The Grace of Kings (78 page)

Kuni's army pulled back from Dimushi, toward Pan, which Cogo Yelu had rebuilt. Kuni's family had been sent on ahead. The agreement was for both sides to not station troops within fifty miles of the Liru River.

“Have you thought about when we should attack?” Luan asked.

They were riding in Kuni's carriage. The king was reviewing reports of harvests and tax collections and thinking about how to administer his vast new realm now that the war was over. All those old records from the Xana Imperial Archives saved by Cogo Yelu would come in handy, he realized, and he was again thankful for his prime minister's foresight. Luan Zya's question caught him off guard.

“Attack?”

Luan took a deep breath. “You don't really think this peace treaty is the end, do you?”

Kuni looked at him. “The war has gone on long enough. Mata and I, neither of us can overcome the other. I've put my seal on the document. It is done.”

“A seal is only a mark on a piece of paper, with exactly as much force as you are willing to give it. The Cocru army has run out of provisions, and now they've scattered across Cocru and let down their guard. We, on the other hand, remain well stocked, thanks to Cogo's efforts. This is the best opportunity to attack them from behind and hit them with everything we have.”

“Then I'll be remembered by history as a great betrayer. Mata's accusation against me will be carved in stone, made true by my own act. What you counsel is against all the laws of war. I will have no honor left.”

“The judgment of history cannot be ascertained from up close. You see the condemnation of the people of this generation, but you cannot foresee how their descendants will view your deeds in the future. If you do not attack now and end this war, the killing will never stop. In another ten years, or twenty, Dasu and Cocru will again face each other on the battlefield, blood will again stain the Liru River, and the people of Dara will again suffer and die.”

Kuni thought of the people of Pan, whom he had abandoned once in the hope of preserving Mata's friendship. Their cries as the streets filled with blood still haunted him in dreams.

“You will have sacrificed the lives of the people for personal honor, an empty word,” Luan said. “That seems to me a most selfish act.”

“Is there no room for mercy? No sympathy among gods or men?”

“Mercy for your foes, my king, is the same as cruelty to your friends.”

“That sort of logic, Luan, could become the salve and loincloth for all tyrants.”

“Queen Gin has always argued that if one goes to war, one should do all one can to win. A knife is not malicious merely because it is sharp, and a plot is not evil merely because it is effective. All depends on the wielder. The grace of kings is not the same as the morals governing individuals.”

Kuni did not respond.

“If you do not make use of every advantage given to you, the gods will condemn you for your error.”

The treaty felt heavy in Kuni's hands. Would the lives of the people feel even heavier?

I think I wield power,
Kuni thought,
but perhaps it is Power that
wields me.

“Summon Mün Çakri and Than Carucono.”

Kuni sighed in resignation and tore the paper into pieces.

In a minute, the pieces had disappeared in the wind, like words spoken and then forgotten.

Mata Zyndu received the news of Kuni Garu's betrayal at Rana Kida, a wall-less town near a hill in the Porin Plains, still miles from Çaruza.

Kuni's army had crossed the Liru, and Théca Kimo's army had landed at Canfin. In the east, Mazoti's men had broken through the defenses in the hills at the southern end of the Wisoti Mountains. Fifty thousand Dasu soldiers and allies were now closing in on Mata.

Mata had already sent the bulk of his army in scattered detachments to garri­son the towns all across Cocru, leaving only five thousand riders with him.

“This is just like Wolf's Paw and Zudi,” Ratho said. “Though they outnumber us ten to one, we will yet prevail.”

“Ah, my brother,” Mata whispered. And he tore the treaty in his hand into pieces, scattering them like moths in the chill wind of late autumn.

The Dasu army swept over Cocru, a sickle swinging across fields of wheat. It was winter, and the hard pounding of their horses' hooves could be heard for many miles all around the frozen land. Bypassing the Cocru garrisons in their well-defended cities, Kuni's forces aimed straight for Rana Kida, stretching their supply lines as long as kites straining in a howling gale.

Mata mustered his troops on top of the hill near Rana Kida. Kuni, Théca, and Gin's armies converged and surrounded the hill tightly like the hoops of a barrel. Gin Mazoti was appointed commander-­in-chief. This would be her masterpiece, her greatest battle.

Mounts Fithowéo and Kana both erupted, and a snowstorm that was beyond anything in living memory raged over the battlefield. High winds shifted direction from moment to moment, and snow fell in great clumps, mixed with hail. Even the gods seemed to be at war.

Day and night, the hegemon ordered his men to try to break through Gin Mazoti's encirclement, but time and again, Mazoti's troops forced them to retreat back up the hill. The constant snow and whipping wind made it impossible to use airships, and the ground was too frozen to dig deep holes for palisades or other fortifications, so Mazoti had to rely on infantry formations that held Mata back by sheer number of bodies.

When Mata retreated, Mazoti ordered waves of Dasu men to charge up the hill. Always, they were repulsed and left many bodies behind. But Mazoti could afford to lose plenty of bodies. She would not give Zyndu's men a chance to rest, to sleep. She would grind them down.

The temperature dropped further. The Cocru soldiers lacked warm mittens and coats, and their hands stuck to the iron handles of their weapons; they cried out as the skin tore off. They lay down on the frozen ground to try to rest and filled their mouths with handfuls of snow to fight off the pangs of hunger. Many of the horses, having had nothing to eat for days, fell down and were slaughtered for meat.

But there was no talk of surrender anywhere in the Cocru ranks.

“This isn't right, Marshal,” said Kuni to Gin in her tent. “Too many soldiers are dying.”

For ten days, Mata's men had held the hill, killing five Dasu soldiers for every Cocru rider that fell from his horse.

“There is a time for finesse, and a time for pressing your advantage with numbers,” said Gin. “If we do not defeat the hegemon quickly, armies from across Cocru will come to his aid and cut off our supply lines. My tactics may be brutal, but they're working. It has been days since the Cocru men have had anything to eat except dead horses, and most are now wounded. We must press on and not relent.”

“But I know how loyal Mata's men are; they'll never surrender. Shall I leave behind as many widows and orphans as Mapidéré as the price of my victory? Even if we win, I will have lost the hearts of the people.”

Gin sighed. Kuni's streak of essential kindness was not always militarily convenient, but it was why she served him. “Then what do you propose? We can hardly offer a truce again.”

“Lady Risana has an idea.”

From the shadows behind Kuni, Risana stepped forward.

When Jia and his father had been seized by the hegemon, Kuni wanted to send Risana and the children to safety in Ginpen, far from the dangers of the front. He could not afford to lose more family. But Risana had insisted that she be allowed to accompany him to the front.

“The women need an advocate,” Risana had said.

The women's auxiliary corps created by Gin had contributed greatly to Dasu's rise. Compared to the other armies of Dara, the Dasu troops ate a healthier diet and kept their armor in better condition, and many Dasu soldiers survived wounds that would have been fatal, thanks to the women's cool heads and steady hands as they applied healing herbs and wielded sewing needles.

But as the war dragged on, Gin was preoccupied by matters in the field and the administration of her own domain, and the women auxiliaries fell into neglect. While the women in Mazoti's air force were treated as exceptional and elite, the auxiliary corps in the army came to be seen as mere support. Some Dasu commanders put in charge of the corps had abused their privilege, denying the women their pay, ignoring their grievances, and even treating them as though they were helpless camp followers instead of part of the army.

“My mother and I both worked for a living,” Risana had said. “I can help their voices be heard. What good is my position if I'm not allowed to use it?”

“Marshal,” said Risana, “I may know nothing of grand military strate­gies, but I do know something about the hearts of men. My talent lies in seeing into the tangled thicket of their desires and perhaps picking out a path.”

Though Gin respected Risana's wisdom, she was tired and tense, and Risana's words seemed too obscure. “This isn't a matter of parlor tricks and seduction.”