But she couldn't stop wondering about the fate of Deraqor, or rather, D'Raqor, as the Fal'Borna now called it. When Stri first told her of the pestilence that night in the Swift Water, Tirnya was relieved to hear that the disease had not reached her ancestral home. But now her feelings were more ambivalent. What might it mean if Deraqor were struck by the plague the merchant had described? It seemed, from what the man had told her, that this strain of the pestilence unleashed the white-hairs' magic, which might well damage the city. That would be unfortunate. But he had said far more than that. None of us even gets sick, and all of them die.
Surely he couldn't have meant that the pestilence killed every white-hair in those cities it struck. Could he? She had never heard of the Fal'Borna turning away merchants. As hard and unwelcoming as the horsemen of the plain were said to be, they rarely turned down a chance to trade. They must have been terrified of this plague to go to such extraordinary lengths to keep it away. And Tirnya knew that the Fal'Borna feared nothing.
"They fear this," she whispered to herself.
She heard bells tolling from the city gates. Midday: time to resume her patrols. She rose from her bed and left the house, not bothering to say anything to her mother.
She and Zira rarely spoke. As a girl Tirnya had taken up swords and daggers rather than dolls and pretty clothes, and that decision had forever marked her as Jenoe's daughter rather than Zira's. During her fourth four, as she grew from a coltish, long-limbed girl to the woman she was now, her mother had tried to lure her away from Jenoe's influence.
"Swordplay is fine for children," Zira told her on Tirnya's twelfth birthday. "But a young woman must turn her mind to other pursuits. You're beautiful, Tirnya; you must know that. You've a lovely face, fine hair, a good figure." She offered these observations not as compliments, but rather as statements of fact, as if she were the lord governor's treasurer, cataloging His Lordship's holdings. "I feared that all that time you wasted wrestling with your brothers and playing with arms would spoil your looks, but you've been fortunate. Now it's time for you to put away your blades and put on your dresses."
"There are women in His Lordship's army," Tirnya had argued. "Common women. Daughters of farmers and smiths and farriers. Not the daughter of a man like your father."
"Papa doesn't mind. He likes it that I'm good with a sword."
Her mother's expression hardened at that. She was a beauty as well; Tirnya looked just like her. She had pale blue eyes, a wide, sensuous mouth, and honey brown hair that fell to the shoulder in waves. But when Zira grew angry, her beauty became as dangerous and forbidding as that of a highlands lion.
"He indulges you," she said, as if it were the worst crime a father could commit.
"He loves me. He wants me to be happy. Why is it you don't?"
Tirnya left the house before her mother could respond, and for a long time afterward, they didn't discuss dresses or swords again. There were times when she heard her parents speaking about her, and those discussions usually ended in fights. But her father never said anything to her; he certainly never tried to change her. Eventually, Tirnya's relationship with her mother improved; they were cordial with each other, though not warm. Occasionally Zira would speak to her of how important it was that she marry well, and how difficult it would be for her to find a husband so long as she insisted on training with common soldiers. Tirnya pretended to listen, but she rarely responded, even to argue the point, and she continued to hone her skills with a sword. Her best revenge was that she took to calling her mother "Zira" to her face, rather than "Mother." Her mother hated it, which was why she did it. Her father begged her to stop, but she refused. It was a habit that had become so ingrained that she couldn't have stopped even if she had wanted to. And the truth was she didn't.
She made her way to the palace armory where every day she met the soldiers in her company. Oliban and the other lead riders had already gathered the men in formations of eight, and the stableboy had saddled her sorrel, Thirus.
"G'day, Captain," Oliban said, raising a hand in greeting and smiling. "All present and ready to ride."
"Good."
She walked among the men, checking their weapons and armor, making certain that their mounts were properly harnessed, though she had little doubt that they would be. Her lead riders would have seen to it before she arrived.
She'd been fortunate with the men assigned to her, or perhaps her father and his commanders had chosen them with extra care. Despite what she'd told her mother all those years ago-that there were other women in the lord governor's army-few women became captains. Oliban, Qagan Fawler, Dyn Grathidar, and her other lead riders could easily have chosen to make command difficult for her. She would have disciplined them, but if they had worked together to disrupt her company, they could have made it seem as if she was incompetent. She knew of riders under other captains who would have done just that if they had been assigned to her. Many soldiers chafed at the idea of serving under a woman, particularly one as young as she. To this day, some in the army claimed that she'd been promoted quickly, not because of her fighting skill or abilities as a leader, but solely on the basis of being Jenoe Onjaef's daughter. And truth be told, Oliban and the others had seemed skeptical when she first took command of the company. But from the start they obeyed her orders and gave her every opportunity to succeed rather than looking for ways to make her fail.
They may have done this out of respect for her father, rather than in response to anything she did as their captain. Tirnya didn't care. At this point, more than a year since she had been promoted to captain, her men liked and respected her, and their company had earned a reputation as one of the finest in Maisaak's army.
Finishing her inspection, she nodded to her leads. "Excellent." She swung herself onto Thirus and faced the men again. A light, misting rain had begun to fall, but the air was warmer than it had been for several days. Certainly not ideal weather for a patrol, but not the worst either. "We have the south road today," she told them. "Enly reported trouble there yesterday, as did Stri the day before, but neither of them managed to capture anyone." She allowed herself a sly grin. "I won't presume to comment."
The men laughed.
"But I expect that we'll find brigands there today, and I have every confidence that the next time we drink ales at the Swift Water, they'll be bought with His Lordship's bounty."
All of them cheered.
Wheeling her mount around, Tirnya led them out of the palace courtyard, through the city lanes, to the south gate. Once outside the city walls, they rearranged themselves into tighter, diamond-shaped formations and spread out to cover the lane leading from the gate as well as the sparse woodlands on either side of the road. Tirnya, as was her custom, remained on the lane, beside Oliban at the head of the first diamond.
They rode in silence, watchful, alert to any sound. Road brigands generally roamed in bands of ten to twenty men; they wouldn't engage a force as large as Tirnya's if they didn't have to. Instead, they'd try to keep out of sight and hope that the soldiers would pass by without noticing them. Like all His Lordship's soldiers, Tirnya's men had been trained not to let that happen. They knew these woodlands well, and they knew what to search for: disturbed patches in the leaf litter, clusters of shrubs and trees that appeared unusually dense, freshly broken twigs and plant stalks. Such signs were as likely to be made by woodland beasts-deer, fox, boar-as by outlaws. More often than not, soldiers investigating such signs would find no one. But still they investigated every lead.