Inevera shook her head. ‘I am saying they were meant for other things. One need not take orders to be great, beloved. Witness yourself. If you wish, I will take the girls into the Dama’ting Palace and train them, as you were trained in Sharik Hora.’
Ahmann looked at her a moment, then nodded, turning back to the others. ‘The girls shall be taken into the Dama’ting Palace as dal’ting, and trained. They shall emerge as kai’ting, and once married wear a white veil with their black headscarves and robes, as shall my mother and sisters from this day forth. As with the dama’ting, any man caught striking a kai’ting will lose either the offending limb or his life.’
‘Deliverer—’ Ashan began.
Ahmann cut him off with a subtle wave of his spear. ‘I have spoken, Ashan.’
Inevera rose as the Damaji fell back, humbled. She clapped once, rubbing her hands together as she took in the three girls, still so young and pliable. In truth, she had no idea what she would do with them, but that was sometimes the way.
Plant the seeds you have, the Evejah’ting said. For they may bear unexpected fruit.
Inevera escorted the girls out of the great chamber through her own personal entrance. There, just inside the door, stood Qeva and Enkido, who would have heard, by way of precise acoustics, every word in the main chamber.
‘The girls will be taught letters, singing, and pillow dancing for four hours each day,’ Inevera told Qeva. ‘The other twenty, they belong to Enkido.’
Ashia gasped at that, and Shanvah clutched at her. Sikvah began to cry.
Inevera ignored them, turning to the eunuch. ‘Make something worthy out of them.’
18
Strained Meeting
333 AR Summer11 Dawns Before New Moon
Leesha felt the roiling in her stomach calm as the familiar outskirts of the Hollow came into sight. It was good to be home. The refugee villages, each on its own greatward, were coming together with incredible speed.
But then a shout, and the caravan came to an abrupt halt. Leesha stuck her head out the window and saw a company of Wooden Soldiers at the border of the central greatward. Fifty of them stood blocking the road on heavy destriers, their lacquered wooden armour polished and shining in the sun. A rustling in the scrub to the side of the road heralded archers, lightly armoured in leather, each with a drawn bow and two more arrows in hand.
Behind them were hundreds of Cutters, some with spears, but others with the original implements of their craft. Some were faces she knew. Most were not.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Kaval shouted, and Leesha knew the idiot was reaching for his spear. She wrenched the door to her carriage open, tripping in her haste and ending up sprawled on the ground. She momentarily clutched her stomach in fear, but gritted her teeth and pushed herself up.
‘Mistress Leesha!’ Wonda cried, vaulting down from her horse. Leesha made her feet before the girl reached her and waved her off. As she expected, the Krasian men all had spears in hand, and the bowmen looked ready to cut them down and ask questions later.
‘Put up your weapons!’ she shouted. Her voice did not have hora magic to augment it, but the ability to boom was another thing Leesha had got from her mother. All eyes turned her way. No one made a move to disarm.
‘Who are you, to order the soldiers of Count Thamos?’ one of the mounted soldiers asked. He rode a fine destrier rather than one of the sleek Angierian coursers that carried the other Wooden Soldiers, and his cloak was held in place with gold chain. There was a captain’s tuft on his helm.
‘I am Mistress Leesha Paper, Herb Gatherer of Deliverer’s Hollow,’ Leesha said, ‘and I’d appreciate being spared the trouble of sewing up wounds from overeager men with itchy bow fingers.’
‘Cutter’s Hollow,’ the captain corrected. ‘And you’re late. Your sand Messenger arrived over a week ago, and said nothing about you bringing half the Krasian army with you.’
Kaval chuckled at that. ‘If one hundredth of the Deliverer’s army was on the road, the thunder of our footsteps alone would knock you off your horse, boy.’
The captain bared his teeth, and Leesha stormed into the road to stand between them. ‘Keep your tongue still, Drillmaster, I won’t have you shame my homecoming.’
Gared and Wonda moved to flank her, Wonda on foot, and Gared towering above the biggest mounted soldiers atop his heavy garron. The Wooden Soldiers began to whisper among themselves at the sight of him. Gared’s reputation preceded him. Another thing her mother had been right about. She wished she could get the sight of them stuck together like dogs out of her head.
‘Who in the Core are you?’ Gared demanded of the captain. The big man’s anger was palpable. ‘Don’t care to have spears pointed at me and mine on ground we bled for. You’d best lower them before they get shoved up your arse.’
The captain smiled. ‘You’re in no position to make threats, Mr Cutter. You don’t command here any more.’
‘Ay?’ Gared put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. The Cutters standing behind the Wooden Soldiers broke ranks at the sound, flowing to either side around the count’s men. They were led by Dug and Merrem Butcher, and Leesha saw others she knew in the van. Yon Gray and his son and grandsons, all looking of an age with one another. Samm Saw, Ande Cutter, Tomm Wedge and his sons. Evin Cutter and his gigantic wolfhound.
The Cutters didn’t threaten, but they didn’t need to. The shortest of them was a head taller than any of the count’s footmen. Even the mounted men in armour looked cowed. Shadow was almost of a size with the horses, and they whinnied and pranced in fear as he passed. If the beast got any bigger, Evin would soon be riding it instead of his garron.
The Wooden Soldiers hesitated, glancing at their captain for instructions. By then it was too late and they were encircled, cutting the captain off from his men.
More Cutters appeared in the trees, and bowstrings were eased back under their glare. Dug and Merrem saluted as they came to stand next to Gared.
‘You were sayin’?’ Gared asked smugly.
The captain’s face had gone slack, but he shook his head, regaining his composure. He raised a hand and gave his men a complex series of gestures. They lowered their spears, seeming relieved, but looked ready to raise them again in an instant.
The soldier dismounted, removing his helmet and giving a curt bow to Leesha. ‘My name is Squire Gamon, captain of the count’s guard. We are here to escort you to His Highness.’
‘And you need seventy men to do that, Captain Gamon?’ Leesha asked. ‘Is the very heart of the Hollow so dangerous now?’
‘You have nothing to fear here, mistress,’ Gamon said, ‘but by order of Count Thamos, no Krasian is to enter the city bearing arms.’
‘Nie take me first,’ Kaval growled in Krasian. Leesha turned to him, raising an eyebrow.
‘Forgive me, mistress,’ the drillmaster said, ‘but my spear was a gift from the Deliverer himself, and I will not surrender it to some soft greenland chi’Sharum.’
‘You will,’ Gamon told him, ‘or we have orders to take them, no matter who stands in our way.’ He looked to Gared and Leesha. ‘You may have us outnumbered here, but the count commands a thousand Wooden Soldiers. Do you wish to spill blood over His Highness’s efforts to keep his people safe from known invaders?’