Beka saluted Klia, pressing her fist to the front of her battle-stained tabard.
“Good morning, Captain,” said Klia. “Come and join us. You must be starving.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Beka pulled up a stool and gratefully broke her night’s fast. Even salted, the meat smelled a bit high, but she was too hungry to care.
Klia looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Months of steady battle had sapped some of her beauty. Her face was sun-browned and haggard under the dark widow’s peak, and her linen shirt hung more loosely on her than it had when they resumed the war in the spring. Myrhini, the older of the two, didn’t look any better. Beka supposed she didn’t, either.
“What do you have to report?” asked Klia.
“I estimate a force of at least three hundred, Commander. Half of it cavalry and the rest foot.”
Klia raised an eyebrow at that. “ Youestimate? Don’t tell me you went out yourself again?”
“It was my turn, Commander,” Beka replied. It was a matter of pride to endure the same dangers as her troop. In return, her riders had followed her through fire and hell. Klia wasn’t one to talk, either. She’d done the same as she came up through the officers’ ranks, and was equally respected by those who served under her.
Klia took another bite of beef and stared down at the
trampled grass that served as carpet. “We’ve got to take that ford before Phoria arrives. If we can pull this off, the queen’s army can push all the way to the Folcwine in a matter of days. And if we take one of the major fords there-” Her eyes shone at the prospect. “Then we can finally take on the Overlord’s regiment.”
Beka shared her commander’s cautious excitement. For the first time in years, the possibility of victory glimmered before them.
“Can we take the horses through the forest?” asked Myrhini.
“I don’t advise it,” Beka replied. “The trees are thick enough that we’d get strung out and make enough noise for the Plenimarans to hear us coming.”
“If the horses go south along the edge of it, it’s no more than a mile ’til it ends, close to the edge of the enemy camp,” said Nyal.
“Beka, did you get a sense of the layout of their encampment?” asked Myrhini.
“It was hard to tell in the dark, but I think they’ve set out the tents in lines, well away from the trees, roughly in a square.”
Going to the map table, Beka took up a wax tablet and stylus and sketched the camp, with the ruined house and the bank of the Silver River. “They’re caught between the trees and the river, Commander, and the horses are corralled here, on the northern edge. If we can push them to the river, they’ll have no choice but to fan out into a thinner line.”
Klia considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I want you to take your troop through the forest on foot here. Send your Urghazi Turma to scatter the enemy’s horses before the Plenimarans can get to them. I’ll take Captain Anri and Danos’s riders south around the wood, mounted. Nyal, I want you with me.”
“Yes, Commander.” Nyal exchanged a quick look of regret with Beka. Separated again.
“Myrhini, pass the word. We march at once,” Klia ordered. “Beka, Nyal, you’re dismissed.”
Beka gave her a grateful nod; Klia was demanding, but not unkind.
Outside Nyal took her hands in his. “I hope the Plenimarans provide us with a good supper.”
Beka forced a weary smile. Neither of them ever said good-bye or spoke of the very real possibility that each parting could be their last.
It had been easy for them when she was stationed with Klia in Aurenen. Several others in the turma had taken ’faie lovers; there was no rule against it, and in fact it had been encouraged. Half-breed children might carry some of the vigor of ’faie magic-something that was growing thin in Skala. Fewer wizard-born children were presented at the Oreska House every year.
Not that Beka had any desire for children. Not yet. She loved Nyal with all her heart, but she lived to serve Klia. Nyal understood that, and had solved the problem by volunteering to become a scout when they returned to Skala. She’d married the handsome ’faie at her parents’ home at Watermead, then had gone back to soldiering with him in the spring, much to her mother’s disappointment. Her father had understood better. She and Micum shared the same restless spirit. He had Seregil and Alec, and the Watchers; she had the cavalry.
He leaned down and kissed her, not caring if the sentries were watching. “Good hunting, beloved.”
“And to you, my love.”
Beka could feel his gaze on her as she walked away to gather her riders, but resisted the urge to look back.
CHAPTER 4. Alec Gets a Bit of Exercise
DUKE Reltheus-a tall, striking man with silver-streaked hair and dark eyes-kept them fairly busy. Their first night on watch, Seregil scaled the back wall, but the house was too well guarded front and back.
“Looks like we’re going to have to get in by the front door,” he muttered.
“Hopefully our friend Selin can help us with that,” said Alec.
The duke’s house had only one main entrance, easily watched, and he came and went during the day at civilized hours over the next week-several times to the Palace, they noted with interest. He was often out in the evenings, as well-without his wife, Palmani, who was still in the days of her birthing confinement-visiting friends and attending Archduchess Alaya’s salon. Not quite the doting husband and father, he spent several evenings in the Street of Lights gambling houses, with a visit to the brothels here and there. From what they observed, his tastes ran solidly to women, including a fair-haired girl at their friend Eirual’s house.
Dressed as beggars or workmen, Seregil and Alec took shifts shadowing him. It was too risky to ingratiate themselves with any of the servants here in the city where they were known, so they had to content themselves with watching from a distance and awaiting their chance.
Silvermoon Street was the grandest avenue in the city, home to both the royal Palace and the villas of the most
prominent nobles. Alec happened to be on duty in his one-armed beggar’s garb when he saw a carriage leave and caught sight of the duke’s face at the open window. Instead of heading for the Street of Lights, however, the carriage went west.
It was an easy matter to follow. It had been another muggy day, and many nobles were out taking the air in carriages, on horseback, or on foot. The heavy traffic made for slow going.
Alec’s dirty, bandaged face and empty right sleeve drew a few disgusted or pitying looks, but little surprise, beggars being a common sight in all parts of the city. His hair was well hidden under a grimy head rag.
He nearly lost the duke when the carriage turned into Emerald Street. Alec narrowly missed being trampled by a band of drunken horsemen as he dodged across the street, managing to keep the carriage in sight until it turned in at the carved gate of one of the larger villas there, one they hadn’t seen Reltheus go to before.
The gates remained open but were guarded by several armed men in green livery. Alec waited a few minutes, then limped over to the open gate, holding out his wooden begging bowl. “Penny for a cripple, kind sirs?”
One of them took out a few pennies and tossed them into his bowl. “Go on now, boy.”
“Maker’s Mercy, sir. Who’s the master of this fine house?” Alec asked. “Does he have a heart of charity? Maybe a crust in the kitchen?”
“Marquis Kyrin can’t be bothered with the likes of you!” another guard told him. “Now get before I take my cudgel to you.”
“Bad luck to hit a beggar,” the kind one said.
“Worse luck to have the marquis find this creature hanging around the front door. Go on, boy, off with you!”