The Dragon Emperor had expelled the foreigners from Nikan in the days of turmoil following the Second Poppy War, but Rin knew that a scattering of Hesperians still remained—missionaries intent on spreading the word of their Holy Maker.
“Are there still any Hesperians in the city?” she asked hopefully. She had never seen a Hesperian. Foreigners in Nikan were not permitted to travel as far north as Sinegard; they were restricted to trading at a handful of port cities, of which Khurdalain was the largest. She wondered if Hesperians were really pale-skinned and covered with fur, if their hair was really carrot red.
“A couple hundred,” Altan said, but Qara shook her head.
“Not anymore. They’ve cleared out since the attack on Sinegard. Their government sent a ship for them. Nearly tipped over, they were trying to cram so many people in. There are one or two of their missionaries left, and a few foreign ministers. They’re documenting what they see, sending it to their governments back at home. But that’s it.”
Rin remembered what Kitay had said about calling on Hesperia for aid, and snorted. “They think that’s helping?”
“They’re Hesperians,” said Qara. “They always think they’re helping.”
The old section of Khurdalain—the Nikara quarter—was set in low-rise buildings embedded inside a grid of alleyways, intersected by a webbed system of canals, so narrow that even a cart would have a hard time getting through. It made sense that the Nikara army had set up base in this part of the city. Even if the Federation knew vaguely where they were, their overwhelming numbers would be no advantage in these crooked, tunneling streets.
Architecture aside, Rin imagined that under normal circumstances, Khurdalain might be a louder, dirtier version of Sinegard. Before occupation, this place must have been a bustling hub of exchange, more exciting even than the Sinegardian downtown markets. But Khurdalain under siege was quiet and muted, almost sullenly so. She saw no civilians as they walked; they either had already evacuated or were heeding the warnings of the Militia, keeping their heads down and staying away from where Federation soldiers might see them.
Qara briefed them on the combat situation as they walked. “We’ve been under siege for almost a month now. We’ve got Federation encampments on three sides, all except the one you came from. Worst is that they’ve been steadily encroaching into urban areas. Khurdalain has high walls, but they have trebuchets.”
“How much of the city have they taken?” Altan asked.
“Only a narrow strip of beach by the sea, and half of the foreign quarter. We could take back the Bolonian embassies, but the Fifth Division won’t cooperate.”
“Won’t cooperate?”
Qara scowled. “We’re having some, ah, difficulties with integration. That new general of theirs doesn’t help. Jun Loran.”
Altan looked as dismayed as Rin felt. “Jun’s here?”
“Shipped in three days ago.”
Rin shuddered. At least she wasn’t serving directly under him. “Isn’t the Fifth from Tiger Province? Why isn’t the Tiger Warlord in command?”
“The Tiger Warlord is a three-year-old kid whose steward is a politician with no military experience. Jun has resumed command of his province’s army. The Ram and Ox Warlords are here too, with their provincial divisions, but they’ve been squabbling with each other over supplies more than they’ve been fighting the Federation. And no one can figure out an attack plan that doesn’t put civilian areas in the line of fire.”
“What are the civilians still doing here?” Rin asked. It seemed to her that the Militia’s job would be a lot easier if civilian protection were not a priority. “Why haven’t they evacuated, like the Sinegardians?”
“Because Khurdalain is not a city that you can easily leave,” said Qara. “Most of the people here make their living from fishing or in the factories. There’s no agriculture out here. If they move further inland, they have nothing. Most of the peasants moved here to escape rural squalor in the first place. If we ask them to leave, they’ll starve. The people are determined to stay, and we’ll just have to make sure they stay alive.”
Qara’s falcon cocked its head suddenly, as if it heard something. When she walked forward several paces Rin could hear it, too: raised voices coming from behind the general’s compound.
“Cike!”
Rin cringed. She would recognize that voice anywhere.
General Jun Loran stormed down the alley toward them, purple-faced with fury.
“Ow-ow!”
By his side, Jun dragged a scrawny boy by the ear, jerking him along with brutal tugs. The boy wore an eyepatch over his left eye, and his right eye watered in pain as he tottered along behind Jun.
Altan stopped short. “Tiger’s tits.”
“Ramsa,” Qara swore under her breath. Rin couldn’t tell if it was a name or a curse in Qara’s language.
“You.” Jun stopped in front of Qara. “Where is your commander?”
Altan stepped forward. “That’d be me.”
“Trengsin?” Jun regarded Altan with open disbelief. “You’re joking. Where’s Tyr?”
A spasm of irritation flickered across Altan’s face. “Tyr is dead.”
“What?”
Altan crossed his arms. “No one bothered to tell you?”
Jun ignored the jibe. “He’s dead? How?”
“Occupational hazard,” Altan said, which Rin suspected meant that he didn’t have a clue.
“So they put the Cike in the hands of a child,” Jun muttered. “Incredible.”
Altan looked between Jun and the boy, who was still bent over by Jun’s side, whimpering in pain. “What’s this about?”
“My men caught him elbows-deep in their munitions stores,” Jun said. “Third time this week.”
“I thought it was our munitions wagon!” the boy protested.
“You don’t have a munitions wagon,” Jun snapped. “We established that the first two times.”
Qara sighed and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand.
“I wouldn’t have to steal if they’d just share,” the boy said plaintively, appealing to Altan. His voice was thin and reedy, and his good eye was huge in his thin face. “I can’t do my job if I don’t have fire powder.”
“If your men are lacking equipment, you might have thought to bring it from the Night Castle.”
“We used up all ours at the embassy,” the boy grumbled. “Remember?”
Jun jerked the boy’s ear downward, and the boy howled in pain.
Altan reached behind his back for his trident. “Let go, Jun.”
Jun glanced at the trident, and the side of his mouth quirked up. “Are you threatening me?”
Altan did not extend his weapon—to point his blade at a commander of another division would be the highest treason—but he didn’t take his hand off the shaft. Rin thought she saw fire flicker momentarily across his fingertips. “I’m making a request.”
Jun took one step back, but did not let go of the boy. “Your men do not have access to Fifth Division supplies.”
“And disciplining him is my prerogative, not yours,” said Altan. “Unhand him. Now, Jun.”