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CoJ chp 7: Fires, Composures, And Any Sword

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___The sun was gleaming like a beacon, my beloved; setting the air afire with glory through the western mists. Bands of men and women competed in chorus, rising in power every moment, until the sun departed to their gladful roars and answering cheers among the watching crowd.
___Then lantern-poles were set; watch-fires lit. Vendors and soldiers together worked to bring out meat and mead and fruit.
___Seifas had left a sullen muddle of mercenaries, in the morning; now a happy hamlet bustled, singing, dancing, kissing, jumping, playing, strumming, declaiming, feasting.
___Seifas, while trying to find and assign some picketscouts, lost his sight of Jian. He expected to find the popular stranger at the festival’s center—but, he couldn’t decide where the “center” might be!
___Eventually, an elderly potter, tottering to the meaders, gave the juacuar a solid clue.

___Away from the main festivities, Seifas found an impressive knot of old campaigners, lounging near some short-flamed coals—a hot fire being unneeded in midsummer, but their bones appreciating the local warmth. Besides, even a minor fire would keep the punkie-gnats from swarming out of the ashes.
___Jian leaned back against a log, mugs of water and cinnamon mead nearby, from which he drank in alternate sips. Also near was half a loaf of longbread, and some sticks of pounded quail.
___He didn’t speak, but only listened, quietly chuckling at the stories. No one seemed to notice him; each was enheartening every one with tales of high adventure.
___Seifas saw that Jian could see him.
___Jian saluted the juacuar with mead; then he placed that mug behind his reclining-log.
___Smiling to himself, Seifas circled the gathering from a distance, approaching from behind, not to disturb the tellers. He swallowed some mead from the mug, then leaned across the log to hear the end of a knee-slapping tale involving mice and figs.
___“I’m glad to see you again,” said Jian, softly as another story started. “I had thought I would meet your commander, but—” Glancing over his shoulder he winked. “Seems I’ve arrived for a holiday!”
___“We had no holiday planned,” admitted Seifas. It took him a moment to understand how odd that admission sounded: yet Portunista hadn’t made preparations to be celebrating Midsummer’s Eve! Besides, he would have said the troops were not in the mood.
___Nearby, women from the red-lamp tents were happily dancing, swirling in rings from one to another fire; they seemed in no particular rush to capitalize on compliments.
___An altogether different mood, for everyone!
___Almost everyone.
___Seifas recalled his commander’s face as she had returned to her tent; and tried to be diplomatic.
___“Commander Portunista decided to spend some time alone, while she had a chance, in order to consider…” His invention failed. “…issues,” he limped to an end.
___“Is it time to meet her now?”
___Seifas honestly wasn’t sure. “I think she should meet you,” he carefully answered, “and it might as well be now.” Some time had passed. Perhaps she might be calmer.
___Jian slid back, over the log, not standing into the firelight.
___Seifas watched as Jian assumed the lead, beginning the way uphill; moving, not exactly from shadow to shadow, but from zone to zone of least attention. He did give a ready smile, to anyone who saw him, but: a slight of movement in the corner of the eye—Was that the stranger?—and he was gone, leaving behind a minimized ripple of speculation.
___These odd impressions faded, as they neared the top of the hill; and Seifas began to worry: would Jian march into the tent headfirst?! Portunista’s expression slashed through Seifas’ memory: this needed delicate handling.
___His fears came partly to nothing. Jian stepped briskly to a halt well-short of the tent, and rested on his flutewood pole, looking back across his journey in satisfaction.
___The juacuar discreetly coughed. “Let me ensure that she can receive you.”
___Jian nodded once, and faced the tent. He seemed to be composing himself—and that struck Seifas a little strange, although he didn’t know why.
___The subcommander firmly rapped the wide tent-flap.
___No answer.
___He edged his head inside, incrementally.
___Portunista sat in her chair, behind a table, studying documents and a map. Her eyes seemed reddish and squinty—as if she had been crying!
___But Seifas firmly dismissed this fancy: studying maps in dim lamplight would easily make her eyes look bleary. On the other hand, he mused, that did bring up the question of why she hadn’t properly trimmed her lamps, or even jotted wisps…
___“Well?!”
___Seifas restrained a wince; and then he stepped into the tent.
___“At your request, Commander, I have brought the stranger to see you.”
___She hadn’t really requested this; but Seifas hoped his respectful tone would calm her a little further.
___Portunista stood, moving away from the map, and seemed to compose herself. Hadn’t he seen something similar—?
___An unexpected image flashed across his mind: himself, in matchmaking garb, arranging a noble couple’s introduction—and with one of them stewing in a wretched temper!
___Seifas rapidly spun to the flap, hiding a smile, just as Portunista ordered Jian to be brought in.
___“This seems a good omen!” The no-longer-quite-a-stranger doubtless referred to the grin of the juacuar. Seifas coughed and regained his own composure.
___“Commander Portunista now will see you,” Seifas tried to announce—when Portunista herself strode out the flap!
___Jian bowed low, with a respectful “Commander,” as the juacuar moved to stand behind her.
___“So,” said Portunista frostily. “Thanks for helping my subcommander obtain some food for my brigade.” Seifas couldn’t clearly see her eyes from where he stood, but he suspected she flicked a glance toward the festival strewn about the hill below. So much for the sheep—indeed, so much for a sizable fraction of their supplies!
___“The herding family thanks you, too, for such a generous compensation,” Jian returned, and shortly bowed—the bag still hung on Seifas’ belt, of course.
___“Where are you from?” Portunista demanded to know.
___Seifas’ ears pricked up, and he focused intently on watching the man; who narrowed his eyes a little, and then so slightly pulled back his head, while shifting his grip on the flutewood staff.
___“I come from a faraway land, as you can see—”
___“Not necessarily,” Portunista interrupted. “Seifas looks as different from most of us as you—and yet a few of his kind are born each year in every nation.” Her triumphant smile was spread so wide, Seifas could see it from behind.
___And then, in turn, he saw a startlement, even worry, on Jian’s face. The pale man sighed and tried again.
___“I apologize; but I am under an obligation, even the nature of which I mustn’t reveal. I am a stranger to these parts, and I will need a…sponsor, of sorts.”
___“And you believe it should be us.”
___“I don’t know why it shouldn’t be.”
___“But you won’t tell us where you are from.”
___“No.”
___“Nor who, if anyone, sent you.”
___“No.”
___“Nor why you are even here.”
___“Not at the moment, no.”
___“And if I handed you over to my interrogators?” Portunista asked with a sharpening edge to her flattening tone.
___“It would hurt.” The fair man matched her flatness, and her sharpness.
___Seifas was disappointed at the hostility. But he couldn’t fault his commander; she was only being prudent. Besides, after tonight, would anyone in the brigade agree to torture this man…?
___“I understand this looks suspicious,” Jian continued. “If you wish, then I will leave.”
___“And what would you do if you stayed?!” retorted Portunista.
___Jian bowed shortly once again. “I would commit myself to serving you, in every way that you deem proper—with the reminder that I have loyalties which may supersede your authority.”
___Portunista laughed unpleasantly. “Well!—you are an arrogant scamp! And if I told you to gather fuel from the pens? Would your loyalties supersede that?”
___“As far as I know…no they would not.” For a moment the man’s face tightened; but then with a sigh of resignation, he grinned instead.
___His confidence set her back on her heels.
___“And you, Seifas!?” She turned and shot the juacuar a glance.
___“I prefer to gather sheep and the heads of villains, rather than droppings,” he gravely replied. “If that is what you are asking about. Otherwise,” he continued, over her narrowing glare, “whatever you have him do, if you accept his offer of service, he should be required to help in defending our camp against attack.”
___Snorting at this, Portunista strode downhill and to the left, away from both the men. Sharing a glance and a shrug, they followed. This time Jian paced Seifas as a proper subordinate, two steps left and two behind.
___Portunista breezed into an armorer’s tent. A weaponbrace along one side held several swords.
___“Here!” Portunista pulled a short and very plain sword from the brace, handing it to Jian. “We can spare you nothing better than a common battered weapon which has only failed a hundred faceless soldiers!”
___The fair man carefully set aside his flutewood staff—not without some fondness, but with a definite air of finality.
___Seifas swallowed a lump in his throat; and decided the boy with the sword-jumping ball would be given the staff for a keepsake.
___Turning away from the staff, Jian accepted the sword.
___Flexing his wrist, he tested the balance, twisting a few slow cuts through the air.
___“No matter,” he smiled to Portunista. “Any sword will do.”
___A moment of silence followed, while they watched each other.
___Then he humbly asked,
___“May I also be sheathed?”

___Portunista blinked, then tossed him a worn but serviceable sheath, sewn from softened leather; and then not altogether meeting her officer’s eye, she growled as she plunged from under the covering tent:
___“Find him a place to sleep…”
___Seifas could no longer hold in his mirth, but prudently softened his laughter.
___Seven minutes later, a hundred and eighty-four men were dead.

Next chapter

Notes from the real author…

Yeah, this is one of my lamer chapter titles. (Coming up with hundreds of chapter titles plus section titles plus some book titles?–not easy. :wink: ) That does bring up the question of whether the Preface Author as a character is using chapter titles, though!

I gave this lots of thought before sending the text to my typesetters: I didn’t think the PA would use chapter titles (or not at first anyway, given his mood and rationale for writing the account at all) on something he thought his wife would only need an hour to read (and that by the way is a clue that he and his wife Aren’t Normal People At All), but mere chapter numbering gets boring.

Eventually I split the difference: chapter titles are available in the Table of Contents and printed on the top of alternating text pages starting with the second page of the chapter. (The other alternating header, starting on the third page of the chapter, prints the section title. By normal publishing standard that should have been the title of the book, but I figured readers wouldn’t need or want reminding about the book title!)

Hopefully by now it should be sufficiently obvious that the Preface Author is following Seifas’ journal for this chapter even if he isn’t taking direct source (and even if he’s adding to the details with some narrative smoothing and color, and with details from whatever else he’s doing to scope out the situation.)

This sets up an ongoing practical illustration of source-critical theory: the Preface Author is starting to redact the data, smoothing it out and transposing it to a different form of delivery rather than just repeating what was previously written down. A reader could make guesses as to what he’s citing directly from Seifas’ journal, and what he’s paraphrasing (as well as fleshing out, whether from other sources or just for narrative and stylistic color), but unless we had the original source text (which we don’t–and I don’t either :wink: ) we’d never be able to make more than guesses about it. But then again, that leads to the question of how much the PA is inadvertently altering, or even altering on purpose to suit his own emphases (or even his own agendas!) Which goes back to, what do we know about the PA as a character? How reliable is he as a narrator, and how do we establish that?

Not that that’s important for following or understanding the story, but I’m very pleased to have been able to work such issues into reading the book as a side effect of the unusual composition style. :slight_smile: I’ll be doing it a little more overtly in the case of the 3rd and final subauthor, who will be introduced a few chapters from now.

Meanwhile, Portunista demonstrates that she didn’t just fall accidentally into command of a few hundred soldiers and support personnel: despite her emotional stress, she can recognize a fishy sounding story when she hears it. She isn’t being mean for the sake of being mean (or not entirely anyway :wink: ), she has justifiable reasons to be suspicious. Maybe the problem is with Jian and not her! (Or not altogether with her.)

Yes, there’s an affectionate if obscure nod to Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series, in the “mice and figs”. (He had only gotten as far as A Crown of Swords before I wrote CoJ’s first draft. And now, Jan 2013, the final novel in WoT has been posthumously completed and released at last. sigh, nostalgia…)

The ending of this chapter is easily in my top five favorites out of writing three books! While I hate action sequences simply for sake of action sequences (which is why not every Section has a climactic action scene), I was getting antsy to move along to the climactic action of this Section, and the largest fight scene I had ever written up to then.