Water babbled as it flowed through the garden channel—a sound not heard all winter, when the stream was covered in a thin layer of ice. This harbinger of spring reached Yotalu’s ears, but it failed to register to him. He stared hard at the man, white-haired and dressed in furs, who knelt before him.
“There’s no mistake?”
The man raised his head. “No, sir.”
His face, deeply seamed with age, was almost brazenly blank, but Yotalu paid no heed. The important thing was the information he bore, not his character. “Did you confirm it yourself, Malji?”
Even when addressed by name, the man remained impassive. “The soldiers of Aquafa wouldn’t know him,” he responded, his voice still muted. “It was I who examined the body.”
Yotalu’s eyes narrowed. “And Kenoi was the only one who could manipulate the beasts that carry the disease. Is that correct?”
Malji paused as though considering before replying. “Yes, I believe so,” he said. “I cannot say for certain because such power is indiscernible to the naked eye. However, Kenoi was the only one they called the Dog King. The other handlers appeared incapable of leading the pack.”
“Then what became of the Kinma dogs after Kenoi’s death?”
“They scattered into the mountains.”
Yotalu scowled. “You mean you don’t know where they are?”
Malji shook his head. “Not right now. But I sent my men after them.”
“I see. Let me know what they find.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yotalu remained silent for a moment, staring at Malji. The spy was the leader of what had once been called the King’s Net, but for many years now, he’d reported to Zol on political movements in Aquafa.
To rule a frontier territory required skill as deft as that needed to handle wives and concubines. On the surface, wives were docile and obedient, but behind the scenes, they gathered information and schemed against potential rivals to strengthen their own positions. Men knew this, and women knew that they knew. But neither side let on, because they understood that this was the best way to maintain harmony.
Likewise, the King of Aquafa surely knew that Yotalu received information from Malji, and that suited Yotalu very well. If he summoned and openly threatened the king over every little problem, it would expose the dilemmas that squirmed beneath the surface of frontier administration. That would lend those issues greater importance than they deserved, forcing Yotalu to submit a report, one that would be seen by the Emperor’s Eyes. In particular, Governor Oah would see it. He was the most ambitious prince elector, whose audacity seemed to grow daily, as if he were waiting for a chance to make Aquafa his own. If he discovered even the slightest fault, he would counsel the emperor to replace Yotalu’s father. The emperor, who was fully aware that problems were normal in frontier governance, was unlikely to respond to a minor incident, but that would change if he thought anything might escalate.
Whatever the case, this is my chance to show what I can do. Yotalu believed that the best approach was to nip any problems in the bud. Making the King of Aquafa aware that he’d been found out and would be ruthlessly crushed should he act unwisely without directly saying it was best. The Molfah were a convenient tool for such silent intimidation.
In the long run, using excessive force when managing a remote territory like Aquafa was counterproductive. The inhabitants of such regions were merely people. If they felt oppressed, their anger would build to an eruption. In fact, it was Utalu’s vicious response to the toxic grain incident that set the recent events in motion.
Those sanctions… At the time, Yotalu had protested the harsh punishment his brother had decreed. While beheading the perpetrators and sentencing their collaborators to slavery was just, to banish the entire people from their homeland was going too far. However, Yotalu’s brother had scoffed at him and called him soft, insisting that this was a golden opportunity to impress upon the people of Aquafa the consequences of attacking any settlers. The more severe the penalty, the greater its impact, he’d argued.
Well, he found out the hard way which one of us was right. Punishment only works if the person on the receiving end feels that its warranted. That was especially true when the object of punishment was an entire clan. Injustice begot bitter resentment, which could sprout into future trouble. Frontier management was no short-term task. It needed to be implemented steadily for generations. They couldn’t afford to make the local people yearn for the days when the king ruled Aquafa.
I must consider the fate of the Ahfal Oma very carefully.
If they sided with Ohfan’s radical faction and rebelled, they would have to be punished severely. But if they refrained from doing so and left the rebels isolated, their loyalty ought to be rewarded, to make them glad of their choice. Yotalu was quite prepared to do the latter. It’s why he hadn’t told his father of the Dog King who lead the infected beasts.
Father has aged.
The death of his eldest son had taken the governor by surprise, and he still couldn’t accept what had happened. The suspicion that the King of Aquafa was behind the attack consumed him. Like a rat trapped in a narrow box, racing back and forth in growing frustration, Yotalu’s father’s hatred for the Aquafaese waxed stronger every day. If he knew the whole story, he would punish Ohfan, the Ahfal Oma, and the King of Aquafa. His retribution on the kingdom would be so dire, it would kill any future attempt at rebellion.
And that would be utterly foolish.
The governor might succeed in venting his fury over his son’s death, but in so doing, he would undo years of painstaking effort to lay roots in Aquafa. They would have to start all over. And we have no time for that. Not now, when friction with Mukonia is mounting.
If the current crisis died down, Yotalu intended to bury the truth in the darkness of ignorance without ever informing his father. However, if the fugitive Ohfan should cause any trouble, Yotalu could face major repercussions for his failure to share that information. He sighed. In either case, everything depended on Ohfan’s next move.
Yotalu returned his attention to Malji. “Have you learned where Ohfan went?” he asked.
Malji frowned and shook his head. “Not yet.”
Yotalu peered at him silently, and Malji gazed back, a deep furrow between his brows. “My sons are following him, so I’m sure they’ll locate him soon,” he said.
Yotalu nodded. “Let me know as soon as you do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does Ohfan have any children?”
“Two daughters. No sons.”
“Any siblings?”
“Two brothers, but they both died of illness. I’ve heard that Ohfan is the only one left.”
Yotalu grunted and stroked his chin. “The bonds among the Ahfal Oma are strong. Even those unrelated to him can’t be trusted. Spread your net wide.”
“Yes, sir,” Malji said, prostrating himself again.
Yotalu’s face softened slightly. “You and the Molfah have done well. I promised that I would exempt your people from taxes. I’ll extend that exemption for three years rather than two. Let me put that in writing and give it to you now.”
Malji remained prostrate, mumbling his gratitude. Yotalu gazed at his bowed head. The man wasn’t doing this for the tax exemption alone. Surely, he and his men realized the effect their actions would have on Aquafa as a whole. And precisely because they knew, they were willing to cast their fine net at the risk of their own lives. Malji would be off now to bear news to the king’s man. How Yotalu wished he could be a gecko on the wall to hear that conversation.
Malji strode away from Yotalu’s hall, then paused and turned. In the light of the newly risen moon, the edifice cast a long shadow on the road. A man stepped from the darkness and approached. It was his son, Mukata.
“Did you learn anything?” Malji asked quietly.
“It’s taking longer than we thought. Blizzards are still frequent in the north.”
Malji grunted. “And Sae?”
“She’s sticking close to the man.”
Malji stared at his son motionlessly, but a grimness touched his features. Finally, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “What about the other Ahfal Oma?”
Mukata explained to his father the situation in each region of Aquafa, one by one. News of Kenoi’s death had not reached the Ahfal Oma, with the exception of the Lightning Squad, which had ended up in the Yukata Mountains. Most of the clan continued their lives unchanged. “They were so deftly fragmented, it’s very quiet,” Mukata said. “I’m not sure how they’ll react when they do learn the truth, but they’re bound to hear it from a traveling merchant or the like eventually.”
Malji snorted. He gazed off into space, mulling over this information. Upon returning his attention to Mukata, he replied, “Not much we can do about it right now, I guess. Just stay on your toes.”
Mukata nodded. With a short bow, he made to leave when Malji called out. “Hey!”
Mukata turned.
“We’ve been exempted from taxes for an extra year. Let everyone know.”
Mukata’s face brightened. “I will.”
As his son melted into the shadows, Malji set off in the opposite direction. He walked slowly, pondering what he would tell Tohlim. And what he wouldn’t. Yotalu possessed a quiet manner, but Malji sensed something formidable beneath. It would not do to underestimate him.
Aquafa, Zol, and the frontier clans—if Malji failed to read the tangled threads correctly, his people would suffer. Perhaps it had been a mistake to refrain from mentioning Van when Yotalu asked if Kenoi alone could lead the Kinma dogs. It had been a snap judgment based on multiple factors. Malji frowned as he recalled the man who’d saved his daughter, Sae, and abandoned Kenoi.
Fatigue slowed his body. In the past, he could have run from one mountain to another without sleeping for two nights, but now, when twilight came, exhaustion lay heavy in his bones.
It’s going to be a long night.
After reporting to the king’s man, there was one other place he would need to visit. When Malji thought of the one who awaited him there, his mind was pulled, as if by an invisible thread, to yet another face—the pale, sickly face of his eldest son, stricken with disease since childhood. He was over forty now, but it was the innocent face of a boy that Malji remembered.
He sighed. I wonder what he’ll order me to do. Having met with the last person he’d see tonight several times recently, he could pretty much guess. Besides, they’d known each other a long time.
Honestly. With so many overlapping threads in his hand, he would have to be extra careful that they didn’t get snarled. Malji grunted irritably and, quickening his steps, dissolved into the night.