of Candour. Tell me—why do you stand with the Black Khan’s army?” He noted the torn crest at Daniyar’s throat, the stroke of black on a field of green.
Baseer interrupted before Daniyar could answer. “How do we know he is one of our own? Or that he holds to our code?”
Again Daniyar waited for the Spinzhiray to speak. But in this case, the elder tipped his staff at Daniyar, an indication for him to answer.
Looking from the Spinzhiray to Baseer, Daniyar offered, “The Shin War I know recognize melmastia, and I am a guest in your tent.” He acknowledged their hospitality by taking a sip of his tea. “Nanawatai—forgiveness. Turah—courage. Musaawat—equality. Wisa—trust. And ghayrat—self-honor.” He nodded at the elder. “I place the ring of the Silver Mage in your bowl, and the sword of the Silver Mage at my side, because I have no fear in your company. I rely upon your honor.”
Something in the men settled at those words. They sat back on their heels, their hands easing off their swords.
“You forgot badal. What is a member of the Shin War—of any of the Talisman tribes—without his commitment to revenge?”
Daniyar considered how best to answer Baseer. A tribal society that defended its lands from warfare found revenge necessary not only to uphold their honor, but for survival.
“What is meted out in self-defense, I see as a matter of justice, not of dishonor or revenge,” he said at last.
“You think to recalibrate the foundations on which the Shin War have stood?”
Daniyar shook his head, realizing that nothing he could say would win Baseer’s favor. Turning to the Spinzhiray, he said, “Honor is the foundation of everything we stand for.” Flicking a steely glance at Baseer, he added, “You point out my omissions, but what of yours? You chose not to mention naamus.”
Baseer made a show of grasping his sword.
“The honor of women?” He pretended to laugh. “Women have no honor.”
Unexpectedly, the Spinzhiray said, “They are garments for you, and you are garments for them.”
And having just had his involvement with the Black Khan questioned, Daniyar now wondered how a man who would recite this verse of the Claim could be in a position of leadership at this loya jirga. Encouraged, he nodded at the corner where the women in the tent had taken shelter.
“The Shin War code that I was taught defended the honor of women. Violence against those weaker than ourselves is outlawed by that code.”
A murmur in the tent. He sensed the tacit agreement of the orphans he had taken in.
“Are you the champion of the weak, then?” the Spinzhiray asked, with a look Daniyar couldn’t read.
His answer was straightforward. “Such was my trust as Guardian of Candour.”
“Yet you are not in Candour. And I think Baseer is right to ask why the Guardian of Candour makes his stand at the Black Khan’s walls.”
The mood in the tent tautened once more, the canvas like the lungs of a living being, inflating and deflating with each syllable. A curl of victory shaped Baseer’s lips. Yet when Daniyar made another slow sweep of the men gathered for the loya jirga, he observed a range of responses: admiration and respect from some, uncertainty and fear from others. If he was honest with them, if he spoke the truths of the Silver Mage, some might choose to ally with him. He could see from the way a few paid heed to the women at the back that the taking of slaves unsettled them. Perhaps they could still be persuaded to his point of view.
His voice rough, he said, “I am tired of war. I am tired of the desolation of our lands.” He motioned with a hand, something of his grief in the gesture. “What Candour was compared to what it has become—you must feel it as deeply as I do.” He turned his head to indicate the city of Ashfall. “It is not the way of Shin War, nor of any of our tribes, to wage war against those who do not act against us. The Black Khan seeks to hold his capital. His armies have not ventured into our lands; they haven’t sought to conquer.”
Baseer leaned forward so that his forearms were braced on his thighs, his face close to Daniyar’s. In its harsh lines and powerful certainty, Daniyar understood that this was a man who thrived on war. And to whom the Shin War code was a tool exploited for his own purposes or discarded when it failed to serve him.
“The Black Khan’s truce is a stratagem. You are a fool to believe otherwise.”
Daniyar’s gaze flicked to the Spinzhiray.
“Would you not hold your walls if there was an army at your gates? An army that takes your women captive?” Though it galled him to speak on the Black Khan’s behalf, he added, “The Khan has his own sense of naamus.”
He pointed to the young men he had tutored. They snapped to attention, their spines stiff with pride.
“Why waste their lives on this cause? Gather your men and take them home to engage in work with purpose. Allow them to build their future—restore the glory of Candour.”
He made no attempt to hide the depth of his longing for this outcome.
The men began to debate among themselves, but Daniyar watched the Spinzhiray. Despite the egalitarian structure of the council, its hierarchy would prevail.
“You think our war unjust?” he asked Daniyar, under the cover of the others’ voices.
Daniyar stared at the pulsing light that spiraled out from his ring. The silver light had wrapped itself around the lapis lazuli stone of the other man’s ring. The carved eagle appeared ready to take flight. He took a steadying breath: an honest answer would be seen as an insult, yet the Spinzhiray would see through a lie. With great care, he posed a question instead.
“How many of the Black Khan’s people have you killed or enslaved on your route to Ashfall?”
The Spinzhiray’s nobbled fingers stroked the soft wool of his beard. “To spread the message of the One across these lands is an act of justice.”
The Talisman commanders nodded one by one. In their renewed silence, Daniyar’s sharp ears picked up a sound that filled his thoughts with urgency. The actions of the Zhayedan were intensifying: they were preparing to attack.
He’d known better than to trust the Black Khan, but what other choice had there been? Arian was behind those walls. She was determined to take on the One-Eyed Preacher, even if she did so alone.
He sought a truce with the Talisman because he’d taken on her cause as his own. He had turned from her once, then promised himself he wouldn’t fail her again.
“The people of West Khorasan have long adhered to the message of the One. They named their western gate the Messenger Gate after the Messenger of the One.”
The Spinzhiray’s eyes sharpened … hardened … and Daniyar knew the battle was lost. There would be no truce with the Talisman this night. Or any of the nights that came after.
“Their court is corrupt, their practices a barbarity. The Black Khan’s scriptorium houses works of the profane.”
Daniyar
