As the caravan raids persisted on the southern road – cutting off the Khi Thung’s supply – the flow of border village refugees increased from the north.

  At first, it was only a trickle. But then, as the weeks went on, they funneled to the main road and came in a steady stream – the ones who hadn’t been killed in hopeless defense. They spoke of fire and monsters, and clutched their stomachs after days of travel with little to no food. Men and women, elderlies and children. They passed through the Khi Thung’s northern gate. They filled up the last of the barracks and clustered in the hallways. Until the fortress was overrun.

  Siekarums Daromei and and siekangh Sulemei had at first been paranoid that the Midans would take advantage of the northern gate opening for the refugees, and attack when the fortress was exposed. Ucankacei knew this not to be the case.

  He remembered from his days dealing with Cuyasan pirates how effective time could be as a weapon. The Ardysi army would linger at the docks and block the pirates from coming ashore. Eventually, their stores would run dry and they would have to return exhausted and famished. There, the Ardysi would make their last charge – when their enemy was weak and desperate.

  Ucankacei was certain this was the Midans’ strategy. They had cut off the Kingdom’s supply. The Khi Thung had a stock of preserved food and water, but the mouths to feed grew greater in number each day. Soon enough, the siege would siphon the life away from the Ardysi battalion… and then…

  Ucankacei tried to usher his mind away from the haunting thought as he walked. But he knew today’s meeting would prevent him from distancing himself. So too would his surroundings.

  As he limped down the corridor, the clacks of his crutch were drowned out by the melancholic chatter, cries, and coughs of the huddled masses. On both sides of the hallway, hundreds of Opelite refugees sat and huddled together. Golden skin was dulled to bronze. The smell of smoke and soot lingered and tugged at the nostrils. Dirt and grime plastered the once-polished wooden floors.

  One in every four, it seemed, begged for food. They saw Ucankacei’s siekarum robes and pleaded as he passed. But he could not help – not any more than he already did.

  He didn’t eat anymore, it seemed. He scarcely remembered doing so. He was never hungry. He could see the skin tightening on his arms and wrists and hands, and he could sense the hollow, rattling emptiness of his gut. And yet, he felt nothing. Not hunger. Not fear. Not the fighting and thrashing of will. Nothing.

  It wasn’t lost on him the fitting metaphor he might’ve been, limping down the corridor. A wounded old man, fading away, shriveled and disheveled – in marred, decaying siekarum robes. Promises of honor and grandeur long forgotten. Empty.

  He didn’t feel the urge to laugh at his own misfortune, or find comfort in self-deprecation. Not when there was nothing left to deprecate.

  A refugee reached from the ground and grazed Ucankacei’s ankle. Ucankacei kept walking, weakly, to his destination. But he eventually stopped on the way, when – toward the end of the crowd – he saw a little boy sitting on the floor all by himself, wearing the tattered rags of a village commoner. Dried tears and snot caked the boy’s face.

  Ucankacei approached the boy. Gently, he came to a halt and knelt down on his good leg. The boy only gave a feeble glance from beneath a mess of blonde.

  “Where are your parents?” Ucankacei asked.

  The boy did not answer. By not answering, Ucankacei feared he did.

  Ucankacei tucked his bottom lip and hid his sadness. He thought for a moment on how to comfort the boy. Then he leaned on his crutch and dug his hand into his armor pouch. After some searching and sifting, his fingers found what they sought. He clasped its tiny form and removed it from his pouch. Now, wrapping his arm around his crutch for support, he cupped the item gently with his hands.

  “Here,” he said softly.

  The old man held out his leathery hands and parted them, revealing a small wooden sailboat toy. An almost century-long life had rendered it worn and warped, but it still had the form to brave the tides. Its hull was smooth and elegant. Its sail was resolute against the gales.

  The boy’s ever-distant eyes grew just a bit less so, and he studied the boat with fragile blue irises. At Ucankacei’s silent insistence, the boy reached out and took the boat. He observed it within his palm.

  “Ill is the wind that blows no good, my boy,” Ucankacei offered quietly.

  The boy looked up at him. Ucankacei found his reassuring smile again, even if only for a second. He let his sea green eyes catch the light.

  “The winds always change.”

  Ucankacei himself didn’t fully believe his words. But that didn’t matter right now.

  With some strain, Ucankacei stood again, and he left the blue-eyed boy. It was only a few steps before his emotions fought to surface. He closed his shivering eyelids and hardened his face. And with a burdened breath, he banished his memories and tears and regrets – if only for a time. This, the army had taught him well, at least.

  When Ucankacei reached his destination – the siekangh and siekarum meeting office – he came upon a spirited discussion already in progress. As the words filled his ears, his eyes fell on a banquet table in the center of the room, stocked from end to end with salted meats, sweet tarts, and silven goblets redolent with a strong earthy aroma.

  If self-imposed hunger didn’t nauseate Ucankacei, this sight certainly did. It was only after he gaped that he opened his ears to listen.

  “… and we’ve already cut the khilung’s rations to a half and to a quarter! We’ve already reduced to one meal a day for the soldiers and the healers. A half-year’s worth of food stores means nothing when we’re this far over capacity.”

  “If you’ll recall, it was my idea to send the refugees on their way from the very start, to avoid overcrowding–”

  “And leave them exposed to the Midans on the road? They already burned their villages and their crops! What do you think the beasts would do if we served our kinsmen in need on a silver platter? Your tendency toward self-preservation would see the men turn against you in an instant if you were to command, siekarum Daromei!”

  “Siekarum Ucankacei… good of you to join us at last.”

  Munei’s biting voice cut through the clamor and brought the room to silence. Ucankacei’s eyes lifted from the feast, but faltered soon after he acknowledged the Kci Talon.

  “Apologies, maesas,” Ucankacei managed weakly.

  “You’re looking rather gaunt, siekarum,” Munei noted unforgivingly, before gesturing to the feast table with an upturned palm. “Gorge yourself.”

  Ucankacei heard someone chewing, and he cast his gaze to siekangh Sulemei, who thoughtlessly grabbed a wedge of pork and nibbled on it. Idle horror flashed in Ucankacei’s eyes before he gave his frightful attention to Munei and shook his head again.

  “N-no, maesas,” Ucankacei persisted. “I’m… I’m fine…”

  “Eat,” Munei said more forcefully; it was not a suggestion. “I will not have an officer of the Ardysi khilung present as you currently do.”

  Ucankacei limply stepped toward the table. He felt the trembles of his fingers beneath his skin, as he reached for the smallest slice of beef at the bottom of the closest platter. He began to peck at the food, and Munei seemed satisfied by this compliance – if not still abhorred by his siekarum’s appearance.

  “Now then…” Munei started. “Where did we leave off, maesal?”

  Just as Munei looked away, Ucankacei slipped the food into his pocket.

  After a sigh, siekangh Jakthei carried on the briefing: “Our situation with the refugees is untenable, maesas. My accounts workers estimate that our numbers here have more than doubled. Our stores are draining quickly. We had three months’ worth of food and water for 2,000 occupants. We’ve far exceeded that number. We don’t have any space for new arrivals. And if we send them out on the road, we leave them exposed to Midan raids. The ‘Tekhal’ riders – as we’ve ascertained them to be called – have used their mobility through the forests to cut off the south road. They can’t send larger forces south without taking this fortress and full control of the road, but… nothing is getting through. It’s only a matter of time before–”

  “Do we know if the Midans are attacking refugees?” Shinuei interrupted. “Perhaps their main focus is on the supply caravans the Kcirun sends north.”

  “You think those wretched animals would show mercy?” Daromei scoffed. “If we sent refugees down the road, we’d find their discarded bones in a heap, stripped of all but their marrow.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “But we haven’t sent out refugees yet,” Shinuei countered. “We haven’t put it to the test. To this point, we’ve given them haven here–”

  “Even if the Midans weren’t at first inclined to attack harmless refugees,” Jakthei interjected, “there’s still the risk that we’d hide a scout or a courier among the travelers. From the Midans’ perspective, we could use the refugees to send word south that a siege is underway. We could send for additional help from the Kcirun. The primal instincts of the beastfolk don’t matter here. I think they’ve always been smarter than we thought, and I don’t think they’d want to take that strategic risk. Any passage south seems inconceivable.”

  “But new refugees come down the northern road each day,” Shinuei warned. “We can’t possibly take them all. If we don’t start sending them on their way south… what other outcome is there than us starving behind these walls? We can’t send for help or communicate the direness of the situation. We could try sending a lone courier, but I have no doubt the Tekhal riders would intercept him before he even reached Nenemis. If we keep taking refugees, their fate is no different than our worst fears on the road. The only difference is, the Midans sweep their bodies off the stones when they take this fortress uncontested.”

  “We cannot treat the lives of refugees as a game piece,” Jakthei scolded.

  “This is all a game, siekangh,” Shinuei said grimly. “And we’re losing.”

  The room went silent, as the officials considered the siekarum’s words. Jakthei did not hide his frustration, but for the moment, he had no reply. Shinuei spoke the truth.

  After a spell of quiet, Shinuei looked at Munei, his expression resolute.

  “There’s only one thing we know,” Shinuei affirmed. “If we stay here and do nothing, we’re playing right into the Midans’ hand. We need to do something. Perhaps a counterattack would–”

  “We can’t sacrifice numbers here to go on the offensive, let alone discern the Midans’ positioning or full strength in the forests around us,” Jakthei cautioned.

  “What I’m realizing is… we are left with very few options.”

  “Astute observation, Sulemei,” Jakthei grumbled.

  “The Midans can’t possibly have the resources or the discipline to extend this siege months-long,” Daromei shook his head. “There may yet be hope to outlast them–”

  “We know how adept they are at living off the land,” Shinuei countered. “Those forsaken elinji waited in that mountain pass for Bor knows how long before they ambushed our invading force, subverting our scouts’ eyes. And now they’ve ransacked the northern villages for supplies. They are well-trained, well-equipped, and more versatile than we. And they have full awareness of their superior positioning in this situation. They’ve worked us into a corner, and they intend to constrict the walls of that corner until we… well, until we collapse.”

  Silence settled in again, and this time, no one was eager to break it. But it wasn’t long before Munei stepped forward and commanded the room again. He eyed each official, and then his vision settled on Ucankacei. He nodded, with an expression Ucankacei struggled to ascertain.

  “Siekarum Ucankacei. What are your thoughts?”

  Ucankacei felt the eyes of the room on him, and his heart fluttered in his chest. His gaze fell again, as it did so easily. But he forced himself to composure and took a deep breath. He reflected on his thoughts earlier that day.

  “When I was younger…” Ucankacei began. “I was… a siekarum tasked with defending the coast against Cuyasan pirates. The pirates would steal goods, Kivs… even ships… and then they’d aim to wait us out in the bay before returning to Cuyasa. We had to block them off at the shore. And then… it was just a time game. Waiting… waiting… until the other side blinked.”

  Ucankacei cleared his throat and caught his breath. The eyes of the room yet remained on him.

  “We are in a time game,” Ucankacei said, looking at Munei. “But the other side has an abundance of time. Ours is finite, and the clock is… ticking faster now. They’re the ones looking at us, waiting for us to blink. So maybe… maybe we need to… take control back into our own hands. Somehow…”

  Ucankacei trailed off – scared to say anything definitive – and his feeble eyes found their way back to Munei, for any sign of acceptance. Munei squinted his royal blue eyes and clenched his lined jaw – either in thought or in judgement – but it wasn’t long before he nodded to himself and tucked his lip.

  “We cannot take more refugees, and we cannot remain idle,” Munei thought aloud.

  The high whyzard paused. The room went silent. Then he continued.

  “I believe… that these spongers have exhausted their welcome…”

  Ucankacei at last tried to interrupt: “M-master Munei–”

  “These people lived far from the bosom of Opela’s grace,” Munei went on, with a callous tone. “Just look at them. Look at the grime they cast within our halls. There’s enough of them that I can taste it on my tongue now.”

  Munei lapped his lips and grimaced to himself, seeking no acceptance from the others. Ucankacei looked around the room to gauge the officials’ reactions. From some, he saw shock. From some, startling agreement. From others, indifference.

  “This intrusion can be an asset for us,” Munei expanded, smirking a hidden smirk at the realization. “We need to reduce our habitants, and we need to force a Midan move without exposing our defenses. There is an obvious solution, my friends. We will send a group of refugees south. We will watch what the Midans do. If they do nothing, we can send another refugee party south with a courier and send for whatever assistance our Kcirun can muster. If they attack the refugees… our options may very well multiply. We can employ decoys to draw the Midans onto the road and cut them off on their return to the forest. Or we can use khilii manpower to traverse the waters and lobby for support from Charondor and Ghiovan – amidst the Midan heathens’ heinous act, and the loss of innocent lives. The Kcirun would frown on seeking assistance beyond our borders… but circumstances have changed.”

  The mention of innocent lives lost felt disturbingly hollow to Ucankacei. He was not the only one.

  “No,” siekangh Jakthei said firmly, stepping forward to match the whyzard. “We will not use refugees as bait or fodder.”

  “Then perhaps we will use them to accelerate our demise,” Munei gave as a glib retort.

  While the others idled, Jakthei persisted: “There has to be another way.”

  “There is not, siekangh… in case your ears are clogged with purulence that renders you deaf–”

  “This is the demise of our morality and honor. It is no different than–”

  “Fix your tone, siekangh, and do not question the honor of your superio–”

  “We call the Midans monsters! How are we any better if we do this–”

  “Siekangh!”

  The whyzard snapped with a poisonous glare, leaving the room frozen and soundless. With the beady stare of a snake, Munei observed Jakthei. His lips quivered between a smile and a frown, before they flattened with his brow.

  “A siekangh has a great many authorities,” Munei began ever-slowly, coldly. “But to impugn upon the motivations and moralities… of a member of the Kcirun’s royal court… is not… one of them.”

  Jakthei’s jaw clenched shut, sealing his furtive anger beyond. Munei took a small yet menacing step. The metal pieces of his medial hand shifted and morphed, exposing his storming thoughts.

  “You may have been an advisory siekangh when you first arrived from Ellindal… but you are not an advisor here, Jakthei,” Munei hissed, with calm and threatening calculus. “You are a servant. And seeing that you have betrayed your duties, I see it fit to remove you from that station. With the Kcirun’s blessing, under the sight of Opela, I demote you to siekarum. Stay your tongue… should you get the itch to advise again. What was your name before your premature exaltation? I would like to address you by your proper title.”

  The final question stung even Ucankacei. He watched as Jakthei fought his fury and formed the words.

  “Jakuunthei,” he said in a whisper.

  Munei tucked his upper lip with satisfaction and perused the other officers, like a noble judging slaves.

  “I will now make a corresponding promotion to siekangh,” Munei decided. “The most senior officer here is…”

  Munei’s eyes fell on Ucankacei. He grimaced again. Then he looked away and forced a quiet laugh.

  “I suppose seniority should not be the only qualifier.”

  Two more seconds of leisurely thought later, Munei’s attention came to siekarum Shinuei. He gave a nod.

  “Siekangh Shinuei, welcome to the high command,” Munei grumbled, almost sarcastically. “Siekangh Shinuei and siekangh Sulemei… await my summons for a final meeting to discuss the logistics of the refugees’ departure. Siekarum Ucankacei, siekarum Daromei, and siekarum Jakuunthei… await their… subsequent orders.”

  And then Munei gestured for the officers to leave. Ucankacei obeyed the command first, and was followed by the others, who filtered out silently into the hallway and returned to their assignments. Jakthei was the last to leave, and as he stepped out, his eyes met Ucankacei’s. A look of understanding flashed between them.

  “I am sorry,” Ucankacei said softly. “That was not fair to you.”

  Jakthei’s frustration lingered on his face, but he banished it with a sigh and an accepting smile.

  “The Kcirun’s authority supersedes many virtues.”

  They stood idle for a moment. Down the corridor, a refugee’s cough echoed.

  “At least I’m still here,” Jakthei reasoned. “I can still… try and help.”

  Now Jakthei looked at Ucankacei. His brow lowered. He breathed in.

  “I saw the way he looks at you,” Jakthei admitted. “For that, I am truly sorry.”

  Ucankacei raised his shoulders in a gesture of concession, like a weak morning wave losing the pull of the tide.

  “I am old.”

  “There are worse things than to be old,” Jakthei reassured him.

  “Yes.”

  Ucankacei hung his head.

  “To be old and have nothing.”

  And then his hollow steps hit the wood.