On the training ground, as the light deepened to a hazy gold in the last drawn sigh of afternoon, about two hundred persons had assembled: mostly young men with a few women and older men among them. Most were seated cross-legged on the ground, listening as a Qin soldier recalled the battle of Olossi in some detail. The soldier’s precise descriptions, rendered without the gestures and chant usual to tales, brought a stark power to the narrative and held the locals quite fascinated. The rest of the Qin stood at the back of the group or had taken watch positions on the walls, keeping an eye on road and river.

Anji hung back, evidently not wanting to disturb the flow of the story. The censor bent his head close; the two men were still talking. Joss fell in beside them.

“I am aware,” Anji was saying in a low voice, “that your militias are organized into cadres, companies, and cohorts. If you have experienced men to serve as sergeants, I am prepared to leave as many of my own men here to serve as captains, over companies, as you have companies to fill. How many companies can this area raise?”

“Who would command these gathered companies?” asked the censor.

“Naturally they will serve under your formal command and oversight, since you know the region best. Consider, if an army marches out of the north, it is likely they will use either West Track, as they did before, or Rice Walk, to approach Olossi.”

“Having used West Track once, they might try Rice Walk the second time. Better forage, too. More paths to Olossi, won’t be confined to the one road as they are on West Track.”

“Exactly. Therefore, we must be prepared, and we must have trained, disciplined soldiers to face them. If I learned one thing from the battle at Olossi it is that the army—however large—that marched against us did not have good discipline. They expected that brutality and fear—and sheer numbers—would win the day for them. But it did not.”

“How many soldiers do you want?” asked the censor, scratching his beard.

“Can you raise six companies?”

“A full cohort? The hells! That would be over six hundred men. Maybe in the tales you could gather so many. We’re moving into transplanting season. Folk are needed in the fields.”

Volla said, “How will these soldiers be fed and clothed?”

“Taxes, both local and regional. In kind and in coin. You are paying to protect yourselves.”

Volla was about Joss’s age, with a healthy girth and healthy color in her brown cheeks. Not a woman, Joss supposed, who dismissed danger lightly in the hope it would flit away. “We have seen refugees on the road, and resettled a few families in this area in the months since the year’s beginning.”

“You know what is at risk,” said Anji.

“A standing army.” The censor shook his big head like an ox dealt a blow. “I don’t like it. Seems like too much. What do you think, Marshal Joss? I hear tell you came out of Clan Hall, before you were appointed marshal at Argent Hall. Not a day too soon, if you ask me, for there was trouble at the hall.”