The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(101)

“We have enough to hold them,” Anzi said, as if reading Sunandi’s mind. “And this is our land. We have ambushes set throughout the valley and the surrounding mountains. Our supply lines are reliable. We can keep them here days, even weeks if we must—long enough for our troops on the way from the south to arrive. It will be a war of attrition, which they will inevitably lose. Their commander is a fool if he doesn’t see this.”

Mweke watched him for a moment. “Perhaps they, too, have reinforcements on the way.”

“Perhaps. Likely, in fact. But this is still wrong,” Anzi said. Sunandi winced at his disrespect, but Mweke merely sighed. Perhaps the Protectors were used to him. “This was foolish from the outset. If they meant to win, they should have arrived with twice this number, if not more.”

“What are you saying, General?” Sunandi said. “That they have no desire to win?” She could almost smell the Gujaareen troops’ hatred. Many of them were northerners, the scouts had reported—barbarians who scorned all civilized folk as soft and decadent cowards. They were hungry for the chance to reap the riches of Kisua.

“I have no idea,” he said. “You know these foreign madmen better than I. But if they’ve come to die on our shores, then I shall be happy to oblige them.” He gave Sunandi and Mweke a curt nod, then wheeled his horse away. They saw him start down the trail that led from their encampment on the heights into the valley. From there he would lead the battle.

Which would be very soon now, Sunandi saw. The sky in the east had grown visibly paler in the past few moments.

“We should break camp, Esteemed,” she said to Mweke. “Negotiation is no longer possible. We must return to the capital, where you and the other Protectors can be properly defended.”

Mweke nodded, but did not move. “Anzi is correct,” she said. “There must be something more to this. The Prince of Gujaareh is no fool. He has a maze of a mind.”

Sunandi had never heard a more fitting metaphor, but they had more pressing matters at the moment. “We can do nothing but deal with the problem on our doorstep, Esteemed.”

“No. We can make our own plans to foil the Prince, and have done. The relief troops from the south will not come here. The other Protectors and I have chosen to send them north.”

Sunandi frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand, Esteemed. There’s nothing north but the Empty Thousand, and—” The realization came almost at once; she trailed off. Mweke read her face and nodded in cool approval.

“There can be no reason for the Prince to have built a garrison in the desert,” the elder said, “other than to support an invasion by land. A second invasion. The Protectors believe this”—she gestured out at the Gujaareen army gathered on Soijaro—“to be merely a diversion. So we will deal with the true threat at its source.”

Sunandi swallowed hard. “The general may have need of those troops, Esteemed. At the very least he should know to expect no relief.”

“It is problematic to ask a soldier to risk his life for no good reason,” Mweke said. “He doesn’t fight as hard, thinking it hopeless; he welcomes death too quickly, thinking of the glory in sacrifice. We must have Anzi’s full commitment, for this is our distraction as well. Kisua has defenses enough to deal with this rabble, should we lose the battle. But we shall win the war. When our relief troops are done with the desert garrison, they have orders to continue even further north, to Gujaareh’s capital.”

Struck dumb by pure horrified astonishment, Sunandi stared at her.

“So it must be,” Mweke said. Her voice was soft, almost lost in the early-morning breeze, but implacable. “Gujaareh is a daughter gone wayward and spoiled, and now we must take her in hand. The correction will be painful for both our lands, but in the end all will be better.” She glanced over at Sunandi, contemplative. “You’ve done very well through all this, Jeh Kalawe—better than expected, given your youth. Learn from these events. They may make you a formidable Protector, some day.”

With that, Mweke turned her horse and rode away, back to where a party of soldiers and slaves were packing their encampment to leave.

Sunandi gazed after her, too numb to follow. Inadvertently she visualized a pitched battle at the gates of Gujaareh. The image of pale walls splashed red filled her with sudden nausea. She had always hated Gujaareh. And yet…

Behind Sunandi, dawn broke.

Below, on the plateau, the battle began.

Sunandi closed her eyes against the massed battle cry of twenty-two thousand men. Silently, for the first time in her life, she prayed to Hananja.

Stop this. Only You can, at this point. Make the Prince see reason. Save Your city—and both our lands—from more pointless, useless death.

For a long moment, as she had expected, there was no answer. Then the back of her neck prickled, reacting to a presence. Startled, she turned in her saddle.

Ehiru stood behind her horse, his shoulders slumped, his eyes on the ground. Sunandi caught her breath, more glad than she could ever have imagined to see him alive. But—

He lifted his head and Sunandi recoiled, shocked by what looked out at her through his eyes. Insanity, naked and glittering, so alien to his face that she barely recognized him. Insanity and something more: hunger.

Distantly, through the sudden pounding of her heart in her ears, Sunandi registered that the sounds of the battle below had faltered to a halt. They all see him, she realized, though she could not have said how she knew. Every soldier, official, and slave on the Soijaro plateau shared this vision.