blood roars behind my ears.
‘Khamilla,’ he repeats as if tasting it. He must be piecing together that Usur-Khan was the nearly annihilated tribe from the Tezmi’a pastures between Azadniabad and Sajamistan. ‘You are born in an Azadnian tribe.’
‘Yes.’
The Sepahbad turns away, hand gesturing to the guards in the way a shah might signal the execution of a paltry subject.Even with my affinity, the Sepahbad perceives no use in me. I am Azadnian; he will kill me as he killed my clansmen; he thinks me futile, pathetic.My throat closes and I struggle to take my next breath.
‘Wait!’ I beg without shame as the guard steps forward, her scimitar unsheathed.
Despite my broken leg, I kneel until my knees imprint into the frozen dirt. I must discard everything for my purpose. I imagine I am speaking about my clan instead of an enemy.
‘You are wrong. I know how to serve.’ I speak not to him but to my life before this.
The Sepahbad pauses. ‘To live is to bow your head a little. If I let you live, will it bow to me?’
‘Watch me.’ I bring my head down to sell the lie. ‘I have served masters dutifully my entire life. By the Creator,I can serve you.’
‘Serving even a child can do.’ He glances at the bone-stone mounds elevating the citadel. ‘I care not for blood purity or even the name of an empire carved on your skin. I calculate only one’s loyalty. Soldiers are the currency of war – and what they do to bring us to a position of strength. Tell me, what is your value?’
‘My affinity is nur. Before the Heavens, it is still power,’ I insist. ‘The mercy you showed me in the bazaar, I beg for it now.’
‘But there is no mercy in my army.’ He looks a little amused. ‘Powerkneels before me at my lever and command. Do not speak absurd notions of what power you may promise.’
A stillness sits heavily between us after his breezily uttered words, the kind of deceptive peace before the first drop of snow. I stare at the gates, even as he kneels before me so we are level.
Carefully, the Sepahbad lifts my hand like a loved one to a loved one. A bout of nausea coils in my throat, but his grip tightens. He examines the mangled skin, the protruding veins, the awkward angles of broken bones that never healed right from years of training.
‘This,’ he soothes his finger over a nail, and I wince, ‘could be torn off in one blink. Would you like that?’
‘No.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes.’
‘We will check your master’s contract,’ he says, and I nod my head.
‘You have been abandoned by your bloodline, empire and master. If you wish to serve me, you must have something you live for, vagabond.’
My tongue tastes the smoke from that day; I hear the clank of blades when our guards clashed against Warlord Akashun’s forces; I see the raven feathers of Sajamistani warriors there to help him. My blood hums from the urge to dosomething.
I live to destroy you, I promise to myself, again, and again, as if it could soothe me.
Biting my tongue, I return to the present.
‘As an Azadnian in this village, I will die.’ My voice breaks.
From leather girdles around his waist, the Sepahbad unsheathes a curved blade. With the other hand, he reaches toward my belt and pulls out my Zahr khanjar. Half melted and ugly.
‘If it is death that you fear, then you cannot serve me. You might die in my army. You might die here. I see no point in this selfish desire of survival. That is not how my army functions.’ His voice lowers. ‘Every being serves a higher purpose, even the great shahs. But those who serve nothing have no direction. Serving can be slavery, it can be imprisoning, but it’s also in our nature. In my army, you serve your superiors, your comrades, and nothing else.’
