“Better the chance of reestablishing order, I would think,” said Suno’ku, “than the mortals left to murder, rape, and enslave as they wish.”
All the nobles present had questions, although some of the remarks were closer to denunciations, and the argument quickly grew heated. It soon became clear that Marshal Muyare was not entirely in favor of such a scheme himself but seemed resigned to his younger relative having her way. “If we arm them, then they will be fighting the mortals alongside the Order of Sacrifice,” Muyare said. “They will be commanded by trained warriors of our order. It will be up to us to maintain discipline. And as General Suno’ku says, we do not have the numbers otherwise to resist an invasion if the gates fail.”
Zuniyabe spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I do not understand this. Like Lord Jikkyo, I see only evil coming from such a wild, unprecedented action.”
“These are wild, unprecedented times,” Suno’ku responded. “And before you finish expressing your disgust with my plan, there is more—as I said, we must think not just for today but for the future.”
Yaarike, silent through most of the argument, now smiled. “It seems it is our day to entertain interesting ideas, General. Please do not stop now.”
She looked at him hard for a moment, as though trying to decide where the Magister of Builders stood in the pantheon of allies and enemies gathered around the great witchwood table. “Very well. I suggest something that was mooted in the past, in the season when our queen sent the great nobles Sutekhi and Ommu and the others to the aid of Ineluki, the king in Asu’a, several Great Years ago. We must breed with the mortals.”
Her words fell into utter silence. Even Muyare looked ashamed, though he did not gainsay her, and Viyeki could not help wondering what strange negotiations between the marshal and his younger relative had preceded the council.
“I cannot believe that I heard you correctly, General,” said Zuniyabe. “Mortals? Breed with mortals? What blasphemy . . . ?”
“Please, High Celebrant, do not confuse exigency with blasphemy.” Suno’ku had clearly come to the part of the gathering she had been anticipating since the start, and Viyeki watched as she began to assert control both over herself and the gathering by sheer force of will. Again, he was astonished that such a prodigy should have appeared at such a time, as if war and chaos were indeed the foundry of change. “As I said, this was spoken of before, in the days of High Celebrant Hikhi, good Zuniyabe’s predecessor.”
“And roundly rejected!” said Zuniyabe. “The queen herself said it would not be—could not be.”
“Of course our queen is always correct,” said Suno’ku. “But I think that if she were awake now, she would see that what was bad then has become worse. Think, fellow nobles, think! Our numbers were already dwindling. Long ago we began using mortal slaves to oversee other mortal slaves, and low-caste Hikeda’ya to keep peace among their fellows, because we nobles were too few and our children born too infrequently. But the mortals, both inside and outside our mountain, breed swiftly. If we do not change we will perish, if not by mortals storming our gates then by rebellion here in Nakkiga. All of us—your spouses and children and clansfolk, too—will die in our beds, or be paraded like the scorned losers of the mortals’ wars before being torn to pieces by a baying mob.” She leaned forward, and her voice became lower, less demanding. “Think on what I say. Only five hundred blooded, death-sung Sacrifices remain! And after the siege, even if we survive it, how many will still live then? Half that number? Fewer? My lords, we feed more than ten thousand peasants and mortal slaves here in Nakkiga. We of the ruling orders are already so few that, after two costly, failed wars, if our underlings did not fear the mortals beyond our mountain more than their own rulers, we nobles would all be in terrible danger.”
Again, silence fell, although Viyeki thought it felt like the agitated air just before a storm. But before Zuniyabe could walk out of the council, or someone else say something that would turn the talk from argument into deadly insult, Yaarike let out a strange sound—a whistle, a snatch of melody that Viyeki recognized as an old song from Tumet’ai called “The Musician and the Soldier.” The others in the room turned to him, as surprised as Viyeki.
Instead of explaining, Yaarike continued the tune until he had finished the refrain, then said, “I am curious, General Suno’ku, how such matings would be regulated. Would all the noble houses descend to the streets and rut with the lower creatures, or would there be fairs or games of honor so that we could choose the least disgusting?”
Suno’ku did a poor job of hiding her irritation. “Please, High Magister, give me some credit for sense. You know as well as I that many of our high nobility, male and female, already take mortals for lovers, and that sometimes children are born of these unions, however distasteful you find that fact.”
Yaarike smiled again. “I find nothing distasteful but death, General, and even that has begun to look more friendly in recent days. But the children of slaves have always been slaves. You would change that?”
Suno’ku shook her head. “Unusual and unprecedented as it may seem, I suggest that noble parents must adopt those children, despite their mongrel blood. They will grow more swiftly than our own children—much more swiftly, as we know from watching the mortals increase through all the lands we once ruled. If these halfblood children are raised by the noble caste and schooled in the orders, who is to say that they will not be just as loyal subjects of the queen as any others?”
“You claimed that I confused blasphemy with exigency,” said High Celebrant Zuniyabe, sounding more astonished now than angry. “But I think it is you who are confused, General. How can halfbloods feel what true Hikeda’ya feel?”
She shrugged, a very broad gesture for one of her caste and rank. “Test them. Like all entrants into the orders, they will enter into Yedade’s Box. Nothing says we must take them all. In fact, the harder they must work to achieve what the true-born receive as their due, I think the more they will value it. And we will birth thousands of Sacrifices for the Queen.”
“Tell me what you think of this madness, Jikkyo?” Zuniyabe demanded. “I am astonished beyond reply. What will Lord Akhenabi make of it?”
Jikkyo took a long time to speak. “I do not know. My master is subtle, and there may be branches and twigs to this plan that I cannot see, although I am much of your mind, Zuniyabe. I could not make such a decision on my own. I will let you know his thought.”
Across the table, Suno’ku made a gesture of “patience agreed.” It was as clear to Viyeki as it was to the rest that even if the Order of Sacrifice and all the others present supported it, no such policy was possible without the agreement of the Lord of Song.
“One last question,” said Yaarike. “Marshal Muyare, even if we all agree to consider such an unprecedented and perilous change of policy, many questions remain. What would we do with so many new Hikeda’ya? If we breed halfbloods anywhere near as fast as mortals breed more mortals, surely the time will come when our sacred mountain is too small to shelter us all.”
Muyare spread his hands; he still seemed reluctant to argue on his relative’s behalf. “Perhaps. But it would be good to have our order at strength again.”
“Esteemed Magister Yaarike, you forget something,” said Suno’ku. “With the ranks of Sacrifices replenished and our other orders strengthened, we could again turn our hearts to what we all desire—taking back the lands the mortals have stolen from us. Then we would have as much room as we need.”