The fire roared like a living thing, and the masked general's gaze lingered on the inferno, watching the flames coerce flesh into silent torment, an unending dance of agony and heat.
Yet, the scent of roasted meat, heavy with pungent spices, held a magnetic allure. It is irresistible to all save the devout adherents of the Air Monasteries. Here, within the kaleidoscopic tents assigned to his third highest ranked officer, the fare rivaled the hearty sustenance of his regular meals, but exotic and sumptuous in equal measure. A few men in chainmail and Spangenhelms flanked the tent, faces obscured beneath cold iron. Their alien tongue did nothing to hinder the feast, nor the indulgence in rare delicacies that appeared almost miraculous in a city like Ba Sing Se. No one dared openly question the display, though subtle signs suggested that Peroz and his small cadre of mounted cavalrymen wielded wealth far beyond the average camp-dweller's grasp. Of course, they would never acknowledge it outright.
Roasted venison, glistening with honey and flecked with mint, is not even the pinnacle of the banquet's marvels. The true treasures are fruits of the distant lands, crimson pomegranates, syruped dates, and wine so deep a red it seemed to absorb the light around it. These rarities flaunted themselves at the table, tokens of status as much as taste. As a general entrusted with these men, it would have been folly and a breach of etiquette to decline their invitation.
"Not bad," the Judge of Honghai murmured, voice muffled behind his helmet, genuine surprise threading through the words. The lamb stew, enriched with pomegranates and walnuts, had exceeded expectation.
Other guests helped themselves with practiced restraint. Wine was sipped, not guzzled. For Grand Marshal Liu's displeasure at drunken officers is well-known. Better a glutton quietly judged by outsiders than a heedless drunk who allowed marauders to pass unchallenged.
As the feast unfolded, Jang and Peroz conversed with the other officers present, while the general found the company of another lieutenant. Qibi Heli, bold yet studious in manner, remarked that though the red wine was soothing, some fermented milk would never be out of place on such an occasion. To dismiss him as a mere gourmand, like the Judge of Honghai with his fondness for fried lychee pork, would be unfair. Amid the brief reprieve before they would ride out to confront some wandering band of marauders, there are space for these men of war to enjoy the rare, and surprisingly intellectual conversation. Just some fleeting glimpses of wit and thought between bouts of duty and bloodshed.
Random conversations drifted across a spectrum of trivialities and curiosities. Beyond the mundane observation that Peroz's men delighted in wielding maces to bludgeon any who dared approach their unit's sole armored Badgermole. Also, the very notion of employing the beast in warfare still struck as improbable, even after years of their coordinated service. After all, the Badgermole is venerated as a symbol of Earth Monarchs, a living emblem of royal authority. To see one ridden is rare enough, to see it pressed into battle bordered on the unthinkable.
"I do not dwell upon the pasts of those who serve me," the Judge of Honghai remarked, finishing a careful spoonful of stew. "If I find their character and actions satisfactory, the rest is inconsequential."
Yet his words only deepened the questions that lingered in Qibi Heli's mind. In a realm as vast and enduring as the Earth Kingdom, where civilizations and histories could rise and vanish before a scholar's brush ever touched the page, where did Peroz and his soldiers came from? The most logical and repeated answer would be near or within the bounds of the Si Wong desert, where many distinct cultures thrived or have been forgotten. Though there some, perhaps having too much wine in their stomach, suggested there are somehow lands beyond the four nations, which explains the existence of rare folks who do not look or act like those commonly seen.
A soldier entered the tent with measured haste, bearing a scroll for the general. The masked man unrolled it with quiet precision, ensuring the guests, still absorbed in their meal, remained unaware.
"Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong?" Qibi Heli guessed, idly inspecting the freshly sharpened edges of his sabers. "The lads will welcome the chance for more action."
"It is already addressed," the general replied, outlining how a nearby garrison had repelled the intrusion. "I suspect the enlightened men of Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong are none too pleased that their most valuable troops are so frequently sacrificed to us."
Indeed, with Ba Sing Se absorbing so many of the realm's brightest scholars, one could scarcely gauge how much intellectual vigor remained in the fractious states of Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong. Some of their cities still clung to a semblance of order, striving to maintain calm amidst decades of conflict. Yet how many farmers, laborers, and soldiers could they lose before even the hope of assembling fresh armies is extinguished entirely?
"I can feel the day our legions truly march beyond these walls drawing near," the general murmured, his voice low, meant only for the ears of his third-ranking officer. As always, the man behind the steel mask shared his confidences sparingly, dispensing secrets as though they were coins to be weighed.
Qibi Heli, usually brimming with brash energy, merely inclined his head in solemn acknowledgment. No measure of victory could ever fill the yawning void carved by the countless innocent lives lost, and those yet to be lost. They sought brief solace in a cup of reddened Liqian wine, the bitter warmth steadying them as the two men sat in quiet contemplation of that distant, inevitable day. If it should ever arrive.
For the entire realm is still embroiled in chaos. Warlords clashed with one another, petty self-proclaimed kings coveted the throne, yet each feared being crushed beneath the very tides of blood that would pave the way to inevitable reunification.
The Mandate of Heaven, so righteous, yet cold and indifferent in its unfolding.
"When I was much younger," the general murmured, the untouched cup hovering at his lips as though even the wine refused him comfort. "I found myself wondering whether my greatest deed would lie in obedience to Heaven's decree, or in the audacity to oppose it."