The Hunters and the Hunted by Sherwood Smith

Author:Sherwood Smith [Smith, Sherwood]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epic fantasy, spies, military fantasy, kings and courts, fantasy of manners
ISBN: 9781611389821
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2021-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

6

Dyavath Yan (New Year’s Week) 4747 AF

Chwahirsland

Deep in the midland plains, Jilo was glad to see that his family had been slowly taking stones from the hopelessly ruined part of the old way-station castle to reinforce their living quarters. As he sat with a mug of hot boiled sweetgrass, he listened carefully to his uncle’s recounting of the weather patterns.

Jilo felt good when he stayed away from Narad. He’d discovered that when he first visited Senrid. He would never forget that first night of sleep, and the taste of their food, such simple things, but so vital. So important. Simple, vital pleasures denied everyone in the fortress at Narad, capital of Chwahirsland, because their lives were slowly being leached from them to increase the power of Wan-Edhe.

It was going to take a long time to dismantle that, but meanwhile, Jilo had discovered that when he could spend time away his head cleared, and when his head cleared, he could work better. Like the series of spells he had put in place while he was away from Narad to reflect back and forth, making it seem he was always elsewhere. In the rest of the world that would never convince anyone past a day, but in the horrible constraint of Narad’s inner city, where time distorted so badly, it had proved to work.

Even so, he knew he must return and get back to the endless list of urgent tasks.

His Uncle Shiam sat down across from him. “Jilo, we shall observe the Great Hum for New Year’s Firstday. I want you to know that.”

Jilo did not try to suppress the chill those words gave him. It was not a bad chill, like threat. It felt more like pride, mixed with fear that the cause of pride would be snatched away. And yet he had seen the power in ordinary people—everyday flatfoots, and those who served the army—making quiet resistance to Wan-Edhe’s poisonous laws, and life, one by one.

“I hope you do,” Jilo said.

Jilo’s cousin smiled as she passed through the room, and Jilo considered her smile. It wasn’t surprise, it was . . . conviction? He thought of word spreading from person to person, all across the country. How Wan-Edhe would hate this unspoken but unmistakable defiance!

“I hope everybody does,” Jilo said.

“And yet there is no rescinding of the law?” Uncle Shiam asked.

“I’m not a king.”

Uncle Shiam leaned forward. “We see you as a king.”

“People wish I was a king, because that would mean The Hate is gone. But we don’t know that. So I preside over army inspections and competitions because that is the life the military understands. I continue to let the word spread that Narad will take no notice when specific laws are broken. And I work, every day—whatever that means in Narad—on breaking the poisonous magic that Wan-Edhe created.”

“That,” said Shiam quietly, “what makes you a king.”

Jilo shook his head, hating the stuffy, hot feeling such words gave him, and turned his thoughts toward magic. At least he understood that.

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