Ken Liu - The Grace of Kings

The temperature dropped further. The Cocru soldiers lacked warm mittens and coats, and their hands stuck to the iron handles of their weapons; they cried out as the skin tore off. They lay down on the frozen ground to try to rest and filled their mouths with handfuls of snow to fight off the pangs of hunger. Many of the horses, having had nothing to eat for days, fell down and were slaughtered for meat.

But there was no talk of surrender anywhere in the Cocru ranks.

“This isn’t right, Marshal,” said Kuni to Gin in her tent. “Too many soldiers are dying.”

For ten days, Mata’s men had held the hill, killing five Dasu soldiers for every Cocru rider that fell from his horse.

“There is a time for finesse, and a time for pressing your advantage with numbers,” said Gin. “If we do not defeat the hegemon quickly, armies from across Cocru will come to his aid and cut off our supply lines. My tactics may be brutal, but they’re working. It has been days since the Cocru men have had anything to eat except dead horses, and most are now wounded. We must press on and not relent.”

“But I know how loyal Mata’s men are; they’ll never surrender. Shall I leave behind as many widows and orphans as Mapidéré as the price of my victory? Even if we win, I will have lost the hearts of the people.”

Gin sighed. Kuni’s streak of essential kindness was not always militarily convenient, but it was why she served him. “Then what do you propose? We can hardly offer a truce again.”

“Lady Risana has an idea.”

From the shadows behind Kuni, Risana stepped forward.

When Jia and his father had been seized by the hegemon, Kuni wanted to send Risana and the children to safety in Ginpen, far from the dangers of the front. He could not afford to lose more family. But Risana had insisted that she be allowed to accompany him to the front.

“The women need an advocate,” Risana had said.

The women’s auxiliary corps created by Gin had contributed greatly to Dasu’s rise. Compared to the other armies of Dara, the Dasu troops ate a healthier diet and kept their armor in better condition, and many Dasu soldiers survived wounds that would have been fatal, thanks to the women’s cool heads and steady hands as they applied healing herbs and wielded sewing needles.

But as the war dragged on, Gin was preoccupied by matters in the field and the administration of her own domain, and the women auxiliaries fell into neglect. While the women in Mazoti’s air force were treated as exceptional and elite, the auxiliary corps in the army came to be seen as mere support. Some Dasu commanders put in charge of the corps had abused their privilege, denying the women their pay, ignoring their grievances, and even treating them as though they were helpless camp followers instead of part of the army.

“My mother and I both worked for a living,” Risana had said. “I can help their voices be heard. What good is my position if I’m not allowed to use it?”

“Marshal,” said Risana, “I may know nothing of grand military strategies, but I do know something about the hearts of men. My talent lies in seeing into the tangled thicket of their desires and perhaps picking out a path.”

Though Gin respected Risana’s wisdom, she was tired and tense, and Risana’s words seemed too obscure. “This isn’t a matter of parlor tricks and seduction.”

“Ah, Marshal, though you have added women to your army, have you ever thought of them as real soldiers?”

Gin narrowed her eyes at Risana but nodded for her to go on.

After she explained her plan, Gin was thoughtful. She paced back and forth in the tent as Kuni and Risana watched. Finally, she looked up. “If this doesn’t work, you will have hardened Mata’s men so that their resistance will be even more fierce. But it’s worth a try. The king will have to speak to them directly.”

Through the snow-filled night, Gin, Kuni, and Risana rode to the camp of the women’s auxiliary corps. The troops were roused in assembly, and they stared at the three riders with consternation. They trusted Risana, who had done much to improve their conditions. But Kuni and Gin had never come to their camp before.

Gently urging his horse forward a few steps, Kuni spoke, striving to be heard above the howling wind and swirling snow.

“Who among you are from Cocru?”

Hundreds of hands rose up.

“I know many of you joined me after you’d lost your husbands and fathers and sons and brothers in the rebellion and the subsequent wars. We have a chance to end the slaughter tonight, but only if you help.”

The women listened, stone-faced, as Kuni explained Lady Risana’s plan.

“You will have to face Mata’s army unarmed and unescorted,” Gin added. “This won’t work if they think you’re a threat or being forced. If they attack, we will not be able to rescue you. The king and I do not demand this of you, if you think it too dangerous or ill-advised. You must volunteer.”

One by one, the women of Cocru stepped forward in the snow, forming a tight phalanx in front of the king, the lady, and the marshal.

Tonight, there was no attack from Mazoti. In fact, Mata Zyndu’s scouts reported that the Dasu army had pulled back half a mile, leaving an empty no-man’s-land around the hill.

Just before morning, women’s voices, carried by the wind, woke Mata in his tent:

Is it snow that I see falling in the valley?

Is it rain that flows over the faces of the children?

Oh my sorrow, my sorrow is great.

It is not snow that covers the floor of the valley.

It is not rain that washes the faces of the children.

Oh my sorrow, my sorrow is great.

Chrysanthemum petals have filled the floor of the valley.

Tears have soaked the faces of the children.

Oh my sorrow, my sorrow is great.

The warriors, they have died like falling chrysanthemum blossoms.

My son, oh my son, he is not coming home from battle.

Mata stood before his tent. Snow fell against him, and his face was soon wet from the melted flakes.

Ratho Miro rode up the hill and tumbled off the horse in front of Mata. “Hegemon, some women of Cocru are halfway up the hill, singing. Though they’re not accompanied by armed escorts, they may be Dasu spies.”

Mata now heard male voices taking up the old folk song, known to every child of Cocru.

“Have so many of our men surrendered to Kuni already, that their voices are so loud?” Mata Zyndu asked.

“The men singing are not prisoners,” said Ratho, hesitating. “They… they are our own troops.”

Startled, Mata looked at the small tents around him. Men emerged from them in the predawn darkness. Some wiped their eyes; some began to sing; a few cried openly.

“The women have been singing nonstop for hours,” said Ratho Miro. “The commanders told the soldiers to plug up their ears with wax, but they did not obey. Some of the men have walked down to meet the women, looking for those from their home villages to ask for news about their families.”

Mata listened without moving.

“Should we order an attack?” asked Ratho. “This… tactic from Kuni Garu is beneath contempt.”

Mata shook his head. “It’s all right. Kuni has already taken the soldiers’ hearts. It’s too late now.”