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They might still find allies. Dog Province was a vast, open land, and they had only reached the southeastern edge of its border. Perhaps they might still find the nomadic herds of sheep and yaks that the Dog Province was known for. But Rin knew it would drive her mad to keep her eyes fixed on distant plains, hoping for silhouettes to appear on the horizon.
They could not assume aid would come. Their only option was to keep pushing forward to Mount Tianshan, alone.
The march across the plateau proceeded far more easily than their journey through the mountains. They were still exhausted; their numbers were still dwindling from starvation and disease. But now that the ground did not slip treacherously under their feet and the air couldn’t bite hard enough to kill, they covered thrice the distance each day as they had on the Baolei range. Morale improved. The whispers of dissent grew quieter. And as the distant Tianshan range grew closer day by day, no longer a hazy line on the horizon but a distinct, ridged silhouette against the north sky, Rin began daring to hope that they might actually make it. That all their plans, all their talk of the Trifecta that up until now had seemed like a distant fantasy, might actually come to pass.
She just still hadn’t figured out what she might do if they did.
“Rin.” Kitay nudged her shoulder. “Look.”
She’d been stumbling along in a daze, half-asleep from fatigue. “What?”
He tilted her chin up to stop her staring at the ground. He pointed. “Over there.”
She didn’t believe it when she saw it, but then a cheer went up through the column that confirmed everyone saw what she did—the outline of a village, clearly visible against the steppe. Thick clouds of smoke billowing up from rooftops of rounded huts that promised shelter, warmth, and a cooked dinner.
The column quickened its pace.
“Wait,” Rin said. “We don’t know if they’re friendly.”
Kitay shot her a wry look. Around them, the southerners marched with their hands on their weapons. “I don’t think it matters much whether we’re invited.”
“You’re smaller than I thought you’d be,” said the Dog Warlord, Quan Cholang.
Rin shrugged. “The last time a person said that to me, I had him torn apart by a mob.”
She didn’t elaborate. She was too busy chewing her way through the spread on the mat before her—tough, dry mutton; grainy steamed buns; sheep-stock gruel; and a cold, sour glass of yak’s milk to wash it down. It was, by any standard, awful—Dog Province was often lampooned for its tough, tasteless food. But after months in the mountains, her tongue craved any flavors other than the dull sting of chili-boiled water.
She knew she was being rude. But as long as no one was actively trying to kill her, she was going to eat.
She sucked the last juicy mouthful of sheep marrow from bone, took a deep and satisfied breath, then wiped her hand on her pants.
“I don’t recognize you at all,” she said bluntly. “Leadership transition?”
She’d met the former Dog Warlord once before, just briefly, at the Empress’s postwar summit in Lusan. He hadn’t made much of an impression; she could only barely remember his features well enough to know that the man she dined with now was thinner, taller, and far younger. But she could also detect some family resemblances in his features—Cholang had the same long, narrow eyes and high forehead as the man Rin assumed had been his father.
Cholang sighed. “I told my father not to answer Vaisra’s summons. He should have known better to assume the Dragon Warlord merely wanted to talk.”
“Stupid of him,” Kitay agreed. “Did Vaisra send back his head?”
“Vaisra would never be so compassionate.” Cholang’s voice hardened. “He sent me a series of scrolls threatening to skin my father alive and deliver to me his tanned hide if Dog Province didn’t capitulate.”
Kitay’s tone was utterly neutral, without judgment. “So you let your father die.”
“I know the kind of man my father was,” Cholang said. “He would have fallen on his own blade rather than bow. Vaisra did send a parcel. I never opened it; I buried it.”
His voice shook, just barely, as he finished speaking. He’s young, Rin realized. Cholang carried himself like a general, and his men clearly treated him as such, but his voice betrayed a fragility that his sun-weathered skin and bushy beard couldn’t hide.
He was just like them. Young, scared, without a clue about what he was doing, yet trying his best to pretend otherwise.
Kitay gestured around the camp. “I take it this is not the permanent capital?”
Cholang shook his head. “Gorulan is a lovely place. Temples carved into the mountainside, great statues the height of buildings everywhere you look. We abandoned it the moment they sent what I presume was my father’s head back in a basket. Wasn’t keen to get stabbed in my bed.”
“Looks like you’ve been given a stay of execution for now,” Rin said.
Cholang shot her a wry look. “Only because we’ve never figured largely on the Nikara chessboard before. No one quite knows what to do with us.”
That was true. Dog Province had always been an outlier in Imperial politics. They were too distant from centers of power to feel the yoke of any regime, but none of the heartland emperors had ever tried very hard to exert more control, because the sparse, arid plateau held so very little worth controlling. The Dogs herded livestock for subsistence and they didn’t trade. Their land wasn’t worth cultivating; nothing but grass could take root in the thin, rocky soil.
“But you must know the Republic won’t ignore you forever,” Rin said.
“We’re well aware.” Cholang sighed. “It’s about principle, I expect. Regime change requires total domination. Otherwise, if you’ve got cracks in your foundation even before you’ve begun to rule, that sets a poor precedent.”
“It’s not just that,” Kitay said. “It’s your minerals. Nezha told me the Hesperians were discussing it. They think there’s coal, tungsten, and silver under this plateau. They’re very excited about it—they’ve prepared all kinds of machines to drill beneath the earth’s surface once they know it’s safe to move in.”
Cholang seemed unsurprised. “And I expect their definition of safe involves our complete removal.”
“More or less,” Kitay said.
“Then we’re on the same page,” Rin said eagerly. Perhaps too eagerly—she could hear the naked hunger in her own voice—but the Southern Army had marched for so long on only the smallest shreds of hope that she was desperate to solidify this alliance. “You need us. We need you. We’ll take whatever hospitality you can offer—my soldiers are starved, but they’re disciplined—and then we can take stock of how many forces we’ve got—”
Cholang held up a hand to cut her off. “You won’t find your alliance here, Speerly.”
She faltered. “But the Republic is your enemy.”
“The Republic has enforced sanctions on the plateau since your march began.” Cholang’s voice bore no trace of hostility, only wary resignation. “We’re barely holding out ourselves. And we have no defenses to mount. Our population has always been a fraction of those of other provinces, and we have no weapons other than bows and farming implements. Certainly no fire powder. I can offer you a good meal and a night’s rest. But if you’re looking for an army here, you won’t find it.”
