Rin stared at him in disbelief.
“Sir?” Kitay asked.
The magistrate turned to look at him. “What?”
With a grunt, Kitay raised the crate over his head and flung it to the ground. It landed on the dirt with a hard thud, not the tremendous crash Rin had rather been hoping for. The wooden lid of the crate popped off. Out rolled several very nice porcelain teapots, glazed with a lovely flower pattern. Despite their tumble, they looked unbroken.
Then Kitay took to them with a slab of wood.
When he was done smashing them, he pushed his wiry curls out of his face and whirled on the sweating magistrate, who cringed in his seat as if afraid Kitay might start smashing at him, too.
“We are at war,” Kitay said. “And you are being evacuated because for gods know what reason, you’ve been deemed important to this country’s survival. So do your job. Reassure your people. Help us maintain order. Do not pack your fucking teapots.”
Within days, the Academy was transformed from a campus to a military encampment. The grounds were overrun with green-clad soldiers from the Eighth Division of the nearby Ram Province, and the students were absorbed into their number.
The Militia soldiers were a stoic, curt crowd. They took on the Academy students begrudgingly, all the while making it very clear that they thought the students had no place in the war.
“It’s a superiority issue,” Kitay speculated later. “Most of the soldiers were never at Sinegard. It’s like being told to work with someone who in three years would have been your superior officer, even though you have a decade of combat experience on them.”
“They don’t have combat experience, either,” said Rin. “We’ve fought no wars in the last two decades. They know less of what they’re doing than we do.”
Kitay couldn’t argue with that.
At least the arrival of the Eighth Division meant the return of Raban, who was tasked with evacuating the first-year students out of the city, along with the civilians.
“But I want to fight!” protested a student who barely came up to Rin’s shoulder.
“Fat lot of good you’ll do,” Raban answered.
The first-year stuck out his chin. “Sinegard is my home. I’ll defend it. I’m not a little kid, I don’t have to be herded out like all those terrified women and children.”
“You are defending Sinegard. You’re protecting its inhabitants. All those women and children? You’re in charge of their safety. Your job is to make sure they get to the mountain pass. That’s quite a serious task.” Raban caught Rin’s eye as he shepherded the first-years out of the main gate.
“I’m scared some of the younger ones are going to sneak back in,” he told her quietly.
“You’ve got to admire them,” said Rin. “Their city’s about to be invaded and their first thought is to defend it.”
“They’re being stupid,” said Raban. He spoke with none of his usual patience. He looked exhausted. “This is not the time for heroism. This is war. If they stay, they’re dead.”
Escape plans were made for the students. In case the city fell, they were to flee down the little-known ravine on the other side of the valley to join the rest of the civilians in a mountain hideout where they couldn’t be reached by the Federation battalions. This plan did not include the masters.
“Jima doesn’t think we can win,” said Kitay. “She and the faculty are going to go down with the school.”
“Jima’s just being cautious,” said Raban, trying to lift their spirits. “Sunzi said to plan for every contingency, right?”
“Sunzi also said that when you cross a river, you should burn the bridges so that your army can’t entertain thoughts of retreating,” said Kitay. “This sounds a lot like retreating to me.”
“Prudence is different from cowardice,” said Raban. “And besides, Sunzi also wrote that you should never attack a cornered foe. They’ll fight harder than any man thinks possible. Because a cornered enemy has nothing to lose.”
The days seemed to both stretch for an eternity and disappear before anything could get done. Rin had the uncomfortable sense that they were just waiting around for the enemy to land on their front porch. At the same time she felt frantically underprepared, as if battle preparations were not being done quickly enough.
“I wonder what a Federation soldier looks like,” Kitay said as they descended the mountain to pick up sharpened weapons from the armory.
“They have arms and legs, I’m guessing. Maybe even a head.”
“No, I mean, what do they look like?” Kitay asked. “Like Nikara? All of the Federation came from the eastern continent. They’re not like Hesperians, so they must look somewhat normal.”
Rin couldn’t see why this was relevant. “Does it matter?”
“Don’t you want to see the face of the enemy?” Kitay asked.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “Because then I might think they’re human. And they’re not human. We’re talking about the people who gave opium to toddlers the last time they invaded. The people who massacred Speer.”
“Maybe they’re more human than we realize,” said Kitay. “Has anyone ever stopped to ask what the Federation want? Why is it that they must fight us?”
“Because they’re crammed on that tiny island and they think Nikan should be theirs. Because they fought us before and they almost won,” Rin said curtly. “What does it matter? They’re coming, and we’re staying, and at the end of the day whoever is alive is the side that wins. War doesn’t determine who’s right. War determines who remains.”
All classes at Sinegard ceased to meet. The masters resumed positions they had retired from decades ago. Irjah took over strategic command of the Sinegardian Reserve Forces. Enro and her apprentices returned to the city’s central hospital to set up a triage center. Jima assumed martial command over the city, a position she shared with the Ram Warlord. This involved, in parts, shouting at city officials and at obstinate squadron leaders.
The outlook was grim. The Eighth Division was three thousand men strong, hardly enough to take on the reported invading force of ten thousand. The Ram Warlord had sent for reinforcements from the Third Division, which was returning from patrol up north by the Hinterlands, but the Third was unlikely to arrive before the Federation did.
Jiang was rarely available. He was always either in Jima’s office going over contingency plans with Irjah, or not on campus at all. When Rin finally managed to track him down, he seemed harried and impatient. She had to run to keep up with him on his way down the steps.
“We’re putting lessons on hiatus,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s no time for that now. I can’t devote the time to train you properly.”
He made to brush past her, but she grabbed his sleeve. “Master, I wanted to ask—what if we called the gods? I mean, against the Federation?”
“What are you talking about?” He seemed faintly aghast. “Now is hardly the time for this.”
“Surely there are battle applications to what we’ve been studying,” she pressed.
“We’ve been studying how to consult the gods,” he said. “Not how to bring them back down to earth.”
“But they could help us fight!”
“What? No. No.” He flapped his hands, growing visibly agitated as he spoke. “Have you not listened to a word I’ve said these past two years? I told you, the gods are not weapons you can just dust off and use. The gods won’t be summoned into battle.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “I’ve read the reports from the Red Emperor’s crusades. I know the monks summoned gods against him. And the tribes of the Hinterlands—”
“The Hinterlanders consult the gods for healing. They seek guidance and enlightenment,” Jiang interrupted. “They do not call the gods down onto earth, because they know better. Every war we’ve fought with the aid of the gods, we’ve won at a terrible consequence. There is a price. There is always a price.”