All his doubts about her had faded as the days and weeks, villages and towns had fallen to the advancing army. She did not chatter, did not fawn or beg, and never complained. She was quiet, obedient and willing. She rubbed his sore muscles after battle. She had a skill with the cook pot that could turn the worst of rationed foodstuffs into edible fare.
Choosing her had been the best thing he’d done since joining the Conquest.
LOOKING DOWN FROM the ridge, Reny felt the breath catch in his throat. Wavy, sinuous lines of trampled whetta ran between the forest and the farmhouse. A lot of people had passed this way. The sort of people who did not care if they ruined a crop. This could be evidence of their arriving or leaving. They could be gone or still in the farmhouse. Reny’s anger at this careless destruction was overtaken by dread.
Then he was at the house. He tried to shout but could not make a sound. I don’t need to see this again. Though he knew what he would find, he started searching. I’m dreaming; I must wake myself up. There was nobody in the kitchen where he knew he should find his wife… doomed to die after agonising days of pain and fever from infection within.
Better they had killed her than left her like this. The rooms upstairs were also empty. He ought to be grateful to not see, yet again, what they had done to his daughter and youngest son, but instead their absence left him fraught and hollow.
They’re gone. Where have they gone?
In the distance he heard the sound of horns—
He jolted awake.
And remembered.
His homeland had been invaded by the Henelan. The Laxen, his own people, had offered their empty throne to a sorcerer mercenary, Dael, if he would defeat their enemy. Within a year the Henelan, to the last child, no longer existed. A secret agreement was discovered between other neighbouring lands, who had planned to carve up Laxen among themselves once they defeated the Henelan. So a greater war started, until someone came up with the idea that lands united were lands free of warfare. And so, the Conquest began.
A retired soldier and former strategy adviser to the King of Laxen, Reny had offered his services to Dael at the beginning. When he had told Kala this, she had asked how long ago it had been, and he could not tell her the exact number of years with confidence. More than ten. Not as many as twenty.
The horns in his dreams rang out again, but his time he knew them to be reaclass="underline" the signal that the army was to pack up and be ready to march. Reny cursed and got to his feet. The woman looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
“Packing time,” he told her.
She got up and started moving about, opening the trunks that held his belongings and putting what had been removed back inside them. He moved to the tent opening and looked out, then sighed heavily and turned back to see her watching him, her smooth brow wrinkling in mute enquiry.
“I should have been told about this,” he answered. “Vorl is still punishing me for disobeying him.”
She nodded and started folding the bedding, but her frown did not fade.
“It was something that happened before we… before I invited you to my tent,” he explained.
The look she gave him was accepting, as if she didn’t expect him to tell her anything more, but he thought he saw a glint of curiosity in her eyes.
He took a deep breath. “Vorl had just been promoted to General. He wanted to test his authority. In the wrong situation, that can make a man do needlessly cruel things. Or order others to do so. I refused.”
She grimaced in sympathy and understanding. “Do you regret it?” she asked in her lilting voice. Her strange accent had been annoying at first, but now that he’d grown familiar enough to understand her he found it appealing.
He considered her question, looking away as he remembered the incident. “No. Besides, I don’t think I could have managed it anyway. Perhaps Vorl guessed that and wanted me humiliated.” He turned back to find her looking bemused, and smiled grimly in apology. “Sorry, that won’t make much sense to you. Dael sent Vorl to attack a place in the mountains. Though it was not directly in the path of the army, there was a risk people there could attack our rear if we didn’t deal with them first. It turned out to be a temple run by women. Priestesses. No threat at all.”
Kala went still, her face hardening as she comprehended the fate of the priestesses.
“And you refused to take part?”
Her voice was deeper and stronger than he had heard it before. It also had a tone of demand. Another man in his position might have punished her for that, he realised.
“Yes.” He shuddered. To watch what had been done to his wife and daughter being done to others… He pushed the memory away and set his mind on packing. Kala, accepting his silence, said nothing more for some time; then, as the last tent rope loosened and the oilcloth collapsed on the ground, she glanced sideways at him.
“Dael hasn’t got rid of you yet. You must still be valuable to him,” she said quietly.
He shrugged, too astonished by her insight to be angry at her presumption. “Until Vorl convinces him otherwise.”
“Vorl is a weapon, to be used and discarded when blunted. Advisers are like scrolls or books, to be consulted over and over. You don’t hit your enemy with a book, then go consult your sword, do you?”
He stared at her in amazement, but she was walking away, stooping to take up one side of the tent and start folding it ready for travel.
THE STINK OF sweat, blood and gut juices permeated Reny’s skin and clothing. These last were of an enemy soldier who had managed to dash through the front line of soldiers and Dael’s guards only to impale himself on the captain’s sword. Reny suspected he’d never forget the expression of surprise and dismay on the young man’s face.
He reached the tent, staggered inside and stood there, swaying in the lamplight.
I’m still alive. Another battle survived.
Two buckets of water waited next to a neatly folded pile of clothing, ready for his return, but something was missing. He frowned and cast his eyes about the tent. Kala was absent.
Probably getting more water. Or food. Or something. He shrugged and started cleaning himself up. Long experience had taught him to start from the top of his head and work his way down, so that gore that might be trapped within his armour, clothing or hair would not drip onto parts already cleaned. Each piece of armour was removed separately; the soiled clothing stripped off and set aside. It was not easy this time, without Kala’s help, but he felt a perverse determination to do it himself. Do I think that if I show her I can manage this myself, she’ll make sure she’s here next time in case I decide I don’t need her anymore?
Once he was clean, he donned fresh undergarments, then set about putting much of the armour back on. Fortunately the protective shell was not heavy. Most of it was hardened leather and when camped on the battlefield he avoided removing it as much as possible. The enemy might launch a stealthy night attack. It had happened in the past. The King’s army had lost many good leaders.
Even though exhaustion usually overrode discomfort, it was torture to sleep in full armour, so Reny compromised by leaving off the back piece. When he was ready for sleep and found Kala still hadn’t returned, something made him turn from the bed and replace the missing piece. He paced around the confines of the tent slowly, then went looking for her outside.
He trudged around the camp twice in the deepening night, even checking Vorl’s tent. In the end, he found her, but only because he had overheard a watcher chatting to the man sent to replace him.