The Grace of Kings (65 page)

She wasn't just teaching the officers and foot soldiers; she was also teaching them
how
to teach. The Dasu army was going to have to grow a lot if the snake was going to swallow an elephant, and she needed to install values and practices that would scale.

But training was not the only thing Mazoti focused on. The marshal also held meetings with small groups of ordinary soldiers to hear their concerns. These meetings, suggested by Than and Mün, were based on the administrative experiences of Lord Garu and Prime Minister Yelu, and they were as effective with the fighting men as they were with ordinary citizens in Zudi and Dasu. Mazoti improved the food served in the mess halls and asked Kuni to increase the pensions that would be paid to the families of those who died or were wounded in battle. After one man complained that he did not have good shoes for marching in tough terrain, Mazoti spent months studying various designs for shoes used by the other Tiro states—her army, after all, was composed of deserters from all over Dara—and made the best one standard equipment for Dasu.

Many veterans of the rebellion had come to Dasu because the other Tiro states rejected them: They had lost hands or limbs in war, and most commanders deemed them no longer useful. But thinking of Muru and the others, Kuni accepted these men into his army—if they wanted to continue their military careers—and he was prepared to debate Gin if she objected; he didn't want to interfere with the marshal's authority in military affairs, but this, he felt, was a matter of principle.

Somewhat to his surprise, Mazoti simply nodded when he brought up the topic.

“You're not concerned about their less-than-perfect bodies?” he probed.

“We all have experiences that shape us,” Mazoti replied, and would say no more.

She worked with the craftsmen and inventors Cogo had recruited to Dasu to create new harnesses and mechanical devices that could replace some of the functionality of lost body parts. The tension in mechanical hands made of bamboo wrapped in cloth could be adjusted with ox sinew until the owners could wield spears effectively, and soldiers who lost a leg could recover some field mobility with spring-loaded peg legs that adjusted to the terrain automatically. These devices were expensive and had to be custom-made for each, but Mazoti considered it money well spent to extend the careers of battle-hardened veterans. In return, the veterans admired the marshal and pledged their lives to the cause of Dasu.

Lady Risana came to see the marshal.

Gin wasn't sure what to make of the visit. She knew that Kuni's new wife was one of his trusted advisers, and it was said that Kuni relied on her judgment when he received conflicting counsel. But Gin had only seen her dance with Kuni sometimes, after dinner. She had certainly never heard Risana express much interest in war.

To her relief, Risana did not attempt the kind of small talk that Gin dreaded. She simply stated her purpose.

“Marshal, I think you should make use of the women of Dasu.”

A large number of women had come to Dasu to seek their fortune at Kuni's call, many with specialized skills: herbalists, cosmeticians, dancers, weavers, dressmakers, entertainers, and other tradeswomen. Some had come with husbands; others were independent and single, either by choice or having lost their families during the rebellion.

Gin was confused. “I will. A marching army draws them naturally, like carrion drawing vultures.” She was thinking of the unofficial camp followers that every army needed and had to tolerate: laundresses, cooks, prostitutes, and so on.

But Risana shook her head. “I don't mean that.”

Gin regarded her coolly. “Few women have the strength to draw a standard bow or to wield a five-pound sword effectively. What would be the point?”

Instead of answering her, Risana walked over to the corner of Gin's room, where a bamboo flagpole leaned against the wall. She took the pole and laid it across the gap between Gin's desk and the windowsill. Then she leapt onto the pole, as graceful as a siskin alighting on a branch. She twirled in place on the tips of her feet; the slender bamboo pole barely dipped.

“Lightness can be an advantage,” said Risana, “especially if you need to be in the air.”

A fog seemed to dissipate from Mazoti's vision. She imagined slender frames and lighter bodies on battle kites that soared higher, on balloons that stayed aloft longer, on airships that sailed farther and carried more weapons. . . .

She bowed to Risana in
jiri
. “You have opened my eyes to an advantage that all the Tiro states have been blind to. It is inexcusable that I, of all people, could not see it.”

Risana leapt off the bamboo pole, landed, and bowed back. “Even a brilliant mind sometimes needs a dull stone to sharpen itself.”

Gin smiled at her. “But only some women will qualify for these tasks. I think you have still more suggestions.”

“The women of Dasu have many skills. An army does not need only to fight; there's also what happens before and what happens after.”

Gin pondered this for a while. Then she nodded. “Dasu is lucky to have you as her queen.”

Besides calling for nimble and agile women who craved adventure to serve in Dasu's air force—for now limited only to kite riding and ballooning—Marshal Mazoti also began recruiting women to serve in an auxiliary corps within the army itself.

Herbalists and dressmakers made excellent nurses and field surgeons—the herbal remedies were effective at dulling pain, and sewing silk and lace trained steady fingers for stitching wounds; cosmeti­cians and weavers improved battlefield camouflage; and entertainers and dancers devised new marching songs and battle hymns that would raise morale and spread the message of Kuni's vision. Adding women meant more hands to repair and maintain armor, more fingers trained as bowyers and fletchers, more bodies and minds to take up the endless tasks that needed to be done in an army.

The women auxiliaries also took part in and advised on other tasks that men carried out: the herbalists made suggestions to the cooks so that a healthier diet could be adopted to prevent diseases common to marching armies; the dressmakers and weavers shared tips with the armorers to improve the production of armor, leggings, shoes, and so on.

Besides these noncombat duties, Gin also gave the women auxiliaries basic combat training so that they could protect themselves or act as emergency reinforcements in a pinch. If others did not expect them to be capable of fighting, that would give Dasu an advantage.

Slowly but surely, jokes about Marshal Mazoti became affectionate rather than dismissive. When officers saluted her, there was now real respect in their eyes.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THE DANDELION RIPENS

DASU: THE SIXTH MONTH IN THE SECOND YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Now that it had been a year since Kuni Garu had come to Dasu, Cogo was finally beginning to see the fruits of his efforts at attracting men (and women) of talent to the island. Rumors spread all over Dara that in Dasu, a hardworking man could count on light taxes and fair laws and that interesting ideas would get a fair hearing, and even a woman would be treated with respect and given a chance to prove the worth of her thoughts.

Many came: inventors with new contraptions, warriors of great strength, magicians claiming new knowledge, herbalists with novel recipes, entertainers with fresh acts—Cogo welcomed them all and tried to sift through the charlatans for nuggets of gold.

“A method for converting base lead into gold,” an alchemist with white hair and a beard that hung to the ground proclaimed. “But I'll need a great deal of funding to build a laboratory.”

Cogo nodded and politely invited the alchemist to stay in Dasu and raise money from private sources. Next.

“A mixture of potent herbs that will soften stones so that they crumble at the touch,” an old woman from Faça explained. “I've been putting on magic shows with it for years.”

“Have you tried to approach miners with this?” asked Cogo.

The old woman nodded. “The mine owners tell me they're not interested since they can find plenty of men willing to break their backs wielding the pickax and hammer.”

“Not to mention firework powder,” said Cogo.

“But firework powder requires saltpeter, the supply of which is limited, not to mention that firework powder is extremely dangerous. I know there's potential in this, if developed properly.”

Cogo wasn't sure what potential she was thinking of, but at least it didn't sound completely useless. “We would be honored to have you stay with us as the king's guest.”

“A method for extracting energy from volcanic heat,” a middle-­aged man with only one arm said. “I have a prototype that draws on the heat of the earth to boil water, and the resulting steam can be directed to turn a wheel.”

Cogo wasn't sure how this could be useful, but it seemed interesting. He politely invited the man to stay in Daye and build a proto­type for demonstration.

“A treatise on the relationship of the gods to mankind, and how the proper model for the state may be derived from the pattern of rivers and winds,” a young scholar with eyes full of zeal declared. “I will require the king's undivided attention.”

Cogo's eyes glazed over as he unrolled the manuscript scroll. The raised logograms were elaborate and painted in color, and the zyndari letters were as dense as flies on honey. He rolled up the manuscript carefully and offered the man a free meal. “King Kuni is somewhat preoccupied with lesser matters,” he said. “But I have a feeling that the hegemon would be extremely appreciative of such a work. I can write you a letter of introduction.”

It was a very busy time in Daye.

Luan Zya came to Dasu dejected and tired.

“I have some things I'd like to discuss with King Kuni,” he said to Cogo, who welcomed him. “But don't tell him I've arrived yet.”

“It's just as well. The king is away temporarily with Lady Risana to speak with some of the elders on the eastern tip of the island.”

“I see the king is as interested as ever in the details of administra­tion. Would that the other Tiro kings were as diligent.”

“But you and the king are old friends,” Cogo said. “Why don't you want to go see him right away?”

“It is true that we're old friends,” Luan said. “But this time, I come not for friendship.”

“Ah,” said Cogo, finally understanding. “You have decided that you may wish to serve him.”

“And what better way to judge a lord's worth than to get to know his followers first?”

“Then I will introduce you to the marshal.”

Luan appraised Gin's clean-shaven head, the scars on her face that matched his own, her thin but strong arms. Her clean and simple dress fit her sleek and muscular frame well. She was like a wild lynx, all energy and fury under tight control. He liked her.

“Yes, I'm a woman,” Gin said, since Luan was staring. “You're surprised?”

Luan chuckled. “Forgive me. I had heard the rumors, but it's difficult to know how much to believe of such reports. Though considering how long I've known King Kuni, nothing should surprise me. When I told him my plan to ride the crubens through Amu Strait, he was the one who assured
me
that the plan wasn't crazy.”

They grabbed each other by the elbows, and each felt the heat of the other's hands through the thin sleeves. Gin was pleased that Luan's grip was strong. He did not condescend to her.

Over the next few days, Gin took him to observe some of the war exercises, and Luan was impressed. He had never seen training done this way in any of the armies of Dara.

He showed Gin some plans he had devised for constructing siege machinery with more portable components for ease of assembly and transportation; Gin immediately pointed out their flaws—Luan might be intelligent, but designing machines on paper was very different from making them real and useful in the field.

Luan looked dejected.

“Well,” Gin said gruffly. “The basic ideas are not bad. I can probably help you make them work.”

Then Cogo took Luan to see some of the more interesting inventions he had saved for Kuni to evaluate, and Luan grew excited also and discussed their virtues with Cogo.

Evenings, the three stayed up late conversing, drinking, and singing in the little house that passed for a palace in Daye. Their laughter and voices were harmonious, the sound of people who admired and respected one another as consummate craftsmen in their distinct realms. The torches cast their flickering shadows against the paper window of the little house, and it seemed sometimes as though they were three spirits, three dancing pillars that held up the roof of the palace.

“Lord Garu, in a thousand years, how do you think people will remember Emperor Mapidéré?”

Coming from someone else, it would have been an invitation to repeat the universal condemnation of a tyrant. But Luan Zya was not an ordinary man.

“I've changed my mind many times on this question,” Kuni admitted. “It's easy to say that he was a tyrant who did nothing good. But it would also be untrue. I was a provincial boy, and yet I got to see some of the wonders of all the old Tiro states because of his forceful resettlement of people all across Dara.

“We talk often of the hundreds of thousands who died in Mapi­déré's wars, but we rarely speak of the many lives that might have been lost had he not stopped the incessant petty wars between the Tiro states. We talk often of the many who were forced to labor in his Mausoleum, but we rarely speak of the many who would have died from diseases or starvation without the reservoirs and roads he built. Only the gods know if the emphases and omissions in our histories will sway the opinions of men down the ages. A man's legacy is a hard thing to foresee, especially when passions still run hot, and it is so much easier to speak ill than well.”

Luan nodded. They sat next to each other, and before them was a great bonfire on the beach of Daye and the endless darkness beyond of the open ocean. Above them the stars blinked in the pristine sky like the eyes of the gods.

“Things are rarely simple when it comes to judging a man who did much to change the world.” Luan took a long puff on his pipe, collecting his thoughts. “You're right that the passage of years has a way of changing minds. When the first Ano settlers, refugees of the sunken Western Continent, arrived in Dara, all these islands were inhabited by natives like the people of Tan Adü. To the Adüans, our founding fathers were murderers and tyrants of no redeeming value. Yet today we walk on land they conquered and celebrate festivals that they brought with them. And few of us stop to reflect on the blood debt all of us owe.

“Emperor Mapidéré justified his wars by arguing that he would unify all the squabbling Tiro states under one throne and turn all swords into plowshares. Indeed, he even sought to confiscate all weapons after the Unification, melt them down, and construct from the metal eight statues of the gods to be placed at the center of Pan. That effort was abandoned in the end as too difficult, though many thought he merely wanted to remove the ability of the populace to resist the state with force.

“But the emperor's words were not mere self-serving propaganda. Many scholars in Xana and the other Tiro states supported his vision of peace through unification and conquest. The bloody, endless wars between the Tiro states, spurred by the invention of ever more powerful weapons and larger armies, frightened many, and it was thought that a war to end all wars might be preferable to the interminable attrition due to a balance of powers.

“Had Mapidéré patiently spent more time on consolidating his rule, rather than pursuing the mirage of immortality; had he focused more effort on just administration and lasting institutions, rather than megalomaniacal engineering projects—it's possible that the empire would have survived more than two generations. Had that been the case, in another hundred years, men who remember the old Tiro states would have all passed into death, and the new generations would have known nothing but a unified peace under Xana. Memories of the death and suffering caused by wars do not last beyond three generations, and people would remember Emperor Mapidéré fondly, as a visionary, a lawgiver who gave us peace.”

Kuni Garu threw more wood on the fire. “You are a heretic, Luan. Few dare to think such thoughts.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I'm mad. I spent my entire life seeking revenge against Mapidéré, trying to restore the independent Tiro states, to break apart what he fused together. But when the moment of victory finally arrived, I found myself mourning him because I had spent so much time studying him that I understood him better than his own ministers and children. I may have helped to bring about the fall of Xana, but Mapidéré, in some way, managed to bring about the fall of my convictions.

“After you came to Dasu, I went back to Haan to help King Cosugi to rebuild. I worked tirelessly to build up Haan's strength, but everywhere I looked, there was only the rise of old conflicts and ancient enmity. When Emperor Mapidéré conquered Haan, he had deposed the old nobles and elites from power, and in their place he had put in a new elite of bureaucrats and merchants who prospered. When King Cosugi returned, he took the new elites out and moved the old elites in. Those who were politically astute profited, while others lost all they had. Yet, for most people—the fishermen, the peasants, the prostitutes and beggars and longshoremen—life did not change. They went on suffering as they had before: Officials remained corrupt, tax collectors stayed cruel, the corvée assignments were still onerous, and the threat of war ever present.