Rise of a Hero (The Farsala Trilogy) by Hilari Bell Page A

stay? The fight for Farsala is the fight for Mazad.”
    “I know,” said Fasal. “But they don’t need me, and you . . . the army does.”
    And you need all the help you can get. At least he hadn’t said it aloud. Jiaan sighed.

C HAPTER F IVE

S ORAYA
    P LEASE, SIR , I’ M NEEDING work.” Soraya had never tried to speak with a peasant accent before—Sudaba would have skinned her alive if she had—but she’d been practicing on the road for several weeks. She feared she was overdoing it, but hopefully the Hrum wouldn’t be able to tell. And she prayed there would be no real Farsalan peasants in the Hrum camp to give her away.
    In the months she had dwelled with the Suud, Soraya had learned that despite their primitive technology they had a strong code of personal honor—stronger than that of many deghans. Farsalan peasants were another matter. Sorayahad no idea whether she could trust them, but she wasn’t about to bet on it.
    It had taken weeks for Soraya to catch up with the Hrum’s main army, and if they hadn’t stopped to make a permanent camp outside Setesafon, she might not have reached them still. She’d been surprised that they hadn’t occupied the gahn’s palace. The Hrum commander—“Governor” Garren, he called himself, as if all Farsala was no more than a city!—claimed that he wouldn’t take possession of “his” palace till his right to do so was established beyond all doubt.
    The country folk, from whom Soraya had heard the story, said it was more likely that the palace had been so damaged in the fighting that tents made a better lodging—that Garren would be moving himself in the moment there was enough of a roof to keep him dry, right or no right.
    When she approached the sentries at the perimeter of the Hrum encampment, Soraya had feared she would have to meet with the new governor, but instead a young soldier had taken her to the camp’s ordnancer.
    “What work have you had before . . . Sani, is it?”
    “Yes, sir.” She bobbed her head awkwardly, swinging her hair even farther over her face. The ordnancer was in his forties, a balding man, with a face she’d have thought kind if he hadn’t been a Hrum officer—and if his gaze, taking in the ragged, too-large skirt and blouse she’d bought from a used-clothing barrel, hadn’t been so shrewd.
    “I’ve mostly worked as a kitchen girl,” said Soraya. “I can peel and chop, and fetch and carry.” In truth she had very little idea what went on in kitchens, but surely they peeled and chopped things.
    “Why did you leave your old job?”
    Soraya blinked. Why should he care? Wasn’t it enough that she needed a new job now? But she sensed no suspicion in the emotions that reached her—just a hint of patience. “The family I worked for, they were . . .” She was about to say “burned out,” when she remembered that the Hrum had burned very little. “They weren’t a high house, you understand, not one of the twelve, but they had money. Some city property. They feared they’d be losing it all when the army came, so they sold up and fled to Kadesh. But they only took theupper servants with them. They said they could hire Kadeshi, probably cheaper than us.”
    If Sudaba had had the sense to flee, that was what she would have done, so it should ring true. Soraya herself would never have given a thought to the plight of undergrooms and kitchen girls. She ran her hands down the shabby skirt. There were patches where her knees hit the fabric, and the over-large garments made her look as if she’d lost even more weight than the weeks on the road had actually cost her.
    “I see,” said the ordnancer thoughtfully. “You’re not afraid of the army?”
    “I need work, sir. And I heard . . . I heard that the army’s been leaving our women alone.” It was true, and Soraya thanked Azura for it—had she heard otherwise her resolve might have failed. This was frightening enough as it was.
    “Very well.” The