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“Generalissimo Siyuf,” Saba muttered. “She’s related to the Rani on her father’s side, as well as her mother’s.”
“Your supreme military commander.”
Saba nodded. “A military genius.”
Surveying that hawk-like profile, he decided it might well be true, and was certainly true enough to make Siyuf a valuable ally; genius or not, she radiated resolution and intelligence. He could not help wondering what she had been told about him, and what she thought of him now, the insecure young ruler of a foreign city; the urge to comb his untidy hair with his fingers, as he would have in a conversation with Quetzal, was practically irresistible. For half a second, his eyes locked with hers.
Then Saba saluted, and her salute was returned negligently by Siyuf; at once Oosik saluted her, in accord with the protocol agreed to Tarsday. Behind her, rank after rank of disciplined young women drew sabers and faced right, seemingly oblivious to the swirling dust and biting wind.
“Generalissimo Siyuf rides at the head of her own regiment. She joined eighteen years ago as a brevet lieutenant, and it’s known now as the Generalissimo’s Auxiliary Light Horse…”
Saba fell silent; shivering, Silk murmured, “Yes?”
“Your people aren’t cheering, Calde. Not nearly enough. The Generalissimo won’t be pleased.”
He seized the opportunity. “Perhaps they’re afraid they may panic your horses.” It had been juvenile, but for a minute or more he enjoyed it.
A wide break in what had threatened to become an infinite succession of mounted troopers apparently marked the end of the Generalissimo’s Auxiliary Light Horse. It was followed by the yellow, brown, and red flag of Trivigaunte, borne by an officer on horseback and escorted by an honor guard clearly drawn from the Companion Cavalry, and the ba
“They’re really very good,” Silk told Saba, hoping to restore friendly relations. “Very skillful indeed, and our people seem to love their music.”
“I’m an old campaigner, Calde.”
Privately wondering what the campaigns had been, and how Generalissimo Siyuf had revealed her military genius in them, Silk ventured, “So I understand.”
“Your people are cheering because they’re men. You think we keep our men chained in the cellar, but most of our support troops are men.”
“With beards,” Silk commented; it seemed safe.
“Exactly. You shave yours off to make yourself look more like a woman. I’m not criticizing you for it, in your position I’d do the same thing. But we don’t let our men do it at home. They can trim their beards with scissors if they want to, and these support troops are required to. But they can’t shave, or pull the hairs out.”
Silk felt himself wince and hoped she had not noticed it.
“We’ve only let them use scissors for about twenty years,” she continued. “When I was a lieutenant they couldn’t, and you saw a good many with beards below their waists. We let them tuck them into their belts, and some people felt that was going too far. The idea is that a beard makes it easy to cut a man’s throat. You grab it and jerk his head up.”
“I see,” Silk said. Mentally, he cancelled the beard he had only just resolved to grow.
“These are Princess Silah’s Own Dragoons. You’ll notice—”
Oosik interrupted. “I do not mean to begin an argument, General, but I question that it is actually done. If it is, it ca
Saba indicated the mounted troopers passing before them. “Horses are stronger than women, Generalissimo.”
Silk chuckled.
“Don’t you believe me, Calde?” Saba was holding back a smile. “It’s true, I swear, in our city. We’ve been breeding chargers since Pas laid his first brick, and our horses are stronger than women and—”
“Wiser than men,” Silk finished for her. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.”
“Who is?” inquired a new voice. “Everyone, I think.”
Silk turned to look as Generalissimo Siyuf stepped onto the reviewing platform. “Here you are.” He offered his hand. “I was afraid you’d be delayed. It’s an honor to greet you at last, and a great pleasure. Welcome to Viron. I’m Calde Silk.”
She shook his hand awkwardly, unsmiling; her own was hard and dry, not quite as strong as he had anticipated. “It is my joy to see your lively city, Calde Silk. Most of my life I have spend in the south. Your Viron is not more than a name on my maps, one week ago. My parade is bad, I know. When they must march they ca
Silk assured her that he had been enormously impressed by what he had seen, and introduced her to Quetzal and Oosik.
“We will see your troops after mine,” she told Oosik. “We pass them waiting. Ah, you have a stool for me, Calde. Thank you.” She seated herself between Silk and Saba. “This is most welcome. I have been up since three, in the saddle since five. I have tire two horses. I must have a fresh one for this.”
“It was very good of you to join us after you’d marched,” Silk told her sincerely. “We’ve all heard great things about you. We were anxious to meet you.”
Siyuf’s eyes were on her troops. “I do not come for you, Calde Silk. I come for me. Soon we fight together. Is this right? Or does this mean you will fight me and I you?”
“No. That’s perfecfly correct. Together, we’ll fight the Ayuntamiento, if we must. I’d much rather we didn’t have to.”
“And I. Both.” Siyuf pulled her cap down and drew her streaked old cloak over her knees.
For a time, no one spoke. Silk pretended to watch the parade as cavalry gave way to infantry, attractive young women who saluted the reviewing platform by holding their slug guns vertically at their left shoulders and marching with a stiff stride that reminded him of sibyls dancing at a sacrifice.
Mostly, he studied Siyuf and reexamined her remarks, and his own. Her cap was clean and well-shaped, but by no means new, her cloak frankly soiled; no doubt she had changed horses as she had said, but she had not changed clothes. Her boots were slightly scuffed, her spurs (he risked a surreptitious glance at Saba’s feet) markedly larger than her subordinate’s.
She had not hesitated to claim the empty stool. Silk tried to put himself in the place of one of the expressionless women marching past. Would they feel ashamed of their Generalissimo? Would they think her weak?
Would he, if he were somehow a member of Siyuf’s horde? After arguing the point with himself; he decided that he would not. Sitting when others had to stand was one of the surest signs of rank, and her clothes proclaimed that she need answer to no one, that no bullying sergeant or trumpeting colonel dared rebuke her. In imagination, Silk soared from the platform to a gondola of the airship, and from it sca
It was unquestionably Siyuf, who was seated with Quetzal and himself to her left and Saba and Oosik to her fight — the civil authorities, religious and civic, on one side in other words; and the military, Trivigaunti and Vironese, on the other. When Viron’s own troopers marched past, they would receive the same impression.
“Is it always so cold here in the north?” Siyuf pulled her cloak more tightly about her.
“No,” Silk told her. “We had a very long summer this year, and a very warm one.”
“I wish we have come to your city then, Calde. When I was small my teachers told me this north was cold. I learn to write it on examinations, but I do not believe. Why should it be so?”
“I have no idea.” Silk considered. “I learned it just as you did, and I don’t believe I ever thought of questioning it. To tell you the truth, I accepted just about everything I was taught, including many things I ought to have questioned.”