“Find her.”
“She won’t talk to you, sir.”
“Come again, soldier?”
“She said – and of course, I’m only quoting – that you could go to the pit.”
Tamas inhaled sharply. This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. He quickly thought over his options. He could have her flogged. Had a regular soldier said something like that to him, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Vlora was… was what? Another time, he might have thought she was kin. But she’d made it clear that was no longer the case.
Besides, a public flogging on the eve of a major battle? He rolled his eyes to himself. That would help morale.
He could give her a public reprimand. What if she defied him? He’d have no choice but to impose more severe punishment. With her temper, he might have to have her hanged.
“Get the powder cabal together,” Tamas said. “I’ve got assignments for you. Tell Vlora to be there.”
Andriya saluted and went about cleaning his rifle. Tamas headed toward the bonfires to find something to eat.
The soldiers had been organized into lines. Olem stood at the head of the lines along with the better part of his Riflejacks – all trusted men that could keep the infantry in line. The last of the horsemeat was distributed quickly as soldiers approached with their pewter dishes.
The camp was coming together even as work continued on Tamas’s preparations. Tents were pitched, small fires made. Parties were sent out to forage the woods or fish the river. Fights broke out and were quickly put down, only to start up again somewhere else. Food seemed to be the main instigator as soldiers tried to get in line for seconds. The meat might keep them going through the night, but morale was low, and the food wouldn’t last through tomorrow.
“Sir.”
Andriya’s voice broke through Tamas’s thoughts. Nineteen men and women stood assembled before him: the entirety of his powder cabal, including the recruits Sabon had managed to gather before his death.
“We’re running low on powder and bullets,” Tamas said without preamble. He caught sight of Vlora at the back of the group, but did not wait to hold her eye. “Tomorrow we’ll be fighting almost sixteen thousand cavalry. I’m setting a trap that should even the odds, but it’s going to be a brutal battle.”
Tamas looked around, suddenly feeling weary. His leg ached. He thought to take some powder, but stopped himself. Save it for the soldiers. He walked to a large rock and sat down, gesturing for the powder mages to be at ease. Most of them sat on the sandy ground. Vlora remained standing, her arms crossed. Tamas ignored her.
“I’m going to redistribute bullets and powder among the men so that you have enough for the next twenty-four hours. Your first job: do not let Kez scouts get within a half mile of us. Do not let them take the high ground along the mountain.” He pointed east to the slope of the Adran Mountains. “Do not let them see what we’re up to. The life of every soldier depends on this.
“However,” he went on, “I want them to see we’re doing something. A little digging. Preparations and rafts. Perhaps trying to rebuild the bridge. Every so often, let one of their scouts get closer, and then let him get away with a bullet in the arm, or something equally convincing.”
“Tomorrow should be much of the same. I expect Beon to attack as soon as his cuirassiers arrive. He knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he never hesitates to take it.”
“And if he senses the trap?” Andriya asked.
“Then we cross the river tomorrow night, and deal with Beon on the other side of the Fingers.” Tamas had a very good feeling that would not be the case. Beon needed to stop them now. The farther north they got, the better chance they had of finding succor in Deliv and crossing back into Adro. Tamas prayed that would spur on Beon. He dreaded the idea of facing the Kez on the open plains of the Northern Expanse.
“We’ll have teams,” Tamas said. “Nine and three. Nine on watch, killing Kez scouts, and three resting.”
“We don’t need rest,” Andriya said. He grinned at Tamas. His crooked teeth were stained yellow. “We just need powder.”
Tamas held his hand up toward Andriya. “You’ll have your time to kill Kez,” he said. “You all need some rest tonight.”
It was perhaps six o’clock, and the hot sun burned red over the Amber Expanse to the west. Tamas wondered if the coming night would be his last in this world.
The Kez outnumbered him. He was growing old. Not as fast or as sharp as he’d once been. Beon might see through the trap and outmaneuver him, or circle at a distance, content to pick off Tamas’s troops until Tamas made it across the river, then head west around the Fingers and wait for Tamas on the Northern Expanse.
Had it been a mistake to order Gavril to destroy the bridge?
“Sir?”
Tamas jolted out of his reverie. The powder mages were gone, all but Vlora. For a moment he imagined she was a little girl again – ten years old – seeking his approval. The sun had sunk in the western sky and the camp was completely pitched. The bonfires had burned low, all sign of the horse carcasses gone. Thousands of men worked on the floodplain while thousands more chopped trees on the edge of the Hune Dora Forest.
“Where are they?”
“Sir?”
“The powder mages.”
Vlora had a hint of worry in her eyes. “You dismissed them over an hour ago. Told me to stay.”
“And you’ve been waiting this whole time?”
“You seemed preoccupied.”
Tamas took a shaky breath. He suddenly remembered dismissing Andriya and the rest of the mages, but it was like looking back in time through a thick fog.
Getting old indeed.
“Have you been eating, sir?”
Tamas’s stomach growled. “I had some horsemeat earlier.”
“I was watching you, sir. You didn’t take anything when you went to check on the bonfires.”
“I’m sure I did.”
Vlora dug in her belt, then handed him a white tuber. “Found these truffles in the forest yesterday. You should eat. Take them, Tamas.”
Tamas put out a hand reluctantly and she dropped them there.
He hesitated, staring at the truffles. Truffles grown in forests of the Adran Mountains were delicacies in most of the Nine. They were small and pale-cream colored. He’d never much liked truffles.
“Thank you,” he said.
Vlora leaned on her rifle, staring over toward the forest. He gazed at the side of her face. He’d watched her grow from a fledgling powder mage into a capable soldier, one of his best. She was strong, with a beauty that the years would dim but never fully diminish. He felt a pang of loss, once again, that this girl would never bear him a grandson. He looked again at the truffles in his hand.
“What I said, Tamas – sir, I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Not in front of the men.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
Vlora stiffened. “I’ll accept whatever reprimand you see fit.”
Tamas didn’t know his heart was capable of breaking. Not after all these years. He took a deep breath. “You’re a grown woman. Olem is a good man. He’ll make you happy.”
She seemed surprised by this. But not in the way Tamas expected. “He’s just another man,” she said. “Someone to warm the nights.” She closed her eyes. “We’re soldiers. Tomorrow, one of us might be dead. Even if we both survive the battle, we’ll move on and find others. It’s the life we’ve chosen.” Her eyes opened again and she looked across the camp. “All of us.”
Ah. What every soldier knew so well. Lovers were brief, passion burning like a candle – hot at the center and easily doused. It was too hard to keep the flame kindled longer than a season or a campaign. “It can be a lonely life,” Tamas agreed.
“You think we can win tomorrow?” Vlora asked.
Tamas looked toward the forest. At his soldiers going about their tasks. They were dragging trees across the floodplains now, toward the camp. The sound of billhooks hitting wood carried in the night. A rifle fired somewhere. Soldiers foraging, or powder mages scaring off Kez scouts?