Foolish. Bloody foolish of him.
Vlora went to her horse and began unloading her saddle.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re camping here,” Vlora said.
“I’ve got to return…”
“Don’t be stupid, Tamas. The army will catch up in two days. If you keep going tonight, you’ll be utterly useless when we reach Alvation.”
She was right, of course. Not that he liked it.
He drew himself up. “I’m your–”
“My commanding officer. I know. Here’s a bedroll. I’ll take first watch.”
Tamas looked down at the bedroll thrust into his hands, then up at the moon, and finally to the north, where Alvation sat somewhere in the darkness, just off the edge of the plateau.
“Another brother,” he heard himself say again. “Another.”
Chapter 34
Tamas didn’t wake until the heat of the noonday sun finally drove him out of a restless sleep. He sat up suddenly, looking down stupidly at the hat in his lap. He lifted it, turned it around. It wasn’t his. Far too small.
Vlora. She was gone, and Tamas wondered if her coming to find him the night before had been just a fevered dream.
“She went looking for water for the horses, sir.”
Tamas looked behind him. Olem sat on a rock, carefully cleaning his carbine. He had saddlebags and canteens. Tamas rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. It felt dry and hot, his tongue two sizes too big.
“Canteen,” Tamas said.
Olem tossed him a canteen and Tamas drank hungrily.
“When did you catch up?”
“Just after dawn,” Olem said. He was looking at Tamas strangely. “You don’t look so well, sir.”
Tamas ran his hand through what was left of his hair and gingerly felt along the stitches in his scalp. “Lost my hat last night.”
“Ah.” Olem’s gaze seemed to say, What, we’re not going to mention you rode off like a madman last night? What the pit is wrong with you?
Tamas looked away. “There’s not much water on this damned plateau.”
“We passed an old river bed in the night,” Olem said. “I couldn’t tell if there was anything in the bottom. Vlora has gone to check.”
Tamas got to his feet and walked a few circles around the camp. He felt awful. His legs were sore and cramped – especially his bad one – his crotch chafed, his face wind-burned and hands raw. He had a pounding headache, from too little water and too little rest. Every time he stopped his circuit, he couldn’t help but look north, toward Alvation, then again to the south.
Vlora returned an hour later with the horses and full waterskins.
Late in the afternoon, they were joined by the rest of the powder mages and ten of Olem’s Riflejacks. Not long after that, several of the rangers caught up with them. Tamas immediately sent them out scouting to the north.
Late in the day, Tamas saw riders on the northern horizon, miles off. They never came closer, but Tamas could see they were wearing blue uniforms with silver trim. Who were these impostors? Were they Kez, as he suspected?
The army reached Tamas by late the next day. They pitched camp there, and Tamas’s first order of business was to find the Kez dragoons he’d fought two days earlier.
There were three of them. They were a ragged lot, their horses, weapons, supplies, and helmets confiscated. Their faces were burned from the sun. One of them walked with a heavy limp, and dried blood on his trousers said the wound was recent. Another was missing two front teeth.
The third was missing his boots. He’d wrapped the bloody remnants of his jacket around his feet.
One of their guards pointed at the man with his jacket wrapped around his feet. His white undershirt was stained brown and yellow from sweat and blood. He had short brown hair and large muttonchops. “That’s their lieutenant,” the guard said. “That’s what his jacket said, before he tore it.”
“Where are his boots?” Tamas asked.
“Took them away,” the guard said. “To try to get him to talk.”
Tamas sighed. “Go find them. No way to treat an officer, even a prisoner of war.” He turned to the lieutenant and spoke to him in his own language: “What is your name?”
The man stared past Tamas.
“Tell me your name, and I’ll give you your boots back.”
“What?” the man said with a thick Adran accent. “I don’t speak Kez.”
Tamas rolled his eyes. “I know you’re a Kez officer. Keep pretending to be Adran and I’ll have you shot for desertion.” He leaned forward. “I can do things to my own men that I can’t do to a prisoner of war.”
The man’s eyes flicked to Tamas. He flinched. “Lieutenant Mernoble,” he said. “The King’s Thirty-Fourth Dragoons.”
“What are you doing here, Mernoble?” Tamas asked. “We are in Deliv.”
“Weren’t in Deliv when you caught us,” Mernoble said.
“You came from the north. The only thing north at the time was Deliv.”
Mernoble returned his gaze to the spot over Tamas’s shoulder and didn’t speak. A few moments later, the guard returned with Mernoble’s boots. Tamas took them and handed them over to Mernoble.
Mernoble took the boots. “With your leave?”
Tamas nodded.
Mernoble sat on the ground and gingerly unwrapped his feet. Tamas winced at the sight. The lieutenant’s socks were torn and soaked with blood, his feet raw. It looked like he’d been walking without boots for miles. He slipped the boots on carefully, unable to suppress a groan when he returned to his feet.
“Have they been given water?” Tamas asked. When the guard didn’t answer, Tamas turned to him. “Well? Water, or food?”
The guard shook his head.
“Damn it, man, go get them food. They’re soldiers, just like you.”
The guard scurried off.
“He’s getting you some food,” Tamas said in Kez.
Mernoble nodded gratefully.
“Why were you in Deliv?” Tamas asked again.
Mernoble took a deep breath and returned to staring past Tamas.
Tamas scowled. “Do you know who I am?”
The man shook his head.
“I am Field Marshal Tamas.”
Mernoble swallowed. Hard.
“Come with me,” Tamas said. To one of the other guards, “Where is General Beon’s tent?”
“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” The guard seemed confused.
“What do you mean, man? Where is the general’s tent?”
“Just over there.”
Tamas walked through the camp until he found Beon sitting beside a low fire of twigs and old horse dung. The general struggled to stand when he saw Tamas. At the sight of the prisoner, his eyes narrowed.
“General Beon,” Tamas said, “I have gathered by your demeanor that you would be greatly interested in knowing who has been burning, raping, and robbing their way through the bean farms on the plateau.”
“I would,” Beon said. His tone was icy. “I discovered it last night, in fact. These men are Kez officers, pretending to be Adran.” He looked down at Mernoble’s feet. “Who gave him back his boots?”
Tamas looked from Beon to Mernoble. The lieutenant’s eyes were wide with fear, and suddenly Tamas understood. It had been Beon who ordered Mernoble’s boots taken away. Likely, he’d ordered the lieutenant be left unfed as well. Tamas’s own men would have been more than happy to go along with it. “I did.”
“I demand that this man’s boots be removed, and that you organize a firing squad. I want these men executed tomorrow morning for crimes against the people of Kez.”
Tamas bit back a reply. He’d not be ordered around by a prisoner, even if he did respect Beon. Instead, he turned to Mernoble. “It seems time to explain yourself, Lieutenant.”
Mernoble’s hands were shaking. “What would you like to know?”
“Everything,” Beon said. For his youth, his demeanor was commanding.