Tanasai’s face flushed a deep red. She shoved her helm back on. She sputtered something – maybe something in Tordinian – that sounded like a curse and stepped abruptly out of the sitting room, carrying several bottles of Zezili’s liquor. She marched through the courtyard, screaming at dajians as she went. Tanasai had good reason to want to lead a legion against Tordin. It was the only way she would make a name for herself that wasn’t synonymous with that of a drunkard.

Zezili followed her to the door. Daolyn locked the gate behind her.

“Do I have to let her in anymore?” Daolyn asked.

“No. If I’m not here, don’t let her enter. She won’t be happy until this campaign is over and the Empress sends us to fight the people we should actually be fighting.”

The rest of her leave passed uneventfully. Anavha cried a bit over some perceived hurt or other, and Zezili ignored him until he became docile again. He had no more… episodes. She chalked up the business in his room to some outside anomaly. On the day of her departure, he threw himself at her feet and cried and begged her not to go. Zezili curled a lip in disgust. She made Daolyn pull him off.

She dressed in a clean tunic and newly polished armor, and cinched on her skirt of metal and dajians’ hair. Daolyn checked all of her straps and knots, and Zezili took her leave. Daolyn closed the door behind her. Zezili patted her massive dog, Dakar, in greeting, fed him a treat, and mounted.

Monshara already waited there, sitting atop a massive black-and-white bear. Dakar did not take well to the bear. Zezili could both hear and feel him growling low. She thumped his rump. Training bears and dogs to tolerate one another started early; she had made sure to select him from a kennel that raised him alongside bear cubs. But there was no accounting for individual dislike. She wasn’t fond of Monshara or the bear either.

“There’s been enough fucking in your house for eight women,” Monshara said.

“I fight better than I fuck, if that’s any consolation,” Zezili said.

“I look forward to finally seeing it.”

They traveled northeast, to the city of Cholina, and met Zezili’s second, Syre Jasoi, and three hundred of the five thousand members of Zezili’s legion. Jasoi had cleaned up for the occasion and smelled heavily of pomade. She had knobby knees and a pinched, fox-like face, but she was good with a blade and smart on the field for a Tordinian.

Monshara inspected the lines of women for nearly an hour before finally reining up beside Zezili. “They’ll do,” she said. “Some are very drunk, however.”

“We’re only killing a few dajians,” Zezili said, “not invading Saiduan.”

Monshara barked a hollow laugh. The laugh went on and on, far more laughter than Zezili thought the joke warranted.