Not Talal; Not Sanuye

Forty-eight hundred men were dead or missing. Twenty-five hundred were injured, and many of those would die in the coming days. He had some healers to tend to his wounded, the twenty-six that Nexus didn't see fit to kill, but they weren't enough. He'd be lucky to leave Bitter Spring with fifteen thousand men who could march and fight.

They who'd stayed behind at Bitter Spring had dug everywhere within the garden walls and outside in the mischus. Everywhere they tried, they found a layer of rock where the water table should be — no doubt disciples' work. If Zorda was still alive, he could have broken through and watered the entire army in half a day, but the enemy had made double-sure the so-called simpleton was dead. As a consequence, soldiers were scraping moisture out of plants to stay alive.

The smartest option now was to abandon the campaign, hoping the Pasha would let them go home to Kashmar. Zaid knew it, his commanders knew it, and the soldiers knew it. But their Tyrant had forbidden it. "Return victorious or do not return," was his command. That didn't just apply to Zaid but to the entire army. Anyone who returned home in failure would be executed.

To raise morale, the Chargers posted arms and appalons they'd captured from the rebels around their camp like trophies. They visited the other regiments and related how they crushed the fighters of Broken Ode. The enemy wasn't unbeatable, just hard to corner.

The final order Zaid gave before sleeping was to his healers. They were to prioritize getting men into fighting shape over saving lives. It was cruel to allow salvageable men to die, but men who couldn't march couldn't win. And, fewer men drank less water.

Exhausted, Zaid dozed with the unredacted Maia report in his hand.

The day was too hot to sleep well, one of those summer afternoons that slipped away from the calendar and didn't return until halfway through autumn. Even the rebels wouldn't move far in that heat. According to the scouts, the night would bring cold temperatures. Not frosting like the autumn nights farther north, but cold enough to feel bitter after a hot day. Temperatures that felt pleasantly brisk at home would set men to shivering who weren't marching.

If it wasn't for the Grand Company's message, Zaid would have stayed in his bedroll despite the poor rest. The ancient silvered box rattled until he thought the lid might fly off, then halted with ominous import. In silence, he opened its lid and took the boards from within. He was almost afraid to read them. He needed good news, and this could be anything. He laughed at his timid childishness and unsealed the stack.

The Hyskos five thousand were intact and had raided Lustrous Voice with minimal opposition. They had taken hundreds of prisoners for the slave auctions and killed off the men who didn't run. That was exactly what Zaid needed: a reason for the tribes to break apart. The news wasn't all good: Hyskos encountered scouts from the sixth and seventh regiments. The enemy knew about the secret Riverlands path and had been waiting for them. Of the original six thousand, a little fewer than three remained. But, the regiments had acquitted themselves well: they killed two disciples and several hundred rebels. It was a poor rate of exchange, but Zaid had enough lives to pay it. As long as he avoided another Laggard's Shaft, he had a path to victory.

There was no water to wash with, and precious little to drink, but he did his best to make himself presentable, then met with his commanders over dry rations and a map to discuss what to do next. Most of the army would be up soon, and they still didn't have orders.

"Where are all the people?" asked the commander of Third Regiment. "They have to be somewhere."

"Probably mixed in with other oases," offered Eight, newly promoted to fill his dead predecessor's boots. "Sand Castle isn't big enough to hold everyone."

"I'm surprised the kid convinced a tribe to abandon their homes."

"He can restore their homes," Zaid told them. "If you believe Nexus News, he has enough disciples to grow a garden in half a year. After what we've seen lately, I'm inclined to believe it."

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"A rag made of heresies." Guardian Paraskevi spat the invective with less than her usual energy. She looked haggard, even more so than the healers, and the Princeps wondered if she'd ever experienced privation. To her credit, she wasn't complaining about it.

"Even if he can restore an oasis, the people have to be somewhere today. Phillip is an idealist. He won't abandon his populace."

Three understood. "If we find his people and threaten them, then his army will find us."

"Bitter Spring had over a thousand people, too many to keep at watering holes," added the Second commander, "they have to be at oases."

Three put his finger on the map, along the north-south highway they had followed so far. "The next on the way to Sand Castle is Saluja. That'll be one he plans to sacrifice. But after that is Dagono. It'll be a hard march with no water, but we could avoid Saluja and march straight for Dagono. That puts us at an oasis that, maybe, he hasn't turned into a giant trap."

"What about Pashtuk?" countered Five. "It's a cross-country march, but it's a lot closer than Dagono." Pashtuk was on the east-west highway that connected Hyskos to Ullidia via Sand Castle. To get there directly from Bitter Spring, they'd have to head southeast and pass between Scavenger Lake and the Cobbles.

"We'll never get the trains over the bare ground," complained Two.

"Leave the trains," said Five, "load what we need onto gurantors and head directly there. Abandon everything non-essential. Travel as Calique do."

"That's a huge gamble," warned Two. "We won't be able to repair equipment or cook."

"It is a gamble," Zaid agreed, "but everything is a gamble right now. We die if we stay here, we can't go home, and I'd bet my last boraz Saluja is another trap. Our sensible choices are boxed in, so we have to do something unexpected."

There was some argument after that, between sticking to the road and trying each oasis along the way, or making a dangerous cross-country trek to a less convenient location like Pashtuk. The main point of contention wasn't whether or not Pashtuk was a good destination, but if leaving behind their usual support was a good idea.

They were interrupted by bulwark-thrown sling stones arching over the walls of Bitter Spring and plowing through the camp. The men had gotten so used to the bombardments they acted on reflex. There was a rush to take cover against the outer walls and beneath shields, while the brigade on duty charged blindly toward the source of the attack. They weren't likely to connect with the enemy, but a tight formation of spears charging in the right direction would chase them off. Phillip conserved his best assets carefully and wouldn't allow them to fall into serious danger, so they retreated as soon as any spearmen got close.

A few minutes after the stones stopped falling, Zaid got a report. The sling attack was a diversion. Twelve of their gurantors were missing, and the rest had been killed with arrows to the head. One would think that, on the flat expanse of desert, a stolen gurantor would be easy to spot. But all they could see was a cloud of dust rising in the distance. Zaid had to stop his elite cavalry from chasing them down: if he were in Phillip's shoes he would have used the opportunity to pull the Chargers away from camp into an ambush.

The loss of all their cargo beasts decided the matter. Since they were forced to travel light anyway, Zaid would march his men to Pashtuk.

"Send out scouts to the watering holes south and southwest of us right away," he ordered, "and let's send a vanguard force south. Maybe the rebels will buy the feint and send their fighters south. As soon as it's dark, we'll march the main body southeast to here, at the entrance of the neck between the Cobbles and Scavenger Lake. The mounted forces will meet us there. Anyone who can't march will stay here with the wagons."

Zaid wrote fake orders in triplicate, telling the Grand Company to raid the southmost settlements. Given mercenary sensibilities, it was common practice to give them low-risk jobs, so the order didn't seem out of place. Meanwhile, the main Kashmari force would pass by Scavenger Lake and then take a sudden turn west toward Sand Castle. Nexus made a habit of disappearing his scouts and messengers, so Zaid might as well put them to a different use.

The real orders warned about the fake ones, and said to join forces near Pashtuk. While the tribes sent their men to the south or to Sand Castle, Zaid could capture a settlement, one Phillip hadn't planned to sacrifice. The genuine orders went into the ancient message box, which rattled and hummed as soon as the lid was closed. When Zaid opened it again, it was empty. At least one thing went right.

After the orders were dispatched, the Princeps started his tour of the regiments. To each one he gave a speech. He reminded them of the life debt that every Kashmari owed to their Tyrant for the peace and security their families enjoyed. He tempted them with the glory they could obtain through victory. Most importantly, he reminded them the enemy could be beaten. Broken Ode was broken. Lustrous Voice was silenced. The enemy forces hid from Kashmar because they were afraid.

Every regiment cheered him, and why shouldn't they? For the whole of their lives, they'd heard similar words nearly every day. Now those ideas had true import. They had bled, and some of them had died, for the iron hand that kept them secure in its grasp. Unlike mercenaries or fractious tribesmen, they would fight to the last and fight together.