Savage Divinity

The way forward into Pan Si Xing was fraught with peril and menace, but Rustram knew the real danger would come on the journey back.

An odd statement to make considering their ambitious goal. With less than a hundred-thousand soldiers in total, they were going to march into an Enemy city occupied by millions of Defiled combatants and take the head of their General Commander, the Living Legend, Lord of Martial Peace, and Prince of Barbarity Bai Qi himself. This, according to Lieutenant General Baatar, was supposedly the easy part of their mission, and to his great dismay, Rustram had no way to refute that statement. Killing Bai Qi was the easy part, but only because the rest of their goals were nigh impossible to accomplish. First, there was the issue with getting into the City unnoticed, because low as their chances of success might be, those odds plummeted to near zero if the Enemy was alerted to the Imperial presence beforehand and had time to prepare. This meant nine days of travelling in a cautious, roundabout fashion while avoiding Defiled patrols, which was easier said than done. To beat the heat, they slept in their airy, lean-to tents by day and travelled only at night, navigating through the winding desert dunes by the warm glow of the moon while moving quiet as a mouse, a tense and stressful affair given how the Enemy might well have been hiding in any shadow or around every bend.

Thankfully, Lieutenant General Baatar had enlisted the aid of Gao Liang and his band of obviously Western soldiers to help guide the way, and everyone was happy to pretend the bronzed-skinned locals were actually Northern soldiers as they claimed to be. To avoid the blazing heat of the day, their army travelled by night in a long and loose formation to keep the overall sound levels low, so each retinue was assigned a group of Western scouts to keep them from getting separated. Rustram soon came to wholly rely on Ghishan and his band of grim and dour locals, not that he held their dark mood against them. Determined was the first word that came to mind when thinking of these Westerners, and Ghishan was no different, a dogged, middle-aged man with a low, raspy voice he used sparingly as if each word cost him dearly.

Which it turned out was actually the case. “Breathe through nose,” he’d told Rustram during their first night of travel. “Too much moisture lost, mouth-breathing.”

The Westerners had done well to adapt to life in the desert, and the depth and breadth of their knowledge astounded Rustram to no end. After their first full night of travel, he tried to gauge how far they’d come by taking in the lay of the land, but none of the landmarks he saw matched what the maps depicted. When he brought his concerns to Ghishan, the gruff Westerner shook his head and gestured at him to put the map away. “Maps be no good,” he said, gesturing at the dunes around them. “Wind blows and sand shifts. Peaks and valleys change with every storm, without care for lines or landmarks drawn on parchment.”

It turned out that the Westerners learned to find their way through the deserts by following the sun, the moon, the stars, and strange as it sounded, shadows and angles. The next evening, Rustram woke to find his tent facing a new sand dune instead of the flat expansive horizon he’d fallen asleep staring at only a few hours earlier, but Ghishan took the changes in stride. “Three sides be the quickest way across a square,” he uttered, an incomprehensible statement he couldn’t be bothered to explain as he stuck his staff in the sand and studied the shadows it cast in the light of the setting sun before setting out on an easterly heading when they should have been moving south instead. As there were no other retinues in sight, Rustram had no choice but to lead his Stormguard to follow, hoping that the Western scout hadn’t lost his nerve and abandoned the mission entirely. His fears were all for naught however, as Ghishan repeated his actions every quarter of an hour or so until they’d been marching for half the night, at which point he turned them south once more. Throughout it all, Rustram kept an eye on the new sand dune that appeared overnight, and after another hour of marching, he finally realized why Ghishan had led them around rather than over it. If they’d gone straight south from their campground, they would have trudged up to the peak of the dune only to find a steep drop awaiting them on the other side, leaving them no choice but to follow the winding peak path until they found a way back down again. Easy to get lost taking a meandering track like that, not to mention how their way forward could easily have been cut off by another steep drop at any given moment, forcing them to backtrack and find a new way forward again. Safer just to navigate around any potential pitfalls by taking a ninety degree departure from your intended path and track the distance travelled, because then you knew that two more ninety degree turns would eventually bring you back on the right course.

Water was also an ever-present concern, because even though the desert nights were comfortably chilly, the air was arid and dusty as ever, sapping away moisture even without the added exertion of keeping pace with their time and a half march while breathing through their nose. It wouldn’t be half as bad if they weren’t forced to avoid all common watering-holes in order to remain undetected, but they were, which meant they had to make the journey to Pan Si Xing without stopping to resupply. As such, when Lieutenant General Baatar said they would travel light, that was only in reference to their usual kit, for every soldier carried everything they would need to survive for the entire trip, including their full allotment of rations and water. A recipe for disaster with less disciplined soldiers, because for reasons beyond Rustram’s comprehension, drinking a full day’s worth of water in the morning would not keep a man from collapsing from dehydration by mid-afternoon. That same amount of water taken in small allotments over the course of the day would keep them going, but while it was more than enough to keep them mobile, those few sparing mouthfuls were never enough to wholly quench a man’s thirst.

Ideally, Rustram would have kept the water under strict guard and only supplied enough to each soldier for a half-day’s journey, just to ensure none was wasted, but the only vehicles coming along on this trip were the cattle-dawn chariots of the Legate’s retinue. This meant the Officers had to keep their soldiers to a strict drinking schedule and ensure everyone abided by it, a schedule Ghishan had the timing down pat for without the need for a pocket-watch. ‘Drink’ was the word he said the most often, delivered at precise intervals in a curt and almost contemptuous tone, as if disdainful of their inability to keep track by themselves. Without the Westerner around to keep time, Rustram could have easily blown through his first day’s worth of water within an hour, or worse, accidentally let too much time go by without a drink. The fatigue from going too long without water was not so easily fixed, for the debt accrued interest quickly as it took a toll on their bodies, meaning a dehydrated soldier needed even more water to get back to fighting strength.

Thankfully, Ghishan and his comrades knew all the tricks of the trade when it came to getting water in the desert. Any stones they came across in the early hours of the morning were promptly overturned, revealing a thin layer of dew clinging to its underside more often than not. Nocturnal birds were also tracked as they made their way quietly across the starlit sky, and their paths revealed no less than four sources of water that the Defiled had yet to come across. Only three contained potable water, with the last being too sandy and dirty to drink from, but the Westerners dipped their headscarves in the water and used it to cool themselves off. “Less sweat, less moisture lost,” Ghishan had said, in reply to Rustram’s unasked question, and while he couldn’t bring himself to do the same, many of his Stormguard were not above getting dirty if it meant keeping just that much cooler.

All in all, Rustram was pleased with how his Stormguard behaved out in the field, which had been something of a concern coming in. Lieutenant General Baatar had certainly cobbled together an elite force of veteran Warriors, and truth be told, Rustram felt mildly out of place with his retinue considering almost every last soldier under his command had been merely a commoner less than a full year ago. He might feel different if he were still in command of the Legate’s retinue, but these Stormguard were not only new to the Martial Path, they were also largely untested in the field. Sure, they all saw action in Castle JiangHu and the subsequent fighting retreat, but they’d been mere Irregulars at the time and therefore coddled like the commoners they’d been. They had wagons to carry them, flags directing them where to go, Bekhai archers guiding their shots and dedicated retinues safeguarding them from Defiled, but now they were Martial Warriors in truth, which was a whole different kettle of fish. They performed impeccably in drills and exercises, but Rustram was withholding full judgment of their abilities until after their first foray into true battle as Warriors of the Empire. To say that his expectations were high would be an understatement, but he would have much preferred to start the Stormguard out on something simpler than a near-suicidal mission to assassinate a traitorous Living Legend.

Despite all his concerns however, Rustram discovered his Stormguards were weathering the hazards of desert travel well enough. Better than most in fact, and while part of it was due to their harsh training and strict discipline, most of it was due to the fact that the Stormguards had all taken their first steps along the Martial Path rather late in life. There weren’t many fresh faces in his retinue, as even the youngest of the bunch were generally closer to thirty than twenty, while the average age of the Stormguard sat around thirty-five, give or take a year or two. Unlike most soldiers, who generally formed their Cores somewhere between ten and twenty, the Stormguard had experienced the vicissitudes of adult life as mere commoners, which made them... not exactly tougher as a whole, but better equipped to handle the harsh circumstances they now found themselves in. Having been drawn from the Legate’s Districts, most of the Stormguard were former farmers, hard-working, salt-of-the-earth peasants who were no strangers to going to bed hungry. Going thirsty for a few hours was not all that difficult after surviving for weeks in a state of near constant starvation, to the point where Rustram’s greatest concern wasn’t keeping his solders from drinking too much water, but rather ensuring they were drinking enough when they were supposed to instead of trying to save water and do without.

They were hardy soldiers, these Stormguards of the Legate, and Rustram was proud to serve alongside them. He only hoped enough of them would return alive to keep their enduring spirit alive...

The march across the Western deserts was one of the most harrowing journeys Rustram had ever experienced, which was saying something considering they saw neither hide nor hair of the Enemy until Pan Si Xing came into sight. The last stretch of the trip was actually the easiest part, for Ghishan led Rustram’s Stormguard down to a hidden tunnel entrance that opened up into a massive labyrinth of mining shafts that had long since fallen out of use. During the early years of the Defiled occupation, a rag-tag group of Imperial soldiers stumbled across these long forgotten tunnels and hid within them for months until hunger and dehydration forced them out. Eventually, that group found their way to Gao Liang and pledged themselves to his banner, but Ghishan was adamant that the tunnels had never been discovered. How he knew this became evident after a half day of travel as they spotted the bright glow of lantern light ahead, but rather than go on alert, Ghishan broke away from the ranks to run headlong into the light.

Just as Rustram was about to give the order to kill the man for betraying them, the dour scout stopped short to embrace a hooded figure that had all but melted into the stone walls. Turning back with the most unexpected grin, Ghishan waved at him to come closer and said, “This be my wife, Aliyah, oasis of my heart. Wife, this be Major Rustram, great hero of the North and trusted subordinate of the Legate.”

Covered from head to toe in ragged, filthy wrappings, there wasn’t much to see of Aliyah besides her sunken, goose-egg eyes, which went wide when her husband mentioned the Legate. Pressing her hands together in prayer, she bowed her head in reverence as if Rustram were the Legate himself. “Praise be to the Legate,” she whispered, and Ghishan, stony, dour, irascible Ghishan, echoed the sentiment with similar moon-eyed reverence. “May the Mother watch over him from above.”

Since he didn’t know how to respond, Rustram muttered a quick ‘Praise be’ before asking, “If you don’t mind me asking, you’ve been here since the start of the war?”

Ghishan nodded, and Rustram’s heart ached for the poor woman and her companions. Two years they’d hidden underground, spending their days in fear and terror. “We had food enough for the commoners to survive,” Ghishan replied, gazing at his wife so tenderly his love was clear to all. “And even if the Defiled were to find them, my Aliyah could easily have led the people deeper into the tunnels and back out of two dozen different entrances, so we soldiers struck out on our own to do battle against the Enemy. We didn’t dare return after we left, not in numbers at least, so when the Maj... When Gao Liang was forced to retreat North, I feared for my Aliyah and the others, but the Legate, he sent people to deliver food and water as soon as he heard of their plight.”

This was the first Rustram was hearing of it, and knowing the Legate, he probably delegated it to someone else to handle, a suspicion which was soon confirmed as Aliyah pressed her palms together again and uttered, “Praise be to Situ Rang Min, who delivered us from our darkness.” No doubt using the same smuggler routes he’d supposedly shut down, though Rustram was of the opinion that Rang Min only knew those routes because he’d played a part in establishing them in the first place. Nothing short of a decree from the Mother on high would convince Rustram otherwise, because there was no way an operation as massive as the one Rang Min took down could have ever gotten by without his notice. Even Rustram’s father knew how to get in contact with the major smugglers of Shen Huo, and he was as straight-laced a merchant as could be, so how could the former Patriarch of the Situ Clan not be aware of a smuggling ring working out of the Society Headquarters?

This time, Rustram didn’t bother echoing Aliyah’s little prayer, though it went a long way to explaining why Rang Min was even here. During the officer’s meeting, Lieutenant General Baatar claimed that every Warrior present was worthy of trust, but more than one head had turned to glance at Rang Min. Hopefully, the former Patriarch had gotten over his enmity with the Bekhai, or at the very least, was willing to put aside his grudges to deal with the Enemy first, but truth be told, Rustram and many others weren’t all that convinced. It was too late to complain now however, this deep in Enemy territory, so Rustram swallowed his trepidation and followed Aliyah and Ghishan into the cavern which these Westerners had called home for so long.

It was... bleak, to say the least, and it made Rustram more than a little uncomfortable to see so many hopeful gazes turned his way, especially from faces so gaunt and worn as these. There were hundreds of survivors gathered within these tunnels, and they’d all seen better days, each one a bundle of rags and bones that seemed ready to collapse in a stiff breeze. In fact, Rustram almost ordered his Stormguard to share their rations, but then Aliyah brought him to a tunnel entrance where eight spindly figures stood guard with spears and staves they could barely lift. The weapons of dead Martial Warriors it would seem, no longer Spiritual in nature, but still sturdy enough to break bones at the very least. “Here be the storeroom, Honoured Major,” she said, sounding stronger than her fragile frame would lead him to believe. “Food, blankets, and medicine, everything the Legate has delivered us lies within.”

Lifting his torch to see deeper into the tunnel, he saw bags and barrels full of rations and water among other things, enough to feed the survivors outside until they were bursting. “You didn’t eat any of the rations?” he asked, incredulous at their incredible strength of will, and beside her, Ghishan’s expression mirrored Rustram’s surprise.

Holding her head up high, Aliyah shook her head and said, “We took enough to stave off starvation, and a little more for the children, but better that this food be spent nourishing the Warriors of the Empire who come to deliver us from our captors. It will be a long and difficult fight, but know that the people of Pan Si Xing stand ready to fight alongside you.”

Oh, no...

Now this was awkward.

Meeting Ghishan’s eyes, Rustram pursed his lips and took the cowards way out as he left it to the scout to break the bad news to his wife. “They know we’re coming?”

Aliyah nodded like a chicken pecking grains, wholly ignorant of the danger her honesty landed her in, but Ghishan’s hand slowly landed on the hilt of his dagger, as the staff slung across his back would be too unwieldy in the tight tunnels. “We have always known that the Empire would not abandon us, and our faith has held strong these last two years.” So... known in a general sense of the word, rather than anything specific. That was a relief, because if the slaves knew an army had arrived in Pan Si Xing, then so too would the Enemy. “These tunnels lead straight into the heart of the city,” Aliyah continued, “So we keep watch for escapees and the hunters dispatched to find them. Those who manage to evade their captors were watched closely, and if they proved themselves able and trustworthy, we took them in. From them, we learned of news from afar as well what was happening inside the city itself. The Enemy, they quarry the mines for stone and soil to build their walls and defences, so the slaves are kept strong and able. Given the chance, the sons and daughters of the sands will rise up and slit the throats of our oppressors, if only to show the Heavens that the West still resists.”

There was more than a hint of madness in the woman’s eyes now, lovely as they might be, and Rustram tried his best not to sympathize, just in case. “Well, with luck, things won’t go that far. See to it that everyone is fed,” Rustram commanded, and it broke his heart to hear Aliyah raise her voice in protest before Ghishan tenderly gestured for her silence, because even starving as she was, she would rather continue to go without food to ensure the soldiers had strength to fight. Damn Rang Min for not making things clear and giving these people such poisonous false hope. They thought Rustram and the others were here to free the city, but in truth, their sights were not set so high. They were here for Bai Qi’s head and nothing else, but Rustram had been so focused on completing the mission that this was the first time he considered what would happen to the people left behind. Nothing good, he imagined, for the Defiled were not known for their restraint or forbearance and part of the plan was to make use of the chaos left in the wake of Bai Qi’s death to escape. Unlike with the Imperial Army, the chances of Bai Qi having a capable second or even a reliable chain of command was slim to none. Even though the disciplined Chosen might adhere to commands, the tribal Defiled venerated the strong and would not heed orders from a commander who had yet to prove themselves.

Hence Lieutenant General Akanai’s plan to target the Enemy leadership, a move that could slow or even cripple the Enemy’s ability to respond in the field. However, now that Rustram cared to consider the more immediate effects, he realized there was a good chance that Bai Qi’s death would cause the nearby Defiled Chieftains to slip their leashes, for which the poor people of Pan Si Xing would pay dearly.

Moving deeper into the tunnel to link up with the rest of the assault force, Rustram sought out the Lieutenant General and found him deep in discussion over a makeshift table with Situ Jia Yang and Chen Hongji at his sides. The soldiers had taken their lean-to tent poles and fashioned something of a command tent, albeit one lacking a roof and door, but it served its purpose well enough to provide the three commanders with a measure of privacy. Not that it was entirely needed given how they were sheltered behind a Sound Barrier as well, meaning Rustram had to request a meeting with the guards and wait for them to pass word inside. Taking this time to study his Mentor’s husband, Rustram still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the Bloody Fanged Wolf. Neither short nor tall, broad nor slim, Baatar’s physique was about as middling as they came, and yet the way he held himself hinted at a vast reserve of power and violence contained within, exuding an intimidating aspect of menace with his every look and movement. It wasn’t that he appeared threatening or brooding like Ulfsaar on his best of days, nor did he have the wild look of a man steeped in violence to the core, like Wang Bao once blades were drawn, nor was it the same as the threat and danger effortlessly exuded by killers like Ravil or Siyar. No, Lieutenant General Baatar was far more intimidating than all four of the aforementioned men combined, but it was difficult to describe it with words alone.

The Lieutenant General was Righteous Violence personified, that was the best way to put it. The virtuous had nothing to fear from him, but the wicked quailed before his icy gaze, and upright as Rustram tried to live his life, no man was utterly without sin.

And so when the Lieutenant General gestured for him to enter, Rustram did so with trepidation despite having shared many a meal with the man and his family. Doing his best not to quail before his commanding officers, Rustram reported what Aliyah shared with him about the people of Pan Si Xing being ready to rise up. “She’s been down here for two years,” he concluded, wishing he’d thought to ask for more specifics rather than accept the word of a veritable shut in who might well have no idea of what the outside world was like anymore. “Yet there’s still fire in her yet. If the people of the West are like her and truly ready to boil over, then maybe we should add some fuel to the fire.”

“To what end?” Baatar asked, his eyes hard and cold as ever. “Encouraging the enslaved population to fight is akin to driving them onward into Defiled spears. The unfortunate survivors would then serve as a warning to the rest, a burden I will not have on my conscience. If the people of the West rise up and fight, then so be it, but I will not spur them on to certain death.”

Taking a deep breath, Rustram clasped his fist in a salute and bowed. Though his mind intended to accept the rebuke and drop the subject, his tongue had other ideas on how this would play out. “With all due respect, Lieutenant General, most will die regardless. The Defiled will not treat the people of Pan Si Xing kindly after the death of their Commander General, even if our means of ingress is never uncovered.”

That was the crux of the issue, for the Defiled would most certainly learn of the mine shafts leading into the city and scour them clean in the aftermath. A glaring flaw for a city’s defences, but Pan Si Xing wasn’t much of a city, not by Northern standards at least. It was more of a settlement that sprung up around the mining operations over time, with buildings sprawling out in all directions with little rhyme or reason. As such, there were no walls or towers to defend from, nor was there any strategic or commercial value to be had once the mines dried up. The city’s only saving graces were its central location and the sizable natural aquifer buried deep underground, which combined with the dearth of alternative water sources nearby, allowed the city to serve as a hub for travellers and caravans bound for more distant destinations. These same qualities made it an optimal command centre from which to coordinate the Enemy forces, not quite on the front lines like Shi Bei or Tang Zangli, yet not so far away as to be too far removed from the fighting.

Which was why Lieutenant General Baatar had gone to such great lengths to arrive here unseen, for a chance to take Bai Qi’s head while his guard was down. “Killing the traitor general will not end the war,” Baatar began, and Rustram wasn’t sure if he was imagining the hint of reproach in the man’s tone. “Even if we succeed on all fronts and kill Bai Qi, the Mataram Patriarch, and Mao Jianghong, there will still be others to take their places. This is merely the first move in a bitter war that I hope will last years, if not decades as we fight to reclaim the West. I hope for this because if this war were to end any sooner, I fear it will be for reasons we will be worse off for.” Which made sense. If the war ended early, it could only be for one of three reasons; Either the Legate’s forces had suffered a devastating defeat in the field, the Emperor Himself had issued a decree in contradiction to the Legate’s call to arms, or the Defiled decided they had enough of fighting and turned around to head home. Only two of those scenarios could realistically happen, and neither one would end well for the Legate, or the Empire really, so Rustram could only pray that the war would last a long time as well.

Then again, maybe Baatar was wrong and the Enemy would collapse into bitter infighting once Bai Qi, Mataram YuGan, and Mao Jianghong were all dead. Oh, and the famed Uniter as well, though the mastermind behind the Defiled invasion had yet to show his face, but that didn’t make him any less hated.

Rustram knew what Baatar was trying to say, but even though his head knew the man was right, his heart refused to let him sit idly by. “I know the path to victory will be long and arduous indeed,” he began, drawing on all his courage to look the Bloody Fanged Wolf in the eyes. That was a mistake, as the man had an intense, piercing gaze that made Rustram’s manhood want to shrivel up and waste away for fear of never being able to measure up, but he couldn’t back down now. “But I also know that now, more than anything, the West needs hope.”

“Where there is life, there is hope,” Baatar replied, but Rustram refused to back down, not even in the face of the Legate’s own words.

“And if we leave Pan Si Xing without even trying to free the captured populace, we will have trampled over the hope that kept them alive for so long.” Standing tall, Rustram’s anger slipped out as he snarled, “Two years! Two years they’ve suffered under Defiled rule, two years they’ve endured. If they’re willing to fight, then the least we can do is give them a chance.”

“At what cost?” Gesturing at the map laid out across his table, Baatar posed the question without anger or frustration, and Rustram finally realized that the man’s reproach was directed towards himself. This was the Legate’s father, for Heaven’s sake, so of course he would want to do everything he could for the enslaved populace, but he saw no way forward. “We will need all of our forces if we are to succeed with our plan, and even then, our chances are not as favourable as I had hoped. The Lord of Martial Peace is no stranger to assassination attempts, for he was reviled long before he turned traitor to the Empire. Though there is no discernible threat to be found in Pan Si Xing, I expect he will make no move without an honour guard of Half-Demons escorting him about. From what little we have gleaned of the patrol routes thus far, there is no avoiding conflict once we are inside the city proper, meaning our window to take surprise action will be measured in minutes, if that. Any longer, and our foe will stand ready and waiting to meet us head on. Though I yearn to cross blades with the traitor in a fair match, I will only do so if left with no other choice, for I doubt Bai Qi’s underlings would be so kind as to honour our duel and stand idly by or allow me to walk away unhindered.”

Even in this hypothetical situation, there was no doubt in Baatar’s mind that he would emerge victorious in a duel against Bai Qi, and Rustram had to wonder if his confidence had substance, or if it was just the mindset of a Warrior without peer. Despite the long history of the Empire, Rustram could count the number of heroes who stood undefeated in their time on one hand, for there was only one. Aside from the first Emperor Himself, who united the warring states together under His banner to do battle against the Enemy, every other hero in history had known defeat at least once. What’s more, as formidable as Baatar might be, his foe had already proven his prowess in single combat, while the Bloody Fanged Wolf was still something of an unknown quality, so Rustram could hardly be blamed for harbouring some doubts. Still, even if Baatar failed to take Bai Qi’s head, the Lieutenant General already had plans in place to get his soldiers out as safely as possible given the circumstances. The broad strokes of the strategy had been laid out beforehand, but now that they were here and could see the lay of the land for themselves, they were ready to start hammering home the details before they were ready to begin.

With Baatar’s fierce combat prowess, Chen Hongji’s godly tactical acumen, and Situ Jia Yang’s... presence, then surely they stood a chance of success, right?

Baatar’s hands took Rustram firmly by the shoulders, which was both comforting and terrifying at the same time. “I say this now not as your commander, but as your Mentor’s husband, so listen well. You are a Warrior of great potential, a young Talent fast approaching the Peak and a General Officer in the making, or at least that is what my wife tells me.” Rustram blinked, because that didn’t sound like something Mentor would say at all, and Baatar chuckled to see him so bewildered. “My rose, she is many things, but prone to flattery, she is not. She believes ego is the reason so many young Warriors fail to live up to their potential, forgetting that she too once believed she could conquer the world with only her spear in hand. Regardless of our connections, know that I chose you to join me on this mission here not because you are my wife’s Disciple or my son’s close friend, or any other reason you might concoct. I chose you because you are a talented young Warrior and commander who I know and trust.”

Hearing the emphasis on that last word, Rustram’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I would never disobey orders,” he stuttered, panicking now that he knew Baatar was worried he would run off half-cocked in a futile bid to save the commoners rather than heed his orders. “I’m just... frustrated.”

“You misunderstand my meaning, boy.” Pulling Rustram aside to stand over the table, Baatar gestured at his map again. “I told you how I see things, the risks and stakes involved. If you see a different path forward, one in which we can save more lives, then I would welcome your suggestion, for I know it will be worth consideration.”

That wasn’t any less surprising, especially when Situ Jia Yang and Chen Hongji both nodded along. “I’ve seen your work on the sparring fields,” the latter said, and Rustram desperately wished he had somewhere to hide from all his shame. “You’ve done well with the Stormguard, as they have all the markings of an elite force in the making.”

“And your progress along the Martial Path hasn’t slowed even a bit,” Jia Yang added, though he seemed less than pleased at the prospect. “When did Domains become so commonplace? I can’t remember a time when there were so many young Talents so far along the Path.”

“War has a way of rousing sleeping tigers and hidden dragons alike,” Baatar declared, puffing up proudly as he pounded Rustram’s shoulder once again. “If you have any thoughts now, then share them with your Mentor’s husband. If not, then do as I tell you, and do not stray from the battleplan, for my wife will have my hide if I leave her prized pupil behind, to say nothing of the pain your absence will cause my son or your wife.”

Since he didn’t have a plan, Rustram excused himself and scurried away unsure if he should feel pride due to the compliments he’d been given or shame for his own incompetent actions. What was he thinking, openly arguing with his commander like that? If anyone had overheard them, he would have brought shame not only to Baatar, but to his Mentor and parents as well. The Legate and his family treated Rustram like one of their own, always inviting Sai Chou and himself over for dinner and all the big events, yet here he was acting like an ungrateful fool who lacked confidence in his commander.

And yet, he still wanted to do something for the people of Pan Si Xing, but he was just too powerless to help. Feeling lost and forlorn, Rustram wandered over to Jorani’s camp in search of solace and greeted all the familiar faces along the way, but try as he might, he couldn’t find his wife. After asking a few soldiers if they’d seen her, he was finally directed over to Jorani’s command table where he found Ulfsaar standing guard with Neera and a half dozen their largest and most intimidating comrades. “Sorry, Major Mister Rustram,” Ulfsaar rumbled, holding a hand out to stop him from coming any closer. “You here to see the hangman, or your missus?”

“My wife, if you please. No need to interrupt her if this is a strategy meeting. I can wait.” By now, Rustram had noticed something was up, because the members of Jorani’s strategy meeting were all looking at him strangely. What’s more, they were also sheltered behind a Sound Barrier, which was normal for Baatar who was a Peak Expert and Lieutenant General, but Jorani would’ve had to specifically ask someone to set it up, which seemed a bit overboard for discussing sentry shifts or camp layout or anything else he might have to cover just yet.

“The Hangman says you can come in.”

Stepping aside, Ulfsaar’s inviting smile was anything but, though Rustram knew the man well enough to know he was trying, so he patted Ulfsaar’s arm as he strode by and greeted his successor with a smile. Sai Chou was less than pleased to see him here, as she’d made it clear that in the field, she was a soldier first and his wife second, so she wouldn’t stand for any stupid heroics from a Major trying to impress his woman. That was the thanks he got for Developing his Domain and saving her life, a tongue-lashing for being an idiot, but he loved her all the more for it. “So,” he began, flashing her a brief smile before looking around at his former subordinates, “What scheme are you cooking up now? Should I be concerned?”

Deflating in that self-deprecating way that served him so well, Jorani grinned and rubbed his head. “Ah, I was right, wasn’t I? Sed he’d see right through us, I did, sharp as a spear this one.”

“And yet, not smart enough to remember he commands a different retinue now.” That was Sai Chou, who looked none too pleased, but Rustram could tell she was happy to see him again too.

Pretending to have not heard their marital squabbling, Jorani looked around in conspiratorial fashion and said, “Between you and me?” Waiting for Rustram to nod before he continued, Jorani moved aside to reveal an almost exact copy of Baatar’s map, one that detailed the buildings of Pan Si Xing right down to the last latrine. Siyar’s work most likely, since Jorani couldn’t draw to save his life. “See, I’ve been asking around, and it turns out there’s a good number of slaves workin’ down in the mines. Not the mines connected to these tunnels, as they ain’t got the right kind of walls, but these ones over here in the south-west. The Defiled got them quarrying away at the walls fer stone, which just goes to show how desperate they are fer materials, though one of the monks tells me that the stone ain’t no good fer buildin’.”

“Stop.” Meeting Jorani’s gaze in an effort to match Baatar’s energy, Rustram said, “If you’re thinking about doing something behind the Lieutenant General’s back, then don’t. Any information you have, you bring it to him, and he will do with it what he will.”

“But what if he - ”

“It doesn’t matter what he decides.” The statement came out more sharply than intended, and it was clear Jorani wasn’t expecting so much opposition, but even though Rustram knew his friend was just trying to do right by the people of the Empire, he wasn’t giving Baatar enough credit, the same way Rustram hadn’t. “Trust in the Lieutenant General. You think he’d leave those slaves to die if he has any other choice? Bring your information to him, and he will do what he can. Don’t plot and scheme to work against him, not here, and not now. If he can save them, he will. If he says he can’t, then that’s the Mother’s own truth.”

“Damn me.” Huffing a sigh and shaking his head, Jorani nodded in begrudging agreement. “Didn’t look at it like that, but when you right, you right.” Sheepishly gesturing at the map once more, he asked, “Hear me out beforehand? Ye know, so ye can tell me if I’m onto somethin’ or if I’m just full of shit?”

“If you think it’s worth acting on, then that’s all I need to know.” Grabbing Jorani’s shoulders the same way Baatar just grabbed his, Rustram paid the gesture forward and said, “You’re a good commander, Jorani. Have more confidence in yourself and you will be a great one.”

“...Thanks. That means a lot comin’ from you. Really do.”

Grinning like a fool, Jorani turned to gather up his map before heading off towards Baatar’s camp, leaving Rustram free to greet his lovely wife. Rolling her eyes, she presented her cheek for a kiss, which he gladly supplied, before shooing him off. “Off ye go now,” she said, leaning into her folksy accent that he loved so much. “Any fool can see yer burnin’ with curiosity. Ain’t a woman alive that can match that.”

Reassuring her of his endless love for her, Rustram followed after Jorani in hopes of seeing how it all played out. Though he himself had little to do with how the strategy would unfold, today was a grand learning experience for him. Rather than go straight to his commanding officer with complaints and demands, he should have been more like Jorani and gone looking for solutions, except he would never have dared to plot in secret like the half-rat just did. Then again, Jorani had two Divinities looking out for him, so he could afford to play things fast and loose, but who was Rustram to argue against that?

Even though they’d come to Pan Si Xing solely to kill Bai Qi, preferably with a bullet from afar, Rustram was sure that they would find a way to save the people as well, or at the very least, share in the burden of guilt. Such was life, trials and tribulations without end, but at least Rustram had met many good friends along the way.

Chapter Meme