Again, there was nothing to follow, though the silence was full of portent. Was Luhosiba sick? Was Hewspear worse off than he indicated-could he feel his lungs leaking blood into the cavities of his body? Was there something else, something worse?
I obviously didn’t know, and couldn’t guess… A little hesitantly, I asked, “Is Luhosiba… is he ill?”
Hewspear looked at me. “No. No, nothing like that. At least, not that I know of. I haven’t seen the boy in several years now, but he was healthy enough when I left.”
Still half-fearing the answer, I pressed on. “Then, why are you worried you might not have opportunity to give it to him?”
Hewspear set the flute down on the table and slipped the small knife into an intricately worked leather case. “My son’s wife and I are what might charitably be called … estranged.”
“Do you mind if I ask why? If you do, I-”
“No,” he replied. “It is sad, but no secret. You see, for a Syldoon soldier everything is in the now, and the limited future. But especially the immediate. What we achieve in this lifetime is all that we achieve. It is a distinct difference between us and nearly every other kingdom. While we might accumulate wealth soldiering, establish a farm or a fishpond or a mill in our dotage, and can pass on money and some measure of security to our families, we do not pass on title or rank.”
“So, the offspring of a Syldoon doesn’t automatically become one?”
He held up a long finger. “Correction, Arki. Can never become one. It is one of our oldest traditions. What’s more, it is law.”
“But why? Wouldn’t that be easier to have someone join already familiar with the culture and its expectations, than having to recruit from far-flung villages on the edge of the Empire?”
“Easier, yes. More effective, no. You see, we recruit from the hinterlands because those people are hardy-they grow up in constant strife and warfare. Simply by virtue of surviving, they’ve proved they are as tough as they come. What’s more, their relative ignorance of how the Syldoon operate is one of the boons of the system. Can you imagine a pampered Syldoon child, having grown up in the privilege and culture of Sunwrack, being willing to submit to the intense and sometimes deadly rigors of the decade of enslavement? Or Syldoon parents allowing it?”
He answered his own question without waiting for mine, “No. The Syldoon are strong only so long as they have a steady influx of robust and resilient stock, hungry to prove themselves, to compete, to endure, to survive. That is what makes the Empire the most powerful in the world, and promises it shall remain so.”
It was a peculiar system, to be certain. “And so how did this lead to estrangement?”
Hewspear sighed, and leaned back. “My son, Vedmurrien, wanted to be Syldoon, burned for it in fact. He didn’t understand why he was forbidden when he was younger. It made him furious when he saw new Syldoon boys and a few girls come into Sunwrack his age, and I had to explain that they would be able to become Syldoon while he could not. I tried telling him he would be safer, and healthier, and likely live longer. Explained he could do anything else in the world he wanted. Become an artist, apprentice in a trade, manage a date farm,” he touched the flute. “Even a musician. But being denied this one thing, he became fixated.”
I wasn’t sure how long ago this was, and didn’t want to interrupt now that he was talking without pause. “Still, as years passed, Vedmurrien stopped asking about it. He’d see a new caravan of caged wagons full of recruits, or a manumission ceremony, and he’d silently fume, but he didn’t talk to me about it anymore. The law was the law. And frankly, I was glad of it. The soldiering life is a hard one. And while he was a good lad, he just wasn’t built for it. Sickly, not the strongest of limb. Poor eyes as well.
“And I made the mistake of thinking he had accepted it and moved on, that as he approached adulthood he would settle into some craft or other pursuit. He had other interests, girls among them, and I was hopeful he would find his own path. Be happy. And when he got married to Adjunna, I celebrated with him. But the very next day he announced he was joining the auxiliaries.”
“The auxiliaries? But I thought he couldn’t join the army?”
Hewspear sighed. “While the Syldoon are the core component, the largest and most prestigious, the Empire maintains a standing army, and even in times of relative peace, the Syldoon soldiers are not enough to man all fronts, provinces, and cities. The offspring of Syldoon can never be Syldoon proper; however they can sign up as clerks in the army, engineers, or auxiliary soldiers.”
“I take it from your tone you didn’t approve.”
He laid his head back and stared across the room, to the empty tables and benches that once were occupied by countless patrons. “No. I did not. As I said, he wasn’t cut out for it. And what’s more, his young wife Adjunna approved less. She hated the idea of her betrothed serving the Empire in any capacity, especially if he risked his life doing so.”
“Why? I mean, I can understand her fearing for his safety, but it sounds like there was more to it than that.”
Hewspear looked at me and then smiled. “Ahh, apologies. I forget-you might be educated, but that is a far cry from actually growing up in the Empire. It is an odd arrangement. Thurvacian citizens, even those born and raised in Sunwrack-perhaps especially those-have a mixture of reactions to the Syldoon ruling over them, of course. Fear, hatred, bitterness, apathy, and in the best and rarest of cases, mayhaps appreciation or respect. The Syldoon proper-those who survive their ten years of slavery and join a Tower-are outsiders, barbarians from far-flung lands. Rough, ill-mannered, illiterate when they arrive. And yet, after their own intense and somewhat brutal education, in time they all assume power in every corner of the Empire, and control the interests of all other members of the society.”
“So… Thurvacians are merely subjects?”
“They might occupy civil posts, and they keep the Empire running, but they will never rule themselves. So you can see why the indigenous citizens might not have a tremendous fondness for their overlords, especially those who rule with a cruel hand.”
I nodded. “So, Adjunna was Thurvacian, and she didn’t especially like you as a potential father-in-law anyway, but when she learned your son wanted to enlist in the army-”
“Livid doesn’t begin to do it justice. And, in what must have required a great deal of pride swallowing, she approached me privately and begged me to talk Vedmurrien out of joining.”
“But you probably had, hadn’t you? Tried to dissuade him, I mean.”
“Of course. Loudly. Often. Until veins nearly burst in my throat. But while the law prevented him from becoming a Syldoon proper, nothing would stop him from becoming a soldier, no matter how poorly he was suited for it. And now that he was married, the law also considered him a man, capable of charting his own course.”
Hewspear suddenly looked and sounded his years, face drawn, wrinkles deeper, the gray in his beard and hair grayer. “So Vedmurrien enlisted. I did what I could to fix it so he’d end up with the lightest duty possible. And that worked for a while. He and Adjunna had a son, and though she was always cool toward me-never forgiven me for ‘allowing’ him to enlist-I visited the three of them when I could while I was in Sunwrack. For a time, things were good. For a time.”
Even knowing the story was going nowhere pleasant, I asked, “Until?”
“There always seems to be an ‘until.’ That is one of life’s harsh lessons. We-that is, our company, the crossbow cavalry-we were making plans and preparations for coming here, to Anjuria. Not two weeks before, I received a letter. Vedmurrien’s unit had been sent to investigate a peasant uprising in Urglovia. It hadn’t sounded particularly dangerous-the sort of thing even auxiliary forces could reasonably be expected to put down easily enough-and my only worry before scanning that parchment was that he might not return in time for me to say my goodbyes.