Rise of a Hero (The Farsala Trilogy) Read Online Free Page A

remembered dryly.
    “Dead,” said Fasal. “Dead or enslaved. The commander is dead. Our fathers are dead. We’re all that’s left.”
    “But . . .” Markhan shook his head, as if trying to shake off the truth. Kaluud was gripping his stomach as if it hurt him, his golden brown skin pale. Jiaan felt a flash of pure pity.
    “But . . . Who’s in command then?” Markhan asked.
    “That would be me,” said Jiaan. For a wonder, his voice didn’t squeak.
    “ What ? Don’t be ridiculous. By what possible authority would you command?”
    So much for pity. “By my authority as High Commander Merahb’s son,” said Jiaan. He had spoken those words the first time right after the battle, and a few times since, but it still felt like taking off his clothes in the middle of the town square on market day.
    “His peasant-born bastard,” said Markhan. “The commander may have granted you some rank, but only a true-born son inherits. And high commander isn’t an inherited title at all.”
    “That’s true. But since the gahn is dead and can’t appoint a new commander, you’ll have to make do with me. Peasant-born bastard or not.”
    The men who’d gathered around them were peasant-born bastards themselves, or the descendants of such. Only those with some deghan blood were trained to fight, even if they only served as support troops. Peasant-born support troops didn’t talk back to deghans, no matter howidiotic their attitudes, but Jiaan could feel the subtle shift of the crowd as those standing nearby moved to stand behind him, and even those who didn’t move somehow made their allegiance clear.
    “But . . .” Kaluud looked at Fasal, who nodded resentful confirmation.
    “There’s no one else left.”
    “There’s us,” Kaluud protested. “We’re deghans, at least.”
    The silence was so deep Jiaan could hear the soft wind soughing in the pine branches.
    Markhan gripped Kaluud’s arm. He might be a fool, but he wasn’t that stupid. “Very well, Commander . We’ve reported to you that the gahn is slain and his heir taken. How do you plan to go about freeing him?”
    Jiaan tried not to wince. He hated moments like this. “I don’t. In Azura’s name, think! What good would a four-year-old gahn do anyone now? The best way to get him back, to get back all who survive, is to withstand the Hrum for a year. Just like my fath—the commander planned. Or had you forgotten about that?”
    Judging by their expressions they had forgotten, and Jiaan could hardly blame them. The Hrum’spolicy of giving their own commanders one year from the first battle to complete their conquest—and of making a peaceful alliance if they failed—seemed absurd to Jiaan too. But his father had confirmed and reconfirmed it.
    If the Hrum hadn’t taken all major cities, and pacified most of the countryside as well, at the end of a year, the Hrum would either offer Farsala a peaceful and profitable alliance, or they would leave them alone. And when the Hrum began negotiations, the first thing they would offer was the return of all the Farsalan slaves.
    But the Hrum preferred to add the wealth and manpower of other nations directly into their army and tax base. Only if the price of conquest proved too high, would they offer alliance and peace. The Hrum had attacked thirty-one countries in the last two centuries, and there were only three allied states. So clearly, resisting for a year was harder than it sounded—Farsala had ten and a half months to go.
    Even the commander, with all the information he had gathered, all his experience, had underestimated the Hrum. Maybe Markhan and Kaluud were right—there had to be someone more qualifiedthan an eighteen-year-old, half-blood bastard to take command. But he wasn’t here now, and Jiaan was. He knew what his father would have said about that.
    “The Hrum have smashed our army,” said Markhan slowly. “They’ve taken Desafon. They’ve taken Setesafon, destroyed the guard, and