And here was another man I’d failed. My heart sank, but I tried not to let it show. “You didn’t waste your time, Sergeant Duril. I’ve no intention of giving up my career. Even if I have to enlist as a common soldier and rise as a ranker, I’m determined to do it.” As I said those words, I was a bit surprised to find how deeply I meant them.

He cocked his head at me. “Well. I guess I can’t ask more of you than that, Nevare.” He smiled suddenly, pleased with himself. “And I think you can’t ask more of me than what I have for you. Fancy an evening ride?”

“I’m not averse to it,” I replied. “Where are we going?”

His smiled broadened. “You’ll see.” He went back into his apartments, and then emerged with a fat set of saddlebags slung over his shoulder. I wanted to ask what was in them, but I knew he was enjoying making his revelations as we went along. I held my tongue.

It had been some days since I’d ridden Sirlofty. Ever a willing mount, he reached for the bit, eager to go. Duril had the use of a clay-colored gelding.

As we stood together in the paddock, saddling our mounts, we both glanced at each other. Then, as one, we made the “keep fast” sign over the cinches. I feared it would soon be an empty ritual, with no more true power than the acorns that some troopers carried for luck in finding shade at the day’s end. We mounted, he took the lead, and I followed.

We struck the river road and traveled east for a short way before Duril turned his horse away from the river to follow a dusty, rutted trail. We topped a small rise, and in the distance I saw the Bejawi village. An upthrust of stone granted it some respite from the endless sweep of the prairie winds. Brush grew in the shelter of the stone barrier, and even a few trees. My father had chosen the location for it and laid out the original village for them. My father’s men had built the dozen houses that stood in two neat rows. At least twice that number of traditional Bejawi tents surrounded the houses. “Is that where we’re going? The Bejawi village?”

Duril gave a nod, silently watching me.

“Why?”

“Talk to some Kidona there.”

“In the Bejawi village? What are they doing there? Kidona and Bejawi are traditional enemies. And the Kidona don’t have villages. The only reason the Bejawi live here is that my father built it for them and they had nowhere else to go.”

“And wasn’t that a rousing success?” Duril asked with quiet sarcasm. I knew what he meant, but I was still a bit shocked to hear him say something even mildly negative about my father.

In the era before the Gernian expansion the Plainspeople had been nomads.

Different tribes followed different livelihoods. Some herded sheep or goats.