The Crow and The Rabbit

Reunited with their horses, Ferene, Tanja, and her remaining soldiers rode back to the capital. Something bothered the Lieutenant, but Ferene didn't know what it was, and made the decision not to push her for it. Tanja was her subordinate, so the two needed to maintain distance. The emperor might not have them work together again. If Tanja had a problem with Ferene, that was for the best.

They parted ways at the gates of the palace, Ferene being guided inside while Tanja and her men went to the nearby barracks. She followed a servant to one of the emperor's many chambers, finding the man himself sitting at a desk, holding a piece of paper in his hand, many more stacked neatly in front of him.

"You killed unarmed men, who had already surrendered, in my name." He said, his eyes still focused on the paper she knelt before him.

"I gave them a chance to live, your majesty. I offered them mercy. They chose to fight, and only begged when they saw they would not win. They did not want redemption. They did not want to change. Scum will say anything to live."

Placing the paper on the table, the emperor finally looked at her, his mouth twisting upward into a smile. "You speak from experience." A statement, not a question.

"I have seen hundreds of men like that. Willing to do whatever it takes, in the moment. They will beg and make promises and stab you in the back as soon as you stop looking. They will hide behind children, and when you rescue the children from them, the children will also stab you in the back." She swallowed, then added, "Your majesty."

He stood up, walking around the desk to place a hand on her shoulder. "I trust you. I will arrange to fund the mercenaries to watch over that area. In the meantime, it is the week of song. Two days from now, the finest musicians will perform for me. You will attend the ceremony. Now go and wash yourself, you smell of horses."

Ferene gave another bow before leaving the room, making her way through the winding passages of the palace until she arrived at her own chambers, with a connected bath. Standing at the door was Elhaten.

"The beast returns! What marvelous loyalty you displayed. You turned enemies of the empire in corpses, put soldiers from the emperor's enemy onto his payroll, and even made contact with some Hatharen filth. I didn't expect such grandiose scheming from you. Do you tell yourself it is all for justice?" Ferene stared at him, her hand twitching. He grinned. "I heard that you asked about my father, up in the tower. I'm sure that the emperor showed you the neat, clean record. Not the part where my mother, a simple servant girl, was yanked from the kitchen and shoved into a room with that crazed beast, and threatened with death if she tried to escape without giving herself to him."

Ferene froze. Elhaten's grin became predatory. "Oh, you think women just volunteered to be part of some experiment? That it was all nice and civilized, and not carried out with blades drawn? Do you think I love my father dearly?"

"Why do you still serve the emperor?" Ferene asked.

"Because I get to see them die. One by one. The one who forced my mother to be part of his theory. His son, and his son, and his son as well. I watched them die, old, weak, and pathetic."

"Then go watch him. I need to get into my room."

Taking a mocking bow, Elhaten stepped away.

"Two guests arrived at Barakin, General." The messenger added the end of his report. "Gallen housed them with the councilman."

"Only two?" The man nodded, and Taradira frowned. "If a third guest arrives before I return to the city, I want him brought to me immediately. He will protest, loudly, but ignore it. Relay that to Gallen. Go."

Snapping a salute, the messenger mounted a fresh horse and rode off. "Are the first two going to be of any help?" Thoms asked from behind her.

"One of them might be useful in the field. I don't trust either of them, but one of them is especially unproven, and that one can possibly help us with the city. I don't know them well enough. Never got the chance."

He didn't respond, and Taradira turned to look across the gentle valley. The two armies had each treated to a small rise, camping out within view of the other. With Taradira watching, Camus could not move to stop the assault on Galbr. In the same way, Taradira could not move her army to assist, nor could she retreat back to Barakin. They had trapped each in this standoff. Taradira's forces were taking more territory elsewhere, while the imperial cavalry detachment caused chaos at the border, far away. Each side waited for the other to fold under the pressure located elsewhere.

The imperial army numbered far greater than those on the hill. If Taradira pulled too many from the defense of Barakin, she'd lose the city. Hopefully the gambit of moving forces forward from Naymoor would allow her to challenge Camus' army directly. The stubborn girl refused to use her numerical advantage, instead just waiting, stalling.

"What is our next move, General?" Fulk asked. The young captain took command of his troops well enough, but he lacked initiative beyond that. He was not ready to provide ideas and insight, instead waiting patiently for instructions. Which was better than him acting in ignorance, but the loss of Gelvain's experience frustrated Taradira.

"Bring me another messenger." She waited as Fulk did so, fetching a short young woman, horse behind her. "Go directly to Naymoor. Find Captain Verhelst. Tell him to bring his engineers here, as fast as possible. Go, now."

"Who is Captain Verhelst?" Fulk asked as the messenger rode away.

"He is in charge of our civilian contractors. Engineers with the knowledge to build siege engines. They have been used on both sides of a siege, but I want to see how they fare in an open field. If General Camus is content to wait until they arrive, she can be our first target."

The performance at the end of what emperor called "The Week of Song" took place in a massive chamber in the palace, with a central stage ringed by fancy, furnished seats slowly rising up. Ferene thought it looked like the arena, but the feel of the room did not have the same brutality. Instead, there was an expectation to it, as if it were waiting for something.

A servant lit candles set on the edge of the stage, and the torches in the audience seating were extinguished, leaving Ferene in darkness. She sat behind the emperor, looking over his chair at the stage below. Elhaten was on his other side, silent.

A woman appeared on the stage. Ferene didn't see where she came from, only that one moment, she wasn't there, and the next moment she was. She wore a dress made of a material so thin Ferene could see through it, her modesty persevered by white bindings. She stepped forward and raised her arms, whips of fabric hanging down, swaying gently from her movements. The faint lighting from below cast her in a spectral light.

Four more women appeared in front of her, equally mysteriously, as the woman started to sing. Wordless sounds echoed through the chamber for a moment before they were joined by the sound of a stringed instrument. Ferene blinked, and saw a man standing behind the women, his arms wrapped around a massive harp. He wore a robe made of the same scant fabric, showing off his entire upper body as he played, eyes closed. The other women started dancing, twisting rhythmically to the slow music.

Ferene never heard sounds that affected her this way before.

Towns had festivals with happy music for dancing and celebration. Taverns often had bards who sang songs that could be anything from silly to dramatic.

This was different. Ferene held her breath, as if just letting it out would disrupt what she was hearing. She felt the emotion of the sounds, the sadness of the slow, deep notes. Without any words, the music made her feel sorrow and loneliness.

Slowly, the pace increased, notes turning higher in pitch, coming faster and faster. The sorrow turned to anticipation, then excitement. The dancers writhed and twirled before the music exploded into unrestrained joy, to which they started performing acrobatic flips, pairing up to fling each other into the air.

All of a sudden, it was over. The music stopped, and Ferene finally breathed. The women bowed towards the emperor as the entire hall filled with applause. They stepped off the stage, leaving only the man with the harp.

When the applause died, he started playing again. First a single, long note that hung in the air. It was followed by two in quick succession, then another, different long note.

Then there was music.

Eyes still closed, his hands blurring as they moved across the strings. Rather than drawing out emotions as the previous music had, the notes assaulted Ferene with them. She felt sorrow and longing, the pain of losing something. Her fingernails dug into her palms as the music turned angry, then furious. Her heart pounded as the notes spoke of bloodlust, followed by exhaustion, before settling back into sorrow, tinged with regret. He ended with the same four notes as he started with, played in reverse.

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Stepping away from the harp, he bowed, and the audience burst into applause. Ferene couldn't take her eyes off him. He stared up at the emperor's seat, his eyes open, his body covered in sweat, the sheer fabric clinging to him. The emperor stood and extended an upturned hand. The man nodded before picking up his instrument and carrying it off the stage.

There were more performances after that. A trio of musicians played to a woman who sang about a bird that could fly to the starts. Eight men came out carrying massive drums, which were struck with massive sticks, the sound shaking the room as the men chanted a story of conquest. Another lone man came out with a lute, playing a simple tune as he told a story of a knight that left the audience in laughter.

None of them stood up to the man and his harp.

The final act involved the eight men and their drums, joined by the four dancer women, performing leaping acrobatics to the pounding beats. Halfway through the singer appeared, her voice somehow carrying over the thunderous drums.

The emperor sat in his chair as the chamber emptied, the other members of the audience leaving. Ferene watched them go.

"An interesting year, your majesty." Elhaten commented.

The emperor tapped his chin. "It is a time of war. The anxiety urges creativity in different ways. What did you think, Ferene?"

She blinked, struggling to find words. "I never heard anything like that before."

Elhaten laughed. "She knows nothing of fine arts."

"She has plenty of time to learn." The emperor stated abruptly, and Elhaten flinched, glaring at the back of the emperor's chair. "I look forward to hearing what she thinks next year."

Ferene saw Elhaten bare his teeth at that. "You two are dismissed for the day." The emperor said, standing up.

After the emperor left the room, Ferene wandered the halls, her mind still going over the music. It was almost as if she could still feel the notes, the emotions they brought imprinted on her. Thinking about any one part of it brought those emotions back, however faint. She ended up in her room, and sank into the chair, her entire body going limp as she stared at the ceiling.

Was this what Taradira meant, when she talked about humans? Art and music, things the Hatharen, in their endless war for survival, were never able to do. Could Ferene ever make music like that? For a moment, she thought of playing while Rilya and the others sat in a circle with her, listening. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of it.

Her fantasy was interrupted by a single, strong knock on the door, sending Ferene leaping to her feet, her hand going to the sword leaning against the side of the chair. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the door and opened it.

The man from the performance stood in the entryway to her room, his outfit just as revealing as before, holding a rolled and tied paper in one hand, a large wooden box at his side.

"I am Shvernik Artem. The emperor sent me here." He held the paper out to her. She took it, untied the ribbon, and stared at the words on it. "I was told I would have to read it to you." He said, holding his hand out.

Ferene handed it back to him, and he scanned it quickly before speaking.

"An observer noticed your attention lingering on this performer. As a reward for your service to the empire at Malmel, I have ordered him to your side tonight. He has been instructed to attend to your every desire to the best of his ability."

His voice was deep, yet soft. Ferene found herself listening intently, staring into his eyes as he finished reading. "May I have permission to enter your chamber, Lady Ferene?"

At a loss for words, Ferene stepped back, and he walked inside, carrying the wooden case with him. Setting it down, he turned to her, smiling. "What is your desire?"

"I…" Ferene started, then stopped, suddenly blushing. His outfit was not the one he wore before, though it was very similar. This one was clean, free of the sweat. It still clung to his body, the fabric showing his toned muscles. Her eyes flicked back up to his face. His dark blue eyes stared at her expectantly from his beardless face. He was here to sleep with her. That's what the emperor wanted.

"Can you play for me?" She asked. His smile faltered, only for a moment, before he reached down to the box, opening the lid and pulling out a cloth bag. From it he withdrew a much smaller harp. Stepping to her chair, he sat down, placing the instrument on his lap.

"I would love to play for you."

The two armies set up camps for the night, pitching tents and lighting torches, watching each other, the stalemate continuing. In this dark of night, the imperial army made their move.

Watching the campfires on the other rise, Taradira frowned. "Fulk." She called, and the young captain immediately appeared at her side, saluting. "I need something from you. Get someone who can see well in the dark, and send them, with a small guard, around to the south. Use the fastest horses we have."

"Of course, General Suladan." He said, turning and marching off. Taradira let out a sigh. The man still acted like a soldier, not a commander. He didn't want to know why. He wasn't curious, wasn't looking to learn more. Not a good commander, especially for working on his own. She'd have to keep him close by.

"It's done, general." He reported, appearing at her side again.

"Can you make out their tents, captain?" She asked.

He stepped forward, squinting. "Yes."

"Can you make out their men?"

"Some. The rest are in the tents."

"The rest could be in the tents. They could also have left. Moved down the back of the rise where we can see them, and then to the south without torches. We wouldn't see them in the dark, not at this distance. A great deal of her forces could be heading for Galbr."

The man went stiff, not moving, possibly not even breathing, as he listened to Taradira's words. "T-then-"

"Then they would have tricked us. It could have happened no more than three hours ago, but that is still a big lead on your scout."

"What do we do if they left?"

Taradira smiled. "We cut off what's left. They are likely waiting for later in the night to stage a retreat. If we know they don't have an advantage in numbers, we strike. First we need to know."

Silence fell between them, but then Fulk spoke up. "What would you do, in her position?" Taradira smiled.

"I'd sneak forces towards Galbr. Pincer the enemy attacking the city. The problem is what she's done so far doesn't make sense, and I don't have a sense of her goals. She is difficult to analyze. She doesn't fold to pressure elsewhere yet repeatedly refuses to push her advantage, stalling for time with no results. I would not be surprised if she lets this opportunity pass as well."

He played.

Melodies of sadness, longing, joy, and wonder. He performed for her alone, his sole audience member, his open this time, focused entirely on her.

At the end, when his hands came to a stop, Ferene sat on the bed, losing her struggle to hold back tears.

Shvernik set the harp on the floor and stepped over to her, wiping away her tears with his hand. "If you need comfort, I can provide it."

Part of her wanted it. Wanted to grab him, throw him onto the bed, and let all the emotions out.

A much larger part of her just missed Rilya.

"I can't." She whispered.

"Why?"

"There's someone else."

He smiled - a warm, yet sad smile. An understanding smile. Sitting down beside her, he held her hand. "Doing something here, now, no matter how good it feels, will only leave you missing that someone else more afterward."

Sharply, she breathed in. He knew what she felt, he put it into words in a way she never could have. "Yes." She said, and felt him squeeze her hand. "You can sleep here, on the bed. Because of your orders."

"Where will you sleep?" He asked. She pointed to a corner of the room, where a single pillow and a blanket lay on the ground. Her bed was too soft and too large. It never felt right. "You are a strange one, yet perceptive. It would reflect poorly on me if I left without keeping you company overnight. Thank you."

Ferene nodded, her throat tight. Her sleeping arrangement was something she clung to, desperately. She didn't belong in the palace, didn't deserve to wear her uniform, wield the emperor's authority, or receive gifts like this. Yet she did it all, without protesting. She could have killed Elhaten and been cut down in turn trying to run away, but then she never would have heard the music. What she did in Malmel felt right, but she was unable to do the same here. She was scared, not just for others but for herself. She couldn't bring herself to do what she thought was right. How much more would she be corrupted by this place?

Silently, she stood up and walked over to her blanket, taking off her jacket as she moved. Ignoring Shvernik, she fell to the ground and to sleep, tears still staining her face.

"The scouting group has yet to return." A lieutenant reported

Taradira nodded. Thoms had woken up, taking Fulk's place and allowing the new captain to rest. Taradira stayed awake, watching the campfires of the other army. "They may still be searching for something that isn't there. At this rate we will take Galbr while she stalled for no reason."

Thoms waited in silence for a moment. "You send one scouting party out?"

"South, to see if she makes a move to reinforce Galbr."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Two days ago. My body works-"

"Your mind clearly doesn't." Thoms cut her off sharply. She turned to him, finding him staring up at her, his eyes wide. "Sending forces north gives her better options. She can move on Barakin or flank our position here."

Involuntarily, the muscles in her jaw twitched. She'd focused too much on the larger picture. Taking Galbr, forcing the empire into a worse position. General Camus' waiting had made Taradira dismiss the possibility of a direct attack. She had grown impatient, eager to move on to the next part of her plan.

"Stay here, keep a watch on their camp." She barked, spinning around and walking towards the other side of the ridge her army occupied. As she moved through the tents, she passed by soldiers waiting around campfire, awake in case of an emergency. Every third man she tapped with the flat of her blade, and they wordlessly stood up to follow her. By the time she was halfway through, all she had to do was point and the indicated soldier would fall in line.

At the back of the ridge, she stared out across the field below. No fires lit the ground, only the light from the moon and the stars allowing her to make out the shapes of bushes and rocks.

Bushes, rocks, and something else.

"Sergeant." She said to the man next to her, bending down to put her face level with his. "Do you see anything there?" She pointed towards and area to the northeast.

"Movement, yes. Something - someone - is there."

"Get everyone up, as fast as you can, but raise no alarm. They don't know we know they are coming. Keep it that way. Go."