Bardom did not view his time as a slave as suffering, but rather as a time to learn how others did. He watched his fellows live lives of humiliation and false satisfaction while the Lekkian warlords profited off of their labor. He was stunned by how much the Shavuim in the military were satisfied with their lot in life. The slaves who were not able-bodied men did not enjoy the accommodations and provisions that the Shavu soldiers received. Their plight was unforgivable, and should have ended long before Bardom arrived. Unfortunately for the Shavuim, the Lekkians required them to be desperate to do what they were told.

  “Drinking is so dull tonight,” Deckel said, glancing around, tapping his cup. “Why must we come here of all places, Na’Vanad!” Deckel leaned back in his chair uncomfortably, hiding behind his drink. “The ale is good, though. Ralu knows how to do that well, at least.”

  Bardom was scanning the bustling room for important faces. Yashin gave him a list of names to ingratiate himself to, and a purse full of gold to pay for their drinks—and their women. This tavern was filled with Lekkian men. Free men. Kagarani had been kind enough to let him and Deckel wear the uniforms his Lekkian soldiers wore to blend in better. Bardom hoped to make it a standard practice.

  “Deck,” Bardom said, “we drink the same beer from the same bar every night. Don’t you ever tire of the mundane?”

  Deckel leaned over the table and lowered his voice, “I tire of fear, and in an adversary's territory I feel it swelling in my stomach.” The big man looked morose.

  “Do you know what I saw in Nendroghi’s palace?” Bardom reclined at ease, a smile over his face. “The food, the beverages! The lords and ladies in their fancy clothes...”

  “Oh I’m sure you got a good look at the ladies!” Deckel’s eyes lit up and he let himself grin, sneaking a laugh beneath his thick neck. “The whole city speaks of your dance with Lady Bilsa. I’ve never heard of such a thing! Any other Shavu would be hanged, but you? Promoted! Amazing.”

  “I hardly did anything.”

  Deckel looked at him with a sparkle in his eye. “I think you can do anything, Na’Vanad.”

  My legend must be spreading, Bardom thought. I’d best be careful. Too fast and people will ask questions—and perhaps discover my secrets.

  “Believe it or not,” Bardom said discreetly, “Lady Bilsa is not the lady I had my eye on that night. She was only a ruse.”

  “The Great Leader’s daughter! A ruse?” Deckel could not help laughing loudly.

  Eyes were turning toward them. Bardom felt satisfaction rise in him. Deckel always delivers.

  “Hey!” someone called from across the dim room, “Keep your fat pig quiet, Na’Vanad.”

  They know my name, Bardom smirked to himself. “Apologies, Captain.” He bowed his head.

  For a captain to even speak to a Shavu beyond his company was unusual. Even more unusual for one to know one by name—and not kick him out of the tavern.

  Captain Darly Anders nodded, satisfied with the recognition.

  Deckel leaned over to Bardom. “Have you no fear? Anders could kill us both for being here!”

  “I do not fear him,” Bardom answered. “I am a far better swordsman.”

  Deckel laughed so hard, he could not restrain himself from being disruptive. Bardom looked up at the captain to see his reaction.

  Anders stood up, pushing his chair back. He swallowed the remainder of his ale, then loudly set down the cup—his men grinning.

  Turning his head to the side, but his back to them, he showed his teeth. “What’s so funny, Shavu-Kara?”

  Careful now, Bardom thought. He invokes rank so that he can cite insubordination as justification for violence. And if I have to kill one of Aya Ralu’s captains, my mission will surely be failed. Not to mention that we might not leave this room alive.

  Deckel swallowed, sweating from his brow. He was drunk, because Bardom put stronger liquor in the beer. He was on his third helping. Sorry, Deck, but I had to do it. You’re just so loud when you’re drunk.

  Bardom cleared his throat and rose up, giving a salute. “Good Deckel here only asked how I can live without fear.”

  Anders turned around, his eyes sharp on him. His bearded chin and mustache quivered. “And?”

  Bardom spread his hands. “I would not reveal my secrets, Captain. Then no one would have fear, and I would no longer be unique.”

  The Ralu men looked to Anders for his response.

  “Perhaps you should be afraid, boy,” he said, stepping toward them. “I can have you shoveling latrines on the northern border by the end of the night. Slaves ought not be drinking with Lekkians.”

  Bardom bowed. “I would never dream of insulting you,” his voice was level, but apologetic. “I only came tonight to meet the legendary fighters of General Aya Ralu’s great army…” he rose up with a smile, “…and to finance your enjoyment for the evening.”

  Anders drew his eyebrows together, looking him over skeptically. “Really?”

  “Aye, sir,” he said, showing his pouch. “A gift, from me, personally. I did well in Katan-Bat, and Kagarani was kind enough to let me keep my spoils.”

  Anders stepped up to Bardom, a couple inches taller than he was. He halted at him, distrusting. “Why?”

  “Great men need great friends,” Bardom said, digging out two gold coins, keeping his voice low. “I’ve heard you like a woman named Nari. This should cover your costs.”

  Anders looked at the money, then took it. “You may stay Na’Vanad. But do not bring your friend back here. He’ll drink all our ale.”

  Na’Vanad grinned. “I’ll try to keep him in check, sir. A good evening to you.”

  “Yes,” he murmured as he returned to his men with the gold and muttered something.

  Bardom sat and took a long swig from his cup. In truth, he had felt fear. Right in his chest.

  “We should go,” Deckel said frantically.

  “Nonsense,” Bardom said. “This has been an immensely productive evening.”

  “That was a lot of money, tolo,” Yashin said the next morning, arms crossed as he watched Bardom drag his feet through his morning routine. “Tell me it bought you something useful.”

  “An invitation,” Bardom said, pressing his palms against his forehead, still waking up. “Do you have willow bark in this god-forsaken city?”

  Yashin mixed a powder in his water, and handed it to him. “Where’s the invitation, tolo?”

  Bardom felt into his pants and found a rolled parchment that had been unraveled. “A party,” he said. “The General is throwing it for his soldiers before they leave.” Yashin took the invitation, Bardom took the cup.

  “And?” Yashin raised an eyebrow.

  “And I’m going,” he said, then chugged the water.

  Yashin thought for a moment, nodding slowly. “Do you anticipate an audience with Ralu?”

  “I anticipate he’s going to be pissed to see me,” he caught his breath after finishing the drink. It was remarkably refreshing, tasting of mint and other herbs. “The last loose end, and I’m walking right to him.”

  “I’ll join you,” Yashin decided. “It says you’re permitted a chaperone.”

  Why am I not surprised that he can read? Bardom thought. Then he asked, “Will he not kill me if you’re there?”

  “He may kill me too,” Yashin replied with a shrug, “but both of us dead would be enough to start a war.”

  “Aw!” Bardom grabbed his chest. “You’d start a war for me? I’m touched, Yashin.”

  “I’d prefer not to die, tolo,” he grumbled, “and Kagarani would prefer not to start a war. When we go, we have to be cautious. This will not be the sort of affair where outsiders will be welcomed openly. Ralu’s forces are 90% Lekkian. Even his Shavuim are all half Lekkian—the bastards of his many whores.”

  “He’s a sick man,” Bardom muttered.

  “Yet that sickness makes him rich, and his richness makes him a danger to us,” Yashin said. “Those brothels he runs have made him a powerful rival to Kagarani.”

  “Everyone likes the man who can get them what they want,” Bardom added.

  “Even if it comes at an exploitative price,” Yashin said.

  It’s strange how he shames one Lekkian lord, but not his own, Bardom noticed.

  “The brothel mistresses were very pleased to accept my coin,” Bardom said. “I nearly indulged myself.”

  Yashin looked impressed. “A lesser man would have.”

  Bardom shrugged and turned to the blurry mirror, looking at himself. He disliked his haircut, he disliked his face with its sharply groomed beard. He sighed, thinking of Laila and how she must see him. I should hate her, he thought. Her father murdered my family.

  But a daughter is not her father. Bardom only saw her for herself. It helped that she looked nothing like the Demon King, but he knew that her relation would always make her a risk to him. The feelings tore him apart,

  “The General wants you in our strategy meeting today,” Yashin mentioned. “We’ll be discussing war tactics for the West Midlands.”

  “The only tactic that matters is artillery,” Bardom said, “and we don’t have any. Tell Kagarani to buy some.”

  “If only it were so simple,” Yashin said. “The builders can’t make them in time, and Ralu owns all the usable artillery in the city. Best we can do is archers.”

  “Archers don’t give you enough of a distance advantage,” Bardom washed his face. “Nor do they do nearly as much damage.”

  “You’re a warlord’s son,” Yashin commented. “Try not to act like it.”

  “Warlord,” Bardom repeated in disgust. “My father was many things, but a warlord? No. He loved peace, but understood war.”

  Yashin nodded silently. “Get dressed, tolo. I’ll be outside. The weather is nice.”

  Bardom sat quietly, nursing his misery while Kagarani explained the planned troop movements. He pointed to a map on the wall where they would make their camps and establish supply lines. It was dull, the same way these meetings were dull under his father. But he had learned some things then, and he knew that Kagarani’s supply lines would face delays.

  For one, the West Midlands were just as forested as Stet-Lek and Katan-Bat, with its southern roads largely unpaved and difficult to navigate with wagons or carriages. Considering they would be marching straight through that undeveloped region, the Lekkians would need to establish those roads to avoid supply shortages.

  Kagarani is smart, why is he overlooking this? Bardom thought. It would cost a great deal of money and time to pave those roads, but it would save them from starvation later on.

  Nonetheless, they moved on to other business while Bardom held his tongue.

  “Purchases of weaponry for the campaign have been limited to the following,” Yashin said. “Every man shall have a chest piece, a multi-purpose survival knife, and a combat sword with scabbard. Designated archers will receive a bow with five replacement strings, a quiver, and arrows to be allocated by company. Infantrymen are guaranteed a full set of armor, as well as a shield and a spear. Knights and skilled swordsmen will be granted additional armor upon request, but that’s been distributed to most already, it shouldn’t be a significant cost. Boots, fatigues, and undergarments will be supplied in pairs—the laundering of such garments will be incumbent on each soldier—we won’t want to have to finance soap and perfume.”

  “Maintenance?” Kagarani asked.

  “We have 20 blacksmiths on hand,” Yashin answered, “along with a dozen whetstones for each company.”

  Kagarani nodded. “All other supplies will be delivered via supply lines.”

  “No roads,” Bardom murmured, his disinterest drawing some puzzled glances.

  “We will have to plow some roads,” Yashin conceded.

  “That won’t be cheap,” Shai Olek commented. “Of course Ralu will leave it to us to complete.” Kagarani huffed with his arms crossed as he looked over the routes on the map.

  “No artillery,” Bardom murmured as he leaned back in his chair, his spine barely holding him up.

  Some more men glanced at him, Kagarani now drawing a raised eyebrow on the Shavu-Kara.

  “What was that, Na’Vanad?”

  Bardom glanced at the table of staring eyes and finally sat up. “We have no artillery, General.”

  “We cannot afford artillery,” Kagarani said impatiently.

  “Do you want to win or not?” Bardom said.

  The men around the table frowned at the disrespect.

  “The element of surprise worked on the L’Anis, but it won’t work in the Midlands. Their scouts see for miles, they’ll already know you’re coming for them. Artillery will make up that difference, without it you won’t be able to beat them before you’ve breached the city.”

  “We,” Kagarani noted coldly. “We are coming for them.”

  Bardom swallowed. “Of course, my lord.”

  “Na’Vanad is right,” said Lieutenant Shonga, to many surprised faces. “Ralu has the advantage. He’ll take full credit for the victory, or let us flounder on our own.”

  “My finances have been held up in Katan-Bat,” Kagarani sat back, holding his chin. “The Great Leader took many spoils for his own army.”

  “Perhaps a loan, then?” Shonga suggested.

  “More money into my rivals’ pockets then?” Kagarani grumbled. “I think not. We’ll devise better strategies to combat the enemy to the north.”

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  Yashin cleared his throat. “We can persuade Ralu to provide artillery fire support if it becomes necessary, my lord.”

  Well, well. Looks like Yashin really does want to bring them all down. This is the first time he’s even thought to operate differently. Bardom was impressed that the slave was willing to risk himself for this plan.

  Kagarani glanced between him and Na’Vanad, sensing that the plan had already been discussed before this meeting. “The two of you, eh?”

  “Aye, my lord,” Yashin said. “Joint tactics can yield a positive result for both parties.”

  “The positive for us is only surviving,” Kagarani sighed. “You know what you must offer him?”

  “It will get us some good will,” Yashin assured him with a solemn look. “He has the cards.”

  What must we offer? Bardom wondered.

  Kagarani did not wish to speak to Na’Vanad for several days as they kept up appearances for his operation. If Ralu suspected that Na’Vanad was truly favored by Kagarani, then there was no chance the general would be willing to trust him.

  Being able to gain Ralu’s artillery support would be instrumental in keeping casualties down for Kagarani’s forces in any military expedition. Without Vakin, Kagarani’s position grew ever more isolated. The sudden influx of Shavuim expected from Katan-Bat fell well flat, since their people chose to die in combat rather than live as slaves. Despite how moved he was by their bravery, Bardom did not do the same—his honor compelled him to survive long enough to avenge his family. Now he was preparing for a campaign in another foreign country, fighting for a king he wished to kill.

  There were still some Katanese who joined the Lekkian lord’s army. Less than 200 Katanese Shavuim joined Kagarani’s forces, and none of them were from the city. They were mostly farmers and fishermen who Kagarani employed in their occupations to feed the combat soldiers. Better they supply the army than be liabilities for it, he explained to his advisors. Naturally, Bardom was pleased that these men would not recognize him, but his heart still ached over their new suffering. They didn’t have his fortune. Despite his own cleverness, it was only his luck in finding Yashin that had brought him this far.

  As part of his mission, Bardom spent several more evenings with Captain Anders and his men, speaking with them as a friend—or something close to that.

  However, even with a growing number of Ralu’s men favoring him, Bardom still faced a slave’s life. He lived in a room that used to be a prison cell. He ate gruel and stew everyday. The Shavuim were encouraged to sleep with other female Shavuim who were paid by the lords to get pregnant to keep the supply of new slaves steady. This life gave Bardom a sinking feeling of misery that he had to try desperately to fight off. Reminding himself he was a knight and a prince did not help, but only amplified his despair. This was never meant for me, he found himself thinking.

  Ironically, just as Bardom was fulfilling his mission, Na’Vanad was still seen as a rebellious Shavu. Around the city, some said he was bedding Princess Bilsa in private, which led to increases in her guard presence and people pointing to Bardom when he was on patrols. The amusement of that mere suggestion led to laughter in Kagarani’s drinking halls, and attention in Ralu’s.

  Aside from Yashin’s unit, Na’Vanad was not well-liked among Kagarani’s men. The other Shavuim were jealous of his skills and his favor with the general, while the Lekkian soldiers were suspicious of him—after all, who ever heard of a Shavu garnering so much attention from the lords? He could not blame them, his reputation was spreading like a flame on kindling.

  Meanwhile, Kagarani’s war council questioned if he was the right agent to execute their general’s plans. Yashin’s praises brought him good will, but Na’Vanad was not beloved. Not yet, at least.

  Aside from Yashin, Na’Vanad’s best champion had become the once-skeptical Shai Olek, the cleric who managed the heralds and the messengers, acting as Kagarani’s master of information. His keen mind and wise words made the others listen, and he had said that he felt Na’Vanad was already proving his worth. The stories around Kagarani’s Quarter were no longer about how Kagarani stood at direct odds with Ralu, or how he was being kept in Stet-Lek to fight another campaign north instead of governing Katan-Bat. Conversely, they talked about the slave who danced with a princess. It kept their minds off of the uncertainty of Kagarani’s position.

  Bardom had to agree—Kagarani had a surprising number of knives pointed at his back at present. The more Bardom worked the plans, the more the other lords worried about him. Yashin told Bardom one night, that the lords worried he was the potential son of Khev Vakin let loose, waiting to decide which lord he’d exact revenge on for that crime. Little did they know what he was really planning to do to them.

  One evening, as Bardom sat drinking his beer, fantasizing over Laila as he gazed off into space, he was confronted by his fellow Shavuim in Kagarani’s army. Their jealousy wore on them. They’d lost enough sparring matches to him to tire of trying to embarrass him. Now it was a battle of words, but Bardom did not care to speak. His misery was weighing on him as the ale drained from his cup.

  “You’re rotten, Na’Vanad,” said Crestor, a Shavu from the southernmost village of the Lekkian colony called Olos—another island country that Rontisil invaded, like Yashin’s home. “You hate us, and you hate our lord. Look now how he sits there in his bitterness for our hospitality to him.”

  The crowd clamored in agreement, then hushed as Na’Vanad raised his head from his trance. Laila’s touch was more enjoyable in his mind than the many eyes watching him, and his grimace showed his disinterest in Crestor’s complaints. “Must a man in his thoughts always be deceiving? You think too much of yourself to believe I hate you.”

  It was not a lie, at least not entirely. The slaves that pillaged his home were mostly Ralu’s men, while the ones who took the important buildings and military outposts had been Kagarani’s. It was clear which general had instructed his men to act with honor that day.

  That’s not to say that there weren’t evil men among them. The rapists were loathsome, to be sure, but Bardom knew that in every man lies the capability of such hideous evil. The only way he could change them would be to change their hearts. To make them better men—to make them more than slaves, and more than war.

  “He speaks like a whining bitch,” Crestor said coarsely. “Spit out your truth! Do not hide from us!”

  Some men hollered their agreement among the large gathering of slave soldiers. Deckel sat nervously across from Na’Vanad as the silence weighed the air down and over a hundred men stared at them.

  They must hear that which they’ve been forced to forget, Bardom thought. And they must hear it from Na’Vanad.

  “Do you not ever wish to be free, Crestor?”

  The hall somehow grew quieter—the silence hanging over them. In unison, every man’s eyes seemed to droop, as if they remembered a heartbreak. Of course they do—losing your freedom is among the most terrible of pains.

  “You all mock me,” Bardom said, “but of the lot of you, I’d bet I know the most of what it is like to be free. Let me tell you, men, it’s not something to forget. Every man deserves to be his own master. Every man deserves to live, to marry, to have a family—and look at us! Drinking together, but all of us alone in our hearts, and we call that hospitality? I call it pain.”

  The silence told him they wanted him to continue.

  “Money to eat, to drink, and enough equipment to fight a war, but nothing more… what weak men give us so that we forget how much we loathe our lives. Not a man here, given the chance, would stay in this place. You’ve been told that there is no greater joy than victory for your master. Why do you believe that, when it is so obviously a lie?”

  The room remained silent.

  “Is it not more joyous to love someone else? To own a moment of quiet peace? To care about people other than yourselves?”

  Crestor sat up. “Woah. That sounds like you’re suggesting disobedience.”

  “If it is disobedience to see yourself as more than a tool in someone else’s hand, then so be it,” Na’Vanad replied.

  Some murmuring indicated an agreement.

  “And how do you propose we live this novel life?” asked an older, tired Shavu called Tiri.

  Bardom rubbed his cup. “It is only a dream of freedom I speak of. A mere ideal to fantasize over.” He felt Yashin’s eyes creeping on him disapprovingly. “After all, we are the best treated Shavuim of any warlord in this kingdom.”

  “Aye, to Kagarani!” Deckel said, raising his cup.

  Yashin locked eyes with Bardom as they all drank. Somewhere in those jaded eyes is a man aching to be free, Bardom thought. I know that now.

  Bardom was practicing his sword movements alone under the heat of the sun. He practiced a method of swordplay that required the body to acclimate to difficult conditions as he implemented it—called Shan-Sho, literally translated to “survival stance”. Uncle Wahda had made Bardom train this routine every day for two years when he was still just a squire. Now, Shan-Sho felt vital to him. Survival was everything, otherwise his plans would be for nought.

  He started the routine in the shade, then progressed further into the sunlight, intensifying each repetition as he felt the sweat drip from his brow. The bright sun was a challenge, the heat was a challenge, the fatigue was a challenge. It was an exercise in consistency, teaching the muscles how to memorize movements so that they were instinctual during battle. When survival was at its greatest risk, this stance would keep him alive. It had helped him before.

  Since attaining his knighthood, Bardom L’Ani never lost a duel. Most were for exhibition with low stakes, but he still took them seriously. Before his dueling days, he had won great victories against the Lekkians in the western hills of Katan-Bat, and before that he kept the peace with Wahda.

  He remembered the first man he killed—a bandit who had murdered a man in the country and raided his farm, leaving a widow with several children who were not old enough to take over their late-father’s business. The bandit had been sentenced to work the farm under military supervision for the years that the boys would learn their trade from a neighbor. Instead, the bandit tried to flee after a week of honest work. Bardom found him with a search party, and presented him with the option of a duel or prison. If he won the duel, he could return to his initial punishment. If he lost, he died.

  The bandit should have elected prison—although murderers did not fare well in Katan-Bat’s prisons. Most were executed for the crime. This bandit had been a special case, because he was meant to be executed after his service. Thieves were forced into recompense as their punishments. As a thief and a murderer, he was sentenced to both.

  He chose to duel Bardom, and he lost quickly. That day was difficult, but it taught him something about himself. No man is above his crimes.

  Wahda and Abban were particularly insistent in that teaching.

  Slicing through the air, sending beads of sweat flying from his face, he stewed on his enemies. Rontisil. Ralu, Kagarani. They will all get their due.

  It was not so easy, however.

  Rontisil would require careful planning and posturing to kill, let alone overthrow. Many times Bardom debated with himself if he should simply assassinate him, but it was folly. The world would not simply be made better by his death. If I am to restore the honor of my house, he must be weakened, his power taken. A monster made docile.

  Ralu would be less difficult, but it wouldn’t be simple either. Kagarani needed him dead—sooner or later. Otherwise, he would end up like Vakin. Ralu’s numbers were too daunting to defeat in open combat, even in a battle of subterfuge. He would need to be dealt with in a way that took advantage of his usefulness, but rendered his schemes for power useless. Bardom had the beginnings of a plan, but first he needed to secure his own interests. He had to find Adella.

  If he could find her, perhaps he could buy her. By Lekkian law, Bardom still needed a knighthood to purchase her legally. That meant he needed to keep the three of these warlords from resorting to all out war against each other. Otherwise, he could not guarantee her safety.

  Finally, there was Kagarani. Bardom found the slightest of moral complications digging at him over the thought of betraying him. Aside from Yashin, it was the general who saved Bardom from execution for deserting—or rather, posing as a deserter.

  If I feel any qualms it is out of loyalty to Yashin, not Kagarani, Bardom thought. The veteran slave was fair to him. His unrelenting loyalty to Kagarani, however, was concerning.

  Bardom swung hard at the completion of his routine. As he caught his breath, he thought about Yashin, and wondered about all that he had lost. Why would he be so faithful to Kagarani after that?

  Fear, Bardom thought. It must be fear. Bardom did not know for sure what Yashin had lost upon being taken, but he knew that forgetting the sweetness of freedom did not come without immense fear.

  But Yashin seemed to have very few reasons to fear Kagarani. He enjoyed being left out of the crowd, but always had the general’s ear. He was as influential as the Lekkians on his war council. That was no small thing for a slave. In fact, it was a serious honor.

  Is it his influence that he enjoys? Bardom sat in the side shadows, checking the edge on his sword as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Power for a man who’s been powerless for so long must taste as sweet as sugar.

  Or perhaps it’s an agreement. A quid pro quo of sorts. What could Kagarani have promised Yashin?

  Deckel checked in on Bardom, tossing him a a cloth to wipe the sweat from his face. “Lost in thought, friend?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “The past has your focus?” Deckel crossed his arms, as if dwelling on something. “Aye, we all remember old days fondly, and some other old days with remorse. Or dread. Loss haunts me, too.”

  “My eyes are on the future,” Bardom said after a silent moment. “Let it not be said that Na’Vanad trained alone because he was depressed over some old loss.”

  Deckel hesitated in surprise. Maybe “Forgive me—it was a foolish assumption.”

  Bardom nodded gently, then turned his eyes back to his blade. “I’ve never asked where you are from, Deckel.”

  “Seriously, call me Deck,” he replied. “I’m not formal, if you haven’t gathered. We’ve drank together enough times to be friends. I was born in a port city in the northwest of the country. My parents died in a fire, and my uncle didn’t want me. He sold me to a slave trader. Sounds terrible, but it changed me. The slaver fed me, worked me, and finally traded me to Lord Kagarani to pay off a debt. He saw something in me, and made me into a man.” He presented his broad body with a grin, and laughed heartily, “Now look at me!”

  Bardom chuckled. “You’re impressive, but—”

  Deckel frowned.

  Bardom snickered. “Haven’t you ever wanted to be something greater than a slave?”

  A thoughtful glance to the side stirred some skepticism deep inside the muscular giant. “I could’ve been nothing. At least I’m this. At least I’ve—“ Then he trailed off.

  “What is it?” Bardom pressed gently.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ve got children, Na’Va.”

  Bardom tilted his head in surprise. “I didn’t know you were married.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh,” Bardom paused. “A concubine, then?”

  Deckel swallowed, slightly embarrassed. “A few.”

  “A few?” Bardom looked over his friend. “How many children do you have, Deckel?”

  “It might be better if I showed you,” he mumbled.

  Bardom followed Deckel into the villa beside the Shavuim Markets. Kagarani’s domain sprawled for miles and many people lived there—Shavuim in some parts, Lekkians in others. Deckel guided Bardom into a building next to a shabby brothel, where a number of frightened, dirty women watched them as they entered. Their eyes stuck particularly to Bardom’s every move. They saw him as a threat.

  “Father!” a little boy’s face lit up. He ran over to Deckel, who scooped him.

  “This is my son, Dig,” Deckel smiled. “How old are you, lad?”

  “Five years, sir,” he said to Bardom, smiling with a missing tooth. He looked like he was trying to imitate a soldier.

  Deckel saw the look on his face and let the kid down. “Go find me your siblings, will you?”

  Dig nodded and ran off.

  “These are dormitories for whores,” Bardom said.

  Deckel laughed nervously. “General Kagarani gives us women after battles,” he said. “I suppose I have the strongest seed, because few of the others have as many children.”

  Bardom’s face darkened with realization. That bastard, he thought. “Does the general know you have so many children?”

  “Oh yes,” Deckel nodded assuredly. “He’s promised me they’ll all be provided for, and the boys will become soldiers one day.”

  Bardom pulled him aside. “Don’t you see what he’s doing?” Bardom hissed. “He’s forcing you to breed, and forcing your children to be his Shavuim as well!”

  “Nonsense!” Deckel snarled. “It is an honor. Why would he wish to subjugate children? He’s giving them a purpose! Something I could never do for them.”

  “Yet it is you who views being a slave as an honor,” Bardom replied. “A generational honor, so it seems.”

  Deckel nearly responded, but stayed his tongue. Bardom was piercing his armor, finally.

  “This is how he keeps you loyal, don’t you see?” Bardom sighed, watching a dozen children enter the room, weaving past women laundering clothes and kneading dough. “A good loyal soldier, strong as an ox, making him more soldiers just like him, all for free. You must not let him have them.”

  Deckel blinked repeatedly, then a stampede of children of various ages bustled into the room. “This is only a matter for the future. Let us not worry about it now. They are only children.”

  He knelt and wrapped them in a group hug. Bardom felt his blood boil at this cruelty. Deckel’s whole world was in this room—these children were his every worry.

  “Stop complaining,” Yashin ate quietly.

  “Deckel is a good man, a loyal soldier!” Bardom whispered aggressively.

  “So?” Yashin replied. “His general is honoring him by supporting the results of his reckless nights.”

  “Children to be made into slaves?” Bardom frowned. “Do they not deserve to be free? To choose a life for themselves?”

  “They’d end up mercenaries and workmen at best,” he said, “whores and thieves at worst. Dead too young altogether. This way, they have a path to follow. A path where they won’t be hungry, won’t be poor. Is that not better?”

  To think being a slave is better than being poor! Bardom shook his head. What a backwards place.

  “Who was the woman in the alleyway the other day?” Yashin changed the subject.

  Bardom shot him a glance.

  “Hide your secrets all you want,” he said, “but the only way I can protect you is if I know them.”

  Bardom sighed. “The princess.”

  “Bilsa?” he hissed angrily.

  “No!” Bardom glanced around, keeping his voice low. “Laila.”

  Yashin’s look of confusion wrinkled his whole face. “What are you up to, tolo?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “She fancies me, that’s all.”

  Yashin buried his eyes under his hand, as he so often did. “You truly wish to be executed. Is it too much to ask for you to be a loyal, unproblematic soldier? Just put your head down and do what you’re told?”

  “I do that, too,” he answered with a smirk. “What’s wrong with me talking to her?”

  “You’re a Shavu!” he said. “Shavuim do not speak to royalty without permission and many guards. If someone were to see you, you’d be brought before the Great Leader in chains.”

  “She was disguised,” Bardom explained. “It’s not so terrible.”

  Yashin shook his head. “There is no containing you,” he muttered. “You’ll only stop when they’ve caught you…”

  Bardom rolled his eyes.

  “What else have you discovered?” Yashin grumbled.

  “Not much,” he said. “Adella is stationed in the White Building, so they call it. It’s Ralu’s most expensive brothel. I haven’t been able to get in yet.”

  “How do we get you in?”

  “I’m going to need more money,” he said. “Or an invitation from Ralu himself.”

  “How much?”

  “25 silvers,” he said. “They don’t take gold from Shavuim at his brothels. They assume it’s stolen.”

  “Pests,” Yashin replied. “I’ll give it to you from my purse.”

  Bardom looked at Yashin with humility. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You’ve spent more in two weeks than I’ve ever spent in my whole life in Stet-Lek. Kagarani will lose his patience if I ask for more money before anything new develops with Ralu.”

  “Thank you,” Bardom said. “When should I go?”

  “Tonight,” Yashin said, crossing his arms. “The party tomorrow could always go poorly, and you may no longer be welcomed in Ralu’s part of the city.”

  “Understood,” he said. “Can I bring company?”

  “You’re only friend is Deckel,” Yashin said. “After this conversation, I don’t want him anywhere near a brothel.”

  Bardom conceded the point.

  “Go alone,” Yashin ordered. “Don’t get killed.”

  “Yes, sir.”