Book 4 - Soldiers Live by Glen Cook Page B

around
endlessly repeating the silent mantra, “Every day in every
way I am going to become a better soldier.”
    “Well, old Blade never was real ambitious,” Swan
replied. “Except when it came to carving up priests.”
He seemed to know what he was talking about even if it was not
obvious to me.
    Clete said, “If we’re getting the straight shit from
Shivetya there’ll be a whole new crop in need of culling
when we get home.”
    The Prahbrindrah Drah and his sister edged closer, eager for
hard news from home. Sleepy took no trouble to keep them posted.
She did not have much of a diplomatic streak. I had best remind her
that she will need their amity once we are back across the
plain.
    They were not handsome, those two. And the Radisha looked more
like the Prince’s mother than his sister. But he had been
under the ground with me while she rode the Taglian tiger and tried
not to lose its reins to Soulcatcher. They strove to remain
unobtrusive here, the Prince because he had been our active enemy
in the field, the Princess because she had turned on us at the very
last moment of our victory over the last Shadowmasters.
    Sleepy fixed her for that.
    Technically, the Radisha was our prisoner. Sleepy had abducted
her. She and her brother will become tools of the Company once
Sleepy stages our return. Everyone agrees. But I suspect that the
royals have reservations.
    “
Rajadharma
.” I said, bowing slightly. I could not
resist the taunt, reminding them both that by attempting to betray
us they had ended up failing to fulfill their duty to their
subjects.
    “Liberator.” The Radisha returned a tiny bow. I
swear, the woman gets homelier by the month. “You appear to
be healing well.”
    “I’ve got a knack for coming back. But my bounce
sure ain’t as fast or as high as it used to be. Guess
it’s old age creeping up.” I lied and told her,
“You’re looking well yourself. You both are. What have
you been doing? I haven’t seen you for a while.”
    The Prahbrindrah Drah said nothing. He remained inscrutable. He
had been quiet and unexpressive since our resurrection. We had
gotten along well, once. But times change. Neither of us were the
men we had been during the Shadowmaster wars.
    “You’re lying like a snake’s belly,” the
Radisha told me. “I’m old and I’m ugly and
I’m still ashamed of myself . . . But
you’re telling the lie my soul wants to hear. Forget
rajadharma
, though. That accusation has no power to hurt me
anymore. From outside. I still crucify myself. I know what I did.
At the time I thought it was the right thing. The Protector
manipulated me using my sense of
rajadharma
. Once we get back there
you’ll see us in a different light.”
    Rajadharma
means the ruler’s obligation to serve the
ruled. When the word is thrown into a ruler’s face, or is
used as an epithet, it is a savage accusation of failure.
    The Radisha is a hard, stubborn little woman. Unfortunately, she
will have to get the better of a hard, stubborn, crazy, almost
supremely powerful sorceress if she wants to fulfill her
expectations for herself.
    I glanced at her brother. The Prince’s expression had not
changed but I sensed that he thought he appreciated the
difficulties more fully than his sister did.
    Uncle Doj whacked something with a practice sword. The loud
crack ended our chatter. “Your canes, please. On the count,
commence the Crane Kada.” He did not bother to explain what
that was to the new guy.
    Maybe two decades ago I had observed and briefly joined the
Nyueng Bao exercises. Murgen was Annalist then. He had had Gota,
Doj and his wife Sahra’s brother, Thai Dei, living with him.
Doj expected me to remember.
    About all I recalled of the Crane Kada was that it constituted
the first and simplest of a dozen slow-motion dances incorporating
all the formal steps and strokes of Doj’s school of fencing.
The old priest led from up front, his back to his pupils. Although
he was the eldest of us all, he