In the Shadows of Dragons, Part Three: An Education in Blood and Service
The fly buzzed softly around in spiraling circles, lazily making its journey downward. Kotari adjusted the cloth on his face and watched the black speck, just for something to focus on in the blood tinged twilight. The fly lit finally on the brown iris of what was once a young girl. The boy watched it crawl around for a moment before taking off again. He could scarcely credit that this thing that looked like a broken wax doll once laughed, or that she had valued a bright string of beads that lay flung from her right hand. With numb reverence, Kotari picked up the little string of beads and placed them in a cold hand. He always thought it a kindness to do such things. Standing, Kotari scrubbed the back of one grubby hand across his eyes and told himself the stinging was from the smoke of fires that still smoldered in the remnants of the town. He cradled the other arm for a moment, the one that was arrow pierced a few hours gone, then tried to go back to his dogcart. He forgot even to pat the poor creature on the head.
“What happened here!?” The noise caused Kotari to whip his head around toward the speaker. Though not addressing him, Kotari could not miss his master's voice. It was loud, deep, and crisp, all the better to be heard across a battlefield. This certainly qualified, though the young officer who was being addressed stood only an arm's length from the speaker.
“They came in the afternoon, Lord General, all wild and screaming. There was little we could do!”
“All I asked of you was to see the servants and slaves protected, and now we've lost half of them and three quarters of the supply carts. Not to mention one of the towns we were called to help protect. Explain yourself!” Kotari hitched the dog back to the cart with bumbling fingers and urged it forward toward the shouting. He felt a little better knowing his master was upset.
“I…Sir, no one attacks unarmed slaves and servants.”
“So you weren't prepared.” A dangerous edge creeped into the general's voice. “They teach you this in school?”
The junior officer ran a finger under his collar. “Of course.”
“This isn't a school, Teshar. Real warfare is not run by civilized rules. You will follow orders to the best of your ability, and your new orders are to replace what supplies were lost and be able to move them, if you have to pull the bloody carts yourself. Understood?”
Teshar's spine stiffened. “I am no slave. My mother…”
“I don't care who you are. You knew when you signed on with me what you were getting. You question me again and I will send your ashes back to her.” A surge of pride shot through Kotari despite everything. His master, the Lord General Cathak Daymar of the Eleventh Legion, was the fairest of men and never played favorites. He watched the young lieutenant scurry off. The feeling didn't last long, however, before the numbness settled in again. Kotari guided the cart to a stop a few feet from the general and stood to be acknowledged.
Without preamble, the general began to strip off the great jade breastplate and settle it into the cart. Kotari was large for his nine years, but not quite large enough to haul his master's armor to take it for care. With his shoulder hurt, it would still be a struggle with the dogcart. The animal whimpered softly as the weight settled into the cart, and this time, Kotari did scratch it behind its ears. “Take special care of the left, it's an awful…” Suddenly, the general saw Kotari. Few masters ever looked at their slaves, fewer still with any sort of care. “You look off, Kotari.” Something odd seemed to cross General Daymar's features, but before Kotari could think on it, his master asked, softly, “Your mother is among the dead?”
Kotari was glad of the facemask he wore, not because of the smells. Those he was almost used to. He was glad because it kept the general from seeing the lip the boy bit to keep from quivering. “Among the dying, my lord,” he answered, finally, in a soft, childish voice.
For a moment, the general had that odd, careworn, distant look again. Kotari even thought there was something of fear in that look, but quickly decided he had to be mistaken. It broke when Daymar put his hand to his forehead and sighed. He looked even on the verge of apology, but said, “You should go to her.”
“She would wish me to do my duty, and I will do it.” Kotari longed more than anything to run to his mother's side.
The general gifted Kotari with a slight smile. “You're a good boy, Kotari, and I do not want you to regret. Besides, you should let that arm heal a bit. I long took care of myself long before you came along, and think I can manage for a night.” He seemed to be teasing a bit. The smile disappeared to the general's usual sterner face. “I will need you in the morning, though. I will have to think, and I need you to read.”
“I will be there at first light, my lord.”
“Good. Don't forget to get that shoulder looked at again. I will not have you down from an infection that could be prevented.” Kotari nodded in response. “You may go.” For some reason, Kotari hesitated, despite the hard lump that was starting to form in his throat, or perhaps because of it. His master fixed him with a raised brow. “Is there something else?”
“You're going to get them, right? The men who did this?” Kotari hated that he sounded so meek.
General Daymar's face darkened. “I will see that they are run down to the last man.” Bowing his head, then the rest of him, Kotari scurried off. Truly the fairest of men, his master.
Kotari wound his way through the ruined town, feet fleet with sudden haste. He swept past still burning timbers, leapt over crumbled stone. He dodged men with faces covered like his own gathering spent arrows, gathering the dead, looting. Despite everything, the boy noted the last and resolved to tell the general. Daymar did not stand for looting, especially among his own people. Kotari did not need to mask the tears that started slowly coming up from within, not now. Part of it was from the smoke of the great pyres now being set outside the town. None of this was new to the boy. It seemed to him that his life was marked by time on battlefields. Such was the way of service to a great general. Finally, he approached the roped off area full of the wounded from the supply train. Moans and weeping filled the air, and even through his mask Kotari could find the subtle stench of corruption. There would be more dead soon. Slowing his pace, Kotari scanned the contorted faces for his mother. He almost walked straight into the plump, sandy haired healer. “I'm sorry, Aradi. Where is my mother?”
The matronly woman said, kindly, “Come with me. I will talk to you while I change your bandages.” Kotari complied, following Aradi off to the side. Aradi was a paid servant, some even said some lord's bastard, but she always helped, no matter who needed it. With practiced fingers, Aradi began unwrapping Kotari's shoulder after seeing him to a blanket to sit on. “It's very bad, child. Lada will not last.”
“You said so, Aradi. I am ready.” Kotari wanted to be brave. He did his best to keep from flinching when Aradi pulled off the old poultice from his wound. He didn't even cry out when the arrow hit him. But he needed his words to face what happened to his mother, to convince himself.
“Aye, so I said. But you must know that she is no longer awake for long, and when she is, the fever has made her delirious. You have seen this in others. She makes little sense when she speaks, and often mutters in her native tongue.” Aradi looked at the wound critically. “I don't think there is any festering. You should heal well.”
“Thank you, Aradi.” His voice was distant while steeling himself. Aradi finished putting pungent herbs and bandages back on the shoulder.
“Come then.” Kotari followed, but saw nothing, focused on what was ahead. After what seemed ages, Aradi stopped, and gently pushed him forward. Reaching to his face, Kotari pulled off his mask and went to his knees beside the red soaked blanket that thankfully hid the mortal wound Lada had taken early in the day. With a pale, shaky hand, Kotari reached out and carefully brushed a strand of brown hair from his mother's face. Her chest rose with shallow breaths still, but her softly darkened skin had taken on a shallowness and seemed to stretch over her lean bones. His fingertips brushed that skin and found it aflame with fever, as Aradi had said. For lack of anything else to do, he tried to arrange her white streaked brown braids over her shoulders in such a way as to not wake her.
Lada's eyes fluttered open. Snatching his hands back, Kotari whispered hesitantly, “Mosha?” He used her word for 'mother'. Glassy blue eyes found him, the same color as his own. In everything else, he took after his unnamed father. Some whispered in places where they thought not to be heard that he looked very much like the Lord General, a fact that normally made Kotari happy. This night, he wished he had more of his mother, so that her image would never fade from him.
“Ah, little one,” Lada spoke, faintly. “I may have a sweet in my pocket.”
“Mosha?” Kotari blinked back wetness.
“Remember what you see here.” She faded a bit. “I will get you an orange, for your studies. Remember that….brother. No, I cannot say that.”
Kotari realized she thought him another child. Perhaps she thought he was his master's son, Jiulan, but it made no sense. “Mosha, I'm Kotari.” He took her hand in both of his.
The glassy eyes blinked. “Kotari? I have a son named Kotari. He is an honorable boy and strong. He would make a fine warrior.” She blinked again as Kotari smiled, though his tears were now free. “No, you are my boy. Remember me, my little prince. Keep your promise.” With that, Lada fell into the language of her youth. Kotari wished he had learned more of it. He caught a few words and phrases, mostly things about moving the tribe away from danger or cooking over the fire spits. Yet every word was a gem, now that they were the last. Finally, she silenced and seemed to fall back to sleep. Sniffling, he bowed his head.
Suddenly, Kotari was thrown back with a sudden burst of strength from his mother. Despite her wounds, she half sat up, eyes wild. “I cannot stop it! It weeps, and will not be placated!” Lada fell back with her final sigh. Somewhere from high above, Kotari heard the screech of some bird. And then he fell to sobbing.
He was still sobbing when Aradi returned. By then, he had let go of his mother's cooling hand and was sitting on his knees helplessly. The healer coaxed him to his feet and guided him away. Behind him, Kotari was aware that two men were taking Lada's body away. She was a slave woman to everyone else, and would warrant no more than the general pyres. Remembering his promise of long ago, Kotari snuffled and wiped away his tears, thanking Aradi again for her help. He had something to do.
Quietly, Kotari crept away from the town, shoving down feelings of guilt and wrongness. No one could see him do what he was about to do, for even the good general would surely see him whipped or worse. Even at his age, Kotari was aware of what heresy was, but he could not and would not deny his mother the one thing she ever asked for herself. Therefore, he found a stand of tall trees outside of the town and turned his body round and round until he faced the direction the wind would blow the ashes of the pyre. It would have to do. The wind was blowing east, and Kotari stared off for a long time. Somewhere out there, the trees grew thicker and taller. Somewhere in those places Lada had grown up, free among her people. Under the full pale moon that had risen, Lada would be carried home. The thought gave him the strength to swallow back guilt, and Kotari raised his hands up out to his sides the best he could. He clapped them together once, twice and a third time, each time pulling his hands all the way back before clapping. The wind seemed to pick up a bit, shoving his raven hair into his face. “Wind that blows, wind that lifts the wings of birds and brings the rain, let Sensari Mehtar Lada live only in my soul and carry hers to the next life. Let the wings of ravens beat and carry her home.” He repeated the clapping, closing his eyes, and dropped to his knees to pray. After a time, he slowly hurried back to the main camp and his cot, close to the side of his master's tent.
Though Kotari slept little, he arrived right at first light to help his master dress. The general mentioned nothing of Lada, simply went on as if it was a normal day. Kotari found himself grateful for it, finding the routine comforting. A servant brought the general his breakfast, a boy Kotari had never seen. He supposed Teshar must be carrying out orders with alacrity now. As General Daymar began eating, he instructed Kotari to open one of the war journals his master always carried and start reading. It's how Daymar thought best, hands and mind open while someone read from various tactical books. Today, it was one of the general's own journals, and the topic was fighting among trees. Kotari would never say it aloud, but he was certain that he must know more about warcraft than some soldiers. He was halfway through the selection when one of the older officers entered. Kotari stopped reading and silently went about some of his other activities, completely unnoted by the officer. He did, however, note his master's surprise.
“How is it you're back so soon, Lieutenant?” General Daymar put down the piece of melon he'd been absently eating.
“We found them. They didn't get far. All of those that attacked the train are dead.” The woman sounded a bit uneasy.
The general clapped his hands together, pleased. “Good work. Though I sense there is something you're not saying.”
“That's just it, Lord General. I can't take credit for any of this. Most were already dead when we found them.” Even Kotari could feel the sudden tension in the tent, though he forced himself to keep working and not watch.
“What happened?” The officer's unease was reflected in her general's voice.
“Most were already dead,” she repeated. “It looked as though birds had gotten to them. The rest…they fell on our mercy, begged us to protect them. Before we could do anything, they were attacked. Just them, none of ours. It was birds, a whole murder of stormcrows. I don't like it, not at all.”
General Daymar dismissed the officer shortly, with orders to get ready to move. When Kotari dared to turn from his darning, he saw that his master had gone pale. The great general was afraid.