Visitors

Chapter 26 Tidiness

Param stood in the Tent of Light, bending over the table, studying the maps with Olivenko, Umbo, Loaf, Rigg, Ramex, and Square. Ram Odin sat in the doorway of the tent, looking out over the meadow, either keeping watch or dozing—it was hard to tell which.

Param spoke little at these councils. Her natural disposition coincided exactly with good policy on this—for she had quickly learned that if she even hinted at a preference, Olivenko would start to bend all his ideas and argument to favor the course of action that he guessed she was favoring.

She had had to be careful even of her questions, until she finally said, rather testily, that she could not make any rational decisions unless she was sure she understood the situation, which meant she must ask questions. But how could she ask questions if people reacted by trying to guess what she meant by her question? “I mean—I always mean—that I believe I need to know the answer to my question. Nothing else. I don’t hint. When I’ve come up with a tentative decision, I offer my conclusions for comment. It isn’t subtle, is it? You all understand when I do that?”

They all did—but after that, Param was quite sure that they still tried to guess what her questions meant, which way she was leaning. They simply became more subtle about their responses.

It was annoying that, as Queen-in-the-Tent, at least for this corner of the realm, she had to be so scrupulous about even the slightest utterance. How constraining it was to have authority!

Yet she also remembered Mother’s powerlessness in the pleasant prisons in which Param had grown up. Mother also had had to watch every word she said, but not because others would over-obey her, trying to anticipate her decisions. Mother’s constraints came from fear that the People’s Revolutionary Council would suppose her to be trying to assert royal authority. So Mother, too, had to learn to speak far less than she thought.

It turned Mother into a monster of deception. What is it doing to me?

In private, she could ask Umbo. But she knew his answer: You’re doing a perfect job of saying the very least that you can say. Yet when you do speak, it’s always sensible and when you make decisions, everyone can see the justice, the wisdom in your words.

And then Param would wonder if Umbo said this because it was true, or at least he believed it was true; or did he say these things only to reassure her and make her happy? And if she ever made a decision that flatly contradicted the clear will of the council, would she be obeyed? She tried to rule by persuasion, by creating consensus, but that only worked when the decision had no urgency. As they prepared for the full-fledged all-out war, the clash of great armies, decisions would need to be made quickly, and she was quite aware that it was not just the Queen-in-the-Tent—herself—who had no idea what she was doing. Olivenko was well-read and clever, but no one knew what their army would do in real bloody combat, so he might be wrong about everything. So might Loaf. So might any of them.

“We can always go back and try again,” said Umbo at such times. “Have I come to you in a vision and warned you not to decide in a certain way?”

“Well, not yet,” said Param.

“Then your decisions obviously work out perfectly well.”

“Or I haven’t made any decisions with consequences that matter.”

“That should ease your mind even more,” said Umbo.

“Or whatever went wrong killed you and me and Rigg, and so there was no one to come back and prevent it all from going wrong.”

“And if that happens,” said Umbo, “then the Destroyers will come and wipe out all our mistakes.”

“Unless Noxon succeeds in saving us,” said Param.

“He hasn’t yet,” said Umbo.

“That we know of,” said Param.

Then Umbo glowered and fell silent. It was obvious that even though Noxon was gone—millions of kilometers away on Earth, or else lost in the oblivion of some crack in spacetime—Umbo was still envious of the many weeks Noxon had spent in Param’s company while they were teaching each other to use their timeshaping talents with more range and expertise.

Umbo’s resentments were the worst thing about him. But in this case, Param had to admit that he was not so very wrong. It was irrational that even though Noxon was the very same person as Rigg, prior to the division between them, Param did not hold him responsible for all the annoyances Rigg had caused. Nor did she think of Noxon with the same sisterly affection she had for Rigg. There really were times that she wished Noxon were still here.

Though, to be fair, Umbo was a very kind and sweet husband, and he made no effort to interfere with her authority as Queen-in-the-Tent. If anyone spoke less at these war councils than Param, it was Umbo. He would not offer an opinion or even ask a question unless she commanded it, or so it seemed.

His diffidence was, of course, annoying, especially since it extended into the bedroom. Into all their time alone. He never even asked for intimacy. Never even waited around as if hoping. If she said—or implied—that she wanted him to share her bed, then there he was, always compliant, and in the moment quite enthusiastic yet also gentle. Always careful of every sound, every flinch, every cue she gave, whether it meant anything or not. This made him in some ways the perfect husband, the perfect lover—and in other ways, completely annoying. Wasn’t there any moment in which he would step up and be her equal? Assert himself?

How could he? She had spent so many months openly disdaining him, before they married, and she was sure he remembered every slight, every offense. Umbrage was his normal state, and she had given him so much cause to doubt that she had or could ever have any respect for him that she could hardly expect him to behave otherwise. Loaf, Leaky, Olivenko, and Ramex had all explained to her, quite kindly, that any strangeness between Umbo and her was entirely the result of the way they had been reared.

“Actually, you’re quite compatible,” said Olivenko. “Now that you’ve stopped picking at him, he seems to be nearly perfect for you.”

“Tiptoeing around me as if I were a sleeping lioness is not ‘perfect,’” Param had replied.

“You are a lioness,” said Olivenko, “and most definitely not asleep. I think he’s doing very well, and for you to be impatient with him is not just unreasonable but destructive. He knows he’s displeasing you but since the thing you’re displeased at is how perfectly he avoids displeasing you, it’s hard to imagine how he could act differently without, well, without displeasing you even more.”

Thus they stood around the table, around the map, contemplating various potential battlegrounds. South of General Haddamander’s main army was a place where the ground would favor Param’s army—but, as both Loaf and Olivenko pointed out, victory would leave them no better off than before, since Haddamander would still be between their army and the capital. But if they simply took possession of the capital, it would be an easy matter for Haddamander to besiege them, leaving her to feed hundreds of thousands of citizens as well as her army.

“We could do it,” said Rigg. “The way we feed our army now—by making purchases in the past.”

“We’re already buying up surpluses from five hundred years ago,” said Ramex. “Not that there aren’t plenty of other good years to buy from. But every purchase of grain improves the past economy, which changes history.”

They didn’t want to do that. Couldn’t afford to find themselves facing a much more popular or powerful enemy than Haddamander as the general of Hagia’s army. What if they changed history so the Sessamoto Empire was much better governed? So there had never been a People’s Revolution? So that Haddamander was, not the scion of a persecuted noble family, but the pampered, celebrated son of a great house? Might he not have been married to Hagia in the first place, instead of Rigg’s and Param’s own father? Just how much could they meddle in the past without causing vast, confusing changes?

Yet they had to feed their army—and, if their army suddenly appeared in the streets of Aressa Sessamo, all the citizens of the city as well.

What they needed was a quick, decisive, irresistible victory. Param had expected Rigg to argue against something so violent, but he surprised her. “I know you think I’m a pacifist of some sort,” said Rigg, “but that isn’t so. What will save the most lives is to have a quick, brutal, thorough victory, so the war ends with the one battle.”

“True,” said Loaf. “No matter which side wins, a decisive battle would definitely shorten the war.”

“I’d like us to win,” said Olivenko.

“You know we’ll win, eventually,” said Square. “Because if we lose, Umbo will come back to this very meeting and give us the information that will let us make better decisions.”

“Only if he has the brains to stay here during the fight,” said Loaf, “so he doesn’t have to travel back here, possibly pursued by enemies, after a devastating defeat.”

Umbo merely shook his head.

“Umbo is right,” said Param. “He can’t stay here in the tent, far from any of the battle sites. How will he even know the outcome of the battle, or what went wrong, if he spends the whole battle here? If there’s anyone who can easily evade pursuit and return here to give warning, it’s Umbo.”

Umbo said nothing. Merely continued looking at the map.

“And just as importantly,” said Param, “Umbo is King-in-the-Tent. The soldiers need to see him with them. They love him and respect him, as a man, in ways they can’t respect me, a woman.”

Umbo glanced at her for a moment, then back down at the map. She could not read anything into his glance.

Silence around the table.

“It seems to me,” Param finally said, “that every possible battle­ground has drawbacks and advantages. Every possible battle­ground has ways of turning into disaster or triumph. Is that true?”

Olivenko was quick—too quick?—to agree. But after only a few moments, Loaf, Ramex, Ram, Rigg, and Square concurred.

She almost said, Then we could cast clay and choose our battleground by chance alone. But she stopped herself, because another possibility came to mind.

“It seems to me,” she said again, “that all our plans are essentially defensive in nature. Appear here, and fortify as we await their attack. Or appear there. Or there. Or in Aressa Sessamo. Or… is our army so bad that we can’t use it to attack them where they are?”

“Our troops are well trained,” said Loaf, “but training isn’t battle.”

“We don’t know what they’ll do, when men start to bleed,” said Rigg. “Our army isn’t composed of men who love battle. Only of men who hated Hagia’s and Haddamander’s rule, or who wanted to move their families out of danger. Not soldiers by choice or temperament.”

“But we do have a force of extraordinary fighters,” said Square.

“Are there enough of you to make a difference?” asked Ramex.

“You’re the one with the magnificent electronic brain,” said Square. “Work it out and advise us.”

“It is not possible to predict the outcome of battles with certainty,” said Ramex.

“So let’s have the first battle and see how things work out,” said Square. “And let’s have Rigg or Umbo take all my Vadeshfolders back to meet ourselves, so we can double our strength. And then quadruple it.”

“No more copying people,” said Rigg. “It’s a terrible thing and you shouldn’t put anyone else through it.”

“We won’t do it anymore after we win,” said Square. “You do what you must to win the war.”

“And what if all your facemasks come through alive?” asked Rigg. “Which ones are married to their wives? Which are now single men, who remember having wives and children, but have them no longer?”

“Let’s see how our first time through turns out,” said Loaf, “before we go copying anybody.”

“I think Queen Param’s proposal is a—”

“It wasn’t a proposal,” said Param quickly. “It was merely a question about the defensive versus the offensive.”

“I think Queen Param’s question is one whose answer we’ve taken for granted,” said Olivenko. “We should use our untrained troops on the defensive. But this may be a gross mistake. On the defensive, it is vital that the troops stand firm, give ground slowly, retreat in good order when necessary. Loaf and his sergeants have trained them wonderfully well, but when comrades fall beside you, war becomes a different thing—according to all the histories. And it’s easier to get ignorant green troops to charge than to stand against a charge.”

“There’s no doubt that we could achieve tactical surprise,” said Square.

“We can’t bring the whole army through at once,” said Rigg. “Not unless we have them all in one compact body, so they can all hold hands.”

“Bring everybody through in as many groups as you need,” said Square. “Just bring them all to the same moment.”

“That means Umbo would have to do it all,” said Rigg. “I can do that moving into the past, but only he has precision moving into the future.”

Everyone looked at Umbo.

“I assume you meant to say King Umbo,” said Param gently.

“He doesn’t have to call me that,” said Umbo softly.

“He must do it above all others,” said Param, “because he is as much heir to the Tent of Light as I am, and there are those who would prefer his claim. He must speak of King Umbo by his title and with all authority, so no one has any doubt that Rigg supports his claim and mine.”

Umbo shook his head. “Let’s not get off the topic again.”

“Olivenko,” said Loaf, “are you advocating that we make a new plan, to appear in the midst of their camp and slaughter them in their sleep?”

“Not in their sleep!” cried Param.

“Queen Param,” said Olivenko. “The goal is a victory so decisive the enemy can’t recover from it. If we can kill one man in five before he even gets his weapon, the battle is nearly won.”

“Except,” said Loaf, “if we appear throughout their camp, then what happens to the organization of our army?”

“A mess,” said Square. “Nobody knows which way to face. It becomes a melee, till the enemy forms a line somewhere.”

“Haddamander entrenches and walls up wherever he camps,” said Olivenko. “Attacking from the outside would be brutal.”

“And attacking from the inside would reduce us to chaos immediately,” said Loaf.

“And we’re back to every plan having risks and benefits.”

“Can’t we make a plan to organize and avoid chaos?” asked Param.

“Every soldier would have to know the whole plan,” said Loaf. “Never a good idea.”

“Why isn’t it a good idea?” said Umbo quietly.

Loaf shook his head. “The less the footsoldiers know of the plans of the commanders, the better.”

“Isn’t that so they can’t betray our plans to the enemy?” asked Rigg. “But if we appear all at once, in the midst of their camp, with every soldier knowing exactly what’s expected of him and where to form up as soon as his assignment is complete—there’s no time for any of our soldiers to be taken and spill our plans.”

Loaf nodded. “I can see that. I’ve had it ingrained in me that footsoldiers can never know more than their immediate assignment, but…”

“That’s all we’ll tell them anyway,” said Square. “How to cause maximum terror and destruction for about five minutes, then form back into a coherent unit before going off in pursuit of fleeing enemies.”

“You were actually paying attention when I lectured to you,” said Loaf approvingly.

“Now and then,” said Square, “when you’re saying something sensible.”

It was time, Param realized. “Now I will not ask a question. Now I’m making a decision. Let’s take a few days, a week, whatever you think we need, to train the men to engage in a surprise attack, then form back into units for the pursuit and destruction of the enemy.”

“And how to divide out small units to guard the prisoners. The ones who surrender.” Rigg looked around, as if daring anyone to contradict him. “Many of them will throw down their weapons and our goal is not slaughter, it’s destruction of the army. Capture is better than slaughter.”

“Unless it takes too many of our men to guard them.”

“I’ll be there,” said Rigg. “To take them into the past, without their weapons. King Umbo, too. We’ll push them so far into the past there’ll be no place for them to hide, no farmers or villagers to help them.”

“No one can hide from a pathfinder anyway,” said Square.

“I think it’s a decent plan,” said Olivenko. “Worth trying, to see what goes wrong.”

“And there you’ll be,” said Loaf. “Rigg and Umbo, separated from each other and surrounded by enemies. Just one arrow or javelin away from stranding our army far from their wives and children, unable to come back and fix things if things go wrong.”

“King Umbo can send them from a distance,” said Rigg. “He doesn’t have to be touching them.”

“Then I’ll do all the sending,” said Umbo.

“The decision is made,” said Param. “This is what we’ll train for. How many days?”

“Till they know the drill,” said Loaf. “It’s not as if we have a deadline at this point in time. It’s the arrival that has to be exact.”

“I wish,” said Rigg softly, “that there were some way for Noxon to send us a message when he completes his mission.”

“There is,” said Square. “The world isn’t destroyed. Message received.”

“Maybe I’ll go forward in time while you’re all preparing,” said Rigg.

“Nothing’s changed,” said Umbo.

Silence again.

“I check every morning,” said Umbo. “Nothing’s changed yet.”

Param thought of what that meant. Umbo leaping forward in time to see if the world was still destroyed on schedule, and returning because the destruction was inevitable.

Why bother doing all this, if relieving the people of the brutal regime of Hagia and Haddamander only bettered their lives for a couple of years, and then the world ended anyway?

As if he knew what she was thinking, Rigg said, “We have to fight and plan as if we had a future. In case we actually get one.”

“Decided,” said Param. “This command goes forth from the Tent of Light: So let it be done.”

She hadn’t learned the old rituals of command from her mother. She had found them in books. At first she thought it was ridiculous hocum. Now she understood that someone had to end the council by declaring specifically what had been decided and what must happen next. Without absolute clarity, people would go off and dither, especially if they had doubts about the decision.

Param knew what she had done. Upended all their plans, taken them from defense to attack, and because of her, enemy soldiers would be speared or javelined or sabered in their sleep, or in the moment when they staggered up from their beds, searching for weapons.

Unless Haddamander had anticipated exactly this strategy.

But he couldn’t really know all their capabilities, because his soldiers had only faced Param’s soldiers a couple of times, in minor skirmishes and in Captain Toad’s last raid, which had seemed to Haddamander to be the first.

When Param spoke her decision, everyone left the Tent of Light. Except Umbo.

“There’s always another choice,” said Umbo.

“We’re not assassinating them,” said Param.

“They deserve no better, and it would save the lives of their men.”

“It wouldn’t,” said Param. “Assassination would only invite new warlords to rise up and replace them. Their army must be whipped and know that it was whipped.”

“Because that’s what Olivenko—”

“That’s what history says,” Param answered.

He nodded, but looked a bit dejected.

“Umbo, murder isn’t in you.”

“It’s in Rigg,” said Umbo.

“It was in Rigg. Once. And it damaged him. Murder damages people.”

“Or maybe it’s that damaged people murder,” said Umbo.

“Or both,” said Param. “But we’re not going to find out. We won’t succeed at taking the Tent of Light only because I was willing to have my mother murdered for ambition’s sake.”

“You know they wouldn’t hesitate to do it to us, if they thought they could,” said Umbo.

“I know they already tried, before we first passed through the Wall,” said Param. “I know we held hands and saved each other. But if we attempt to win by way of murder, then it no longer matters who wins this war—there’ll be a murderer and oathbreaker in the Tent of Light either way.”

“There’s no moral equivalency,” said Umbo.

“Rigg killed Ram Odin once in self-defense—and he couldn’t live with it.”

“That was Rigg,” said Umbo.

“And you’re a more ruthless killer?” asked Param.

“I might be,” said Umbo.

“Let’s see how this battle goes,” said Param.

“You’re right,” said Umbo. “Maybe your mother and Hadda­mander will be the first to die in their tents on the battlefield.”

Param shook her head. “You say all these things much too easily.”

“I want to avoid the deaths of the obedient soldiers on both sides,” said Umbo.

“I want to, too,” said Param. “But it’s not enough for us just to win. The enemy’s army has to experience real, terrifying loss.”

“I remember when Olivenko first said that exact phrase,” said Umbo.

“He’s a counselor,” said Param. “A wise queen listens to wise counsel.”

Umbo fell silent.

“The way I listened to you,” said Param. “When you told us that the world still ends on schedule. Even though you had never told me you checked every day.”

Umbo fell silent. In embarrassment?

“I listen to you more than anyone,” said Param.

“Since nobody listens to me at all,” said Umbo, smiling at her, “that’s not hard to achieve.”

“I meant that I listen to you more than I listen to anyone else,” said Param. “And not because you’re my husband, and I love you. Though you are, and I do.”

He showed no reaction.

“I listen to you because you speak rarely, but when you do, it always matters and you’re always wise.”

“Or if I’m not,” said Umbo, “I can always go back and clean up the mess.”

“Tidiness in a man is a worthy trait,” said Param.

He kissed her. A brief kiss. More than brotherly, but far from passionate.

She kissed him in reply, with all the passion she wished he would bring to his kisses.

“Do you think this is the right time for that?” he asked softly, when they broke from the second kiss.

“Tell me when you start believing that I’m truly your wife,” said Param.

“When that happens,” said Umbo, “I won’t have to tell you. You’ll know.”