The little gray man (not literally gray, he just gave one the impression of grayness) seemed quite unbothered by an intelligence failure that had killed thousands directly, and probably killed triple that over the next few months. He had successfully worked for the Xia his entire life because he never forgot the fundamental rule- don’t look like food.
“Simply put- we weren’t looking in that direction. We have limited resources to allocate across continent wide intelligence gathering operations, and most of those operations are passive. Our merchants and partners travel across the continent, making note of what they see, and then those reports are compiled and analyzed at Central House. This allows a very broad, though not very timely, understanding of the world.”
Xiatoktok waved his hand, indicating that if the gray man didn’t get to his point in a timely way, Xiatoktok would be entirely responsible for what happened next.
“The lands to the immediate west of the Mud Dragon River are settled, but thinly settled. It is simply far too valuable farmland to leave fallow. While there aren’t any large, formal armies operating in the area, The Two Souled are raiding heavily and any number of displaced peoples and tribal groups are acting as proxy forces for larger powers. The Great Northern Unification Front was one of those minor forces, operating around the great inland seas. We have reports of them as far south as Stripe Cat, as far west as New Ulm, and our merchants found them trading in Sky’s Echo. There are dozens of forces just like them.”
“How do we get from small bands of tribal raiders in the middle of the continent to five thousand plus armed, organized, mounted, irregulars in Cold Garden? Irregulars who have, somehow, managed to evade the City watchtowers, our own mercenary companies in the field, random caravanners, local farmers, and some guy taking a drunken piss off the wall in the middle of the night?” There was more than an edge in Xiatoktok’s voice. There was an entire guillotine.
“They were collected from all across the plains, fed and wintered in camps around Shelbyville, given training, given indoctrination on the ideological tenants promoted by the GNUF, and then deployed as raiders to threaten Red Mountain and all the commerce raiding that we have been seeing for the last few months. Now that snow and cold have made small raids impractical, they came together for one big hit on Cold Garden. They were able to do this because they were essentially moving in plain sight.” The little gray man shrugged.
“They were dressed like tribal folk, moved in bands, and if anyone asked why there were so few women with them, they said that the women had gone to the camps already, and they were just coming back from trading. They were coming to Cold Garden to stock up for the long push into spring. One claimed that he even waved to a guard in a watch tower, and the guard waved back.”
Xiatoktok took a moment to digest that.
“The prisoner wasn’t lying, by the way. We found the guard. She committed suicide by fire, and her suicide note was a confession and prayer to not be buried with the honorable dead.”
“At least one prayer will be granted, then.”
“Oh yes. Her remains are currently lining the bottom of a latrine in a refugee camp.” The gray spymaster gave an empty smile. “As for the guards on the wall and the gates that were supposed to be closed, some of the raiders came in during the day quite openly. At night, they murdered the guards and opened the gates. It was quite a daring operation, but they came in numbers and the Cold Garden militia has never been known for its diligence or competence.”
“The considered opinion of the Central House’s intelligence gathering departments, based on the currently available information, is that the raiders were lured with food to training camps, did some light pillaging around the northwest for a couple of months, and then capped it off with a stroll up to Cold Garden.”
“You have grasped the essence of it, yes.”
“And you don’t see any problem with failing to notice military training camps less than a hundred miles from Red Mountain? It’s two days and a bit on good cheve.” Xiatoktok’s voice was wonderfully composed.
“Respectfully, President, the difference between an ordinary winter camp and a winter camp intended to train mounted irregular forces is practically non-existent to the casual observer. The plains are simply littered with almost identical camps. And as I said, the overwhelming majority of our information gathering is done passively, by traveling merchants, mercenaries and the like. They had no reason to stop at those camps, as completely out of the way as they are.”
The spymaster shrugged. “Intelligence failures are always obvious in retrospect, but absent major changes in how our intelligence collection system is structured and funded, it would simply be impossible to try and keep track of every band of people camped on the plains.”
Nice little bit of misdirection with the funding there, nice little bit of deflection. I played that game forty years before you were born, you little shit.
“So how do we make sure it never happens again? Although I do think your point about restructuring is well taken. Perhaps some people need to be shuffled around.”
The spymaster calmly ignored the implication. “That would be best. Right now, we have a series of intelligence channels that all run independently and not all of them terminate at Central House. For example, I know that the Bank has two departments that engage in intelligence collection and analysis, at least partially independently of central oversight. This is true outside the Bank too. Consolidating responsibility for intelligence gathering and analysis would be an enormous improvement in both efficiency and effectiveness.”
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It would also make the spymaster one of the most powerful people in the Clan, regardless of their proximity to the main line. In practice such a person would necessarily be a thrall of the Patriarch and a toady of the Business Council. Just like this anonymous prick. What an AMAZING coincidence.
“Noted. And more immediately?”
The gray man raised an eyebrow. “Immediately? The Clan has hired internally to have mercenary companies aggressively scouting the region around Cold Garden. We are improving the defenses around the Clan holdings, and the cooperation with the Throng has never been better. All thanks to you, President, and your family.”
Xiatoktok sighed internally. This little bastard didn’t report to him directly. In fact, he was one of the Patriarch’s Clerks, making him utterly untouchable. And he knew it too. Xiatoktok wasn’t going to get anything more out of this conversation. He waved the gray man out of his office, and rubbed his temples. He hated feeling powerless.
Xia Gentian stood on a pile of rubble, spear in hand. A small bubble of Xia guards surrounded her, some of whom were with her on the Night of Burning Tears. The Militia was there too. The crowd facing her was sizable, perhaps a few hundred people gathered in the freezing cold to hear her.
“This was the Dillwater School. Right where I am standing. We gathered here to share our joy, to lift our spirits, to pray for Teacher Dillwater and his speedy recovery. I see some faces in the crowd from that night- you, Brother. And you, Sister. And you, and you, and these children here, all gathered together to sing, to dance.” She pointed at a face in the crowd.
“I saw you, Brother, in the cold, in the night, when you thought no one was watching. You picked up some litter around the school. You straightened the dustbins and you were measuring up some boards with your hands. Planning repairs for the morning? I thought so. You hid your virtue in the dark, trusting that the light of your soul would be seen by the heavens. I saw you carry two children under your arms, running down the alleys to save them from the raiders. The heavens saw you too.” The crowd murmured their approval, and those near the numb looking man hugged him.
“The school burnt down. Our homes, our city, burnt. But not our will. Not our faith. We stand bloodied but unbowed.” She signaled two of her guards, who brought up a large heat stone. “This is the heat stone that used to warm the Dillwater school. It was in the middle of the room, and all the students sat around it. Warmed by its heat and their teacher’s care. It was the warm, invisible light of education, improving the lives of children day by day.”
Xia Gentian looked over the crowd and with absolute authority declared- “That light has not gone out. It’s right here. Now, more than ever, our children need a place to be warm. They need to have purpose. They need to be taught, so that when tomorrow comes, and it will come, they will be ready for it. My people, we need the Dillwater school back!”
This got some applause.
“So here’s what we are going to do. We are going to clear this spot. Two piles- what can be salvaged, which will be little enough, and what must be hauled away.” She pointed with the spear. “We are going to clear the earth, check the foundations, and then, my people, we rebuild. We rebuild! Paying work, mind you, and meals will be provided to any that need them. I am very proud to say that my family is putting up the money to rebuild this school out of our own pockets. So if anyone wants to say that you actually got money from President Xiatoktok instead of paying him, now’s your chance.” This got a laugh. “And Madam Xiatokja is providing the food. Best fresh fruit and vegetables you ever had in winter. So line up and let’s get it done!”
This got a lot of cheers and people started forming queues. Xia Gentian stepped down from the rubble carefully and walked off to the side. Her role was largely done, but it was important that she stayed around and stayed visible. It would improve morale, and show that they really were serious about rebuilding.
She did her duty diligently, consulting with various dignitaries that came by to “observe,” but eventually, cold and tea combined to send her to the privy. The area was thoroughly guarded, but that wasn’t to say it was empty. Xia Gentian passed several little lean-to’s and rubble-made hovels between the worksite and the latrines. From one, she heard a prayer.
“Mother Malima please bless my daughter Sani with your mercy and protection. Mother Malima, please welcome my little Sani into your home and your arms. Mother Malima please protect her from all demons in the empty wastes…” The woman’s voice broke and resumed.
“She is so small. She is so bright and precious. She looks around and has questions about everything. Please be patient, as I know you are. She loves to sing and play with other children. You have a wonderful yard, she will love to run and dance and sing with the other kids there. Sani was always so good about doing her chores when she could do them with other people. You will love her. Tell her mommy loves her. Tell her mommy is sorry. She is so, so sorry. Tell her that daddy is a star now, and always shining down on her, even in the daytime when she can’t see him. Please, Mother Malima, watch over my Sani, my only precious daughter, and protect her from all demons in the empty wastes.”
The voice broke down, sobbing. Xia Gentian stood, rigid as her spear. She had never heard of Mother Malima. She had never heard of one of the Throng openly engaging in heresy either. Part of her was outraged, and wanted to scold the woman for her lack of faith. She took a deep breath, and consulted her own faith. She knocked on the door of the hovel.
A badly burned woman, probably not far from death herself, pushed open the door. She looked at the healthy, clean, beautiful, rich Xia Gentian, with her red hair curling out from under a warm felt cap and holding her famous spear. She couldn’t speak. What could she even say to this paragon of the faith? But she didn’t have to say anything.
“Sister, I heard you weeping. I don’t know your prayers, but may I sit with you and offer my own? If you like, we can cry together. I haven’t lost a child, but I could cry.” She offered a fragile smile to the burned woman. “Please?”
The burned woman sniffled, and tears trickled down her ruined face. She invited Gentian in. The militia and the guards stood watch, as Xia Gentian sat in the dirt and ashes with a dying refugee, and wept for her children.