Rorrick turned toward Korbath. “You are dismissed, Commander. Get some food, then go next door and ask for Soreen, the camp outfitter. She will find lodging for you and your men.”
Korbath thumped his fist against his chest and turned to the door. When Iko moved to follow, Rorrick said, “You are not dismissed, Lieutenant.”
With a backward glance at Iko, Korbath opened the door and left the room. Rorrick reclaimed his chair and stared at Iko for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Kardan and Sculdin seem to think you will be of use to me. I have no idea what that entails, but I see I am saddled with you.” The man leaned forward, his dark eyes intense. “You had better realize you’ll receive no special treatment from me. My job is to take the field, defeat the enemy, and protect the lives of my soldiers in the process. Archon’s whelp or not, you are just another officer – worse, an officer without a squad to lead. Do you even have any battle experience?”
“No, Sir. However, I am well trained with the sword and spent time at TACT.”
Rorrick snorted. “Military school? Do you think tactics study in a classroom can replace experience?” He stood and circled around the desk to stop a half-stride away. The man glowered at Iko and made him want to back away. “If we are in the heat of battle and you freeze, don’t think I will try to help you. I’ll not allow your presence to distract me and cost the lives of my soldiers. I suggest you keep quiet and stay out of the way. If I need something from you, I will let you know. Understood?”
Iko bit off a retort, swallowed his pride, and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. You are dismissed.”
Iko turned and left the room. He would eat and think of a way to get into the man’s good graces. Why did you send me here, Scully?
With a full stomach and his head abuzz from ale, Iko stepped out of the officers’ hall with his helmet under his arm. The rain had stopped, but the ground remained a muddy mess. He was reluctant to even step off the porch. His boots had only dried an hour earlier.
The door opened and Commander Luon walked out, the woman thumping him on the back as she stepped from the porch into the mud.
“Good night, Ikonis. It was good to meet you.” She turned toward him. “Perhaps we will dine together again while on the march.”
“Thank you, Luon. I look forward to it.” He smiled. “Have a good night.”
When she turned and faded into the darkness, he reflected on his evening with the officers. He had found Luon and many others friendly. Telling stories while drinking ale tended to whittle down barriers, and tonight was no different. While Korbath had slipped away early and Rorrick had retired to his office, the remaining officers seemed to welcome and accept Iko.
The group had remained in the building for two or three hours before they began to head back to their individual camps. By that time, the ale barrel was empty and everyone present was deep into his or her cups. It had only seemed fitting to drink it before leaving the garrison. After all, who knows when the opportunity would arise next? For some, it would be their final chance to drink. Ever. As officers, they were experienced enough to know the next battle might be the last.
Iko took a deep breath and noticed stars winking through the thinning clouds. It was a good sign, the rain likely behind them. However, he still wore his armor and longed for more comfortable clothing. With that thought in mind, he headed back toward the stables.
When he arrived, he pulled the barn door open and found two stable hands back on the hay bales. One was dozing while the other strummed a lute. The man set the lute aside and approached Iko.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I rode in with the cavalry unit a few hours ago. I wanted to find my horse and get something from my saddlebag.”
“Yessir,” The man said. “We have eight large pens and split the horses between them.” He turned back to the hay bale, lifted one of the two lanterns, and handed it to Iko. “Go back that way and find your mount. Just return the lantern when you’re finished.”
“Thank you.”
Iko headed toward the end of the stables, passing four small pens before he found the larger ones. The smell of manure was strong, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. He opened the gate and meandered among the horses, searching for the piebald he had ridden, thankful he had not ridden a brown steed as had the majority of the cavalry unit. In the poor light, picking one out among all the others would be far more difficult.
Not finding his horse, he exited the pen and moved to the next one. The door at the end of the building opened, and a blond girl dressed in blue entered. She stopped and stared at him, her eyes going wide.
“Quinn?” Iko said in shock. “What are you doing here?”
21
Traitor
With long, smooth strokes, Quinn ran her blade across the oiled whetstone. She sat on a crate beside the tent entrance. Outside, the rain continued, as it had all day. A lantern hung from the post in the entrance and provided sufficient light for the interior.
Tilly lay on her bedroll, reciting a tale involving her older sister and a boy she grew up with in Port Hurns. Evian sat beside Tilly with a needle and thick thread, attempting to repair a tear in the shoulder of her leather armor. Bernice was sharpening her own sword – a sabre with a long, curved blade. Ilsa lay on her stomach, listening to Tilly’s tale.
“…and so, my sister told him she wouldn’t give him what he wanted unless he licked the metal gazing ball in the duke’s garden to prove his adoration. When he agreed, they met up later that night, snuck into the Duke’s estate, and made their way to the garden. There, under the starlight, was a statue of a man holding a shiny metal ball with reflected starlight twinkling from it. So, this boy approaches the statue, sticks out his tongue, and does the deed.
“Mind you, it was a chilly winter evening. Some folks know about frost and wet things. Others don’t. Some believe it a myth. I can tell you it is not. Sure as water is wet, the boy’s tongue stuck to the gazing ball. Try as he might, he couldn’t pull it away. My sister laughed at the trick and fled, leaving the distraught boy behind.”
As laughter filled the tent, Quinn grinned at the image of a sixteen-year-old boy’s tongue stuck to a metal ball in a private garden.
“The next morning, one of the duke’s men came to our door. With him was this boy, the same boy who had been pursuing my sister for weeks, teary-eyed with his bandaged tongue sticking from his mouth. His mother stood beside him, her face like a thundercloud.
“My sister confessed to putting the boy up to the task. When his mother heard the reason behind the trick, she gripped his ear and hauled him away. Rumor has it, she made him wait a full day before taking him to the temple healer.”
Ilsa sat up, facing Tilly. “I bet that stunt gained your sister a bit of respect.”
“It sure did. The boys in town all took her more seriously afterward. That particular boy didn’t speak with her for weeks, but she never liked him much anyway. Besides, my sister is pretty and always had boys fawning at her. She hoped future advances would include motivation other than just them wishing to lift her skirts.”
Quinn held up her blade, gleaming in the lamplight. “While her trick was clever, there are more direct ways to command a bit of respect.”
“Would you threaten them with your sword, Jacquinn?” Ilsa chided. “Perhaps suggest they might lose an appendage?”
“Perhaps,” Quinn chuckled. “However, I don’t need weapons to intimidate a boy.”
Evian grunted. “That’s true. A knee to the groin would have them thinking twice about laying a hand on me.”
“I doubt you have to worry about it, Evian,” Bernice said. “I don’t exactly see boys lining up outside the tent, waiting for their turn.”
The comment stirred another round of laughter, save for Evian, whose face turned to a grimace.
A head poked in through the tent flap. “Time for dinner,” Cleffa announced. “See you in the mess hall.”
> Quinn stored her sword whetstone while the other girls got ready. With boots and cloaks on, they exited the tent and crossed the mud-covered grounds, slowing while the Harriers ahead of them slowly filtered into the mess hall.
As Quinn stood in the food line, she heard hushed whispers from other girls – talk of them marching in the morning to begin a march west. It wasn’t just one group, but many who whispered the same rumor. Marching west was not part of the mission, and she wondered how she and Brandt should proceed.
Men dressed in brown began to clear the benches as women dressed in blue replaced them. When Quinn reached the front, she accepted a plate of mutton and potatoes before grabbing a hard roll and heading toward an open table. She sat, knowing that her squadmates would join her.
A hand touched her shoulder and someone leaned close, his breath tickling her neck.
“I have missed you.”
She smiled, but didn’t turn her head. “I have missed you as well.”
“Meet me tonight. We have business...”
Her heart fluttered at the thought. “Where?”
“The stables, in two hours. Enter through the eastern door.”
She couldn’t restrain a smile. “I will be there.”
The hand slipped away, the memory of his touch lingering.
Ilsa sat down across from Quinn. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Quinn shrugged. “Just a pleasant memory.”
Tilly, Evian, Bernice, and others from their squad soon joined them. There was conversation and laughter as the group ate, but Quinn didn’t hear it. Weeks had passed since she was last alone with Brandt. In two hours, her wait would be over.
The area was quiet, as were the camps she had passed on her way to the stables. When she slipped inside, a soldier with a glowlamp stepped out of a stall. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized him.
“Quinn? What are you doing here?” Iko asked, appearing as shocked as she felt.
“I…” Quinn struggled with a response, mentally grasping for something that might sound plausible. “I followed the spy to Yarth and then here. He has been eluding me for days.”
Iko stepped closer and lowered the lamp. Quinn shifted to the side, feeling as if he were attempting to corner her. Before he could ask another question, she tried to shift the tide.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why aren’t you in Sol Polis?”
He blinked, visibly taken aback. His lips pressed together in a frown. “I cannot say. I…I don’t trust you, Quinn. Something isn’t right here.”
She sighed and tried to appear nonchalant as she leaned against a pen wall. “Things are rarely as they seem, Iko. That’s why I am here. I’m trying to get to the root of the plot. I believe someone in the Imperial Army is behind it all.”
He jerked as if he had been punched, but his frown remained. Finally, he grunted. “If that were true…” His brow furrowed and he stared into space. “What if it is someone in our own ranks? What if someone seeking power is attempting to displace my mother and the other leaders? I never considered…”
Quinn found hope in his statement and hurried to feed the fire she had started. “Exactly. Imagine if they had an ear in the palace yet had control of a force significant enough to take Sol Polis when the time was right.”
In a hushed voice, he asked, “You suspect Rorrick?”
Quinn shrugged, happy for the suggestion. “Who is in a better position? What loyalty does he owe to your mother? You have known Kardan and Sculdin for years. What do you know of Rorrick?”
Iko’s brow furrowed and his frown deepened. “I only just met the man.”
“And?”
“I don’t like him one bit, nor does he wish me here.”
“Interesting. Why does your presence trouble him?” Quinn moved closer and put her hand on his arm. “What does your heart tell you, Iko? Consider the puzzle before you and how the pieces fit.”
He stared at her for a long moment before he relaxed. When he shook his head, she knew she had him.
“It makes too much sense. Who else would know Pretencia was held in the Sol Polis dungeon? Who else would have the means to slip a spy into the palace, a seasoned soldier nonetheless?” Iko’s face contorted in anger. “He tried to have my mother killed. That traitor!”
“Shh…” She rubbed his arm, hoping to quiet him. The last thing she needed was more attention. “Listen, I only came in here to see if the rumors are true. Word is we will break camp tomorrow and begin our march. I figured the horses would need to be saddled and ready for morning if it were true.”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s true. We are to break camp tomorrow. That’s why I am here.”
The door behind Iko opened – the same door Quinn had used.
A whispering voice said, “Quinn,” as someone stepped in.
Iko turned toward the door and pale light from the glowlamp lit Brandt’s face. “You!” Iko exclaimed. “You’re the spy Quinn was chasing!”
In a desperate move, Quinn tore the helmet from beneath Iko’s arm and smashed it over his head with all her might. The clang from the impact was tremendous, the result immediate as Iko collapsed in a heap, his lantern rolling across the dirt before stopping against Brandt’s boots.
“Remind me not to turn my back on you,” Brandt said as he stepped closer. “What is he doing here?”
“What’s going on back there?” A voice called out from the middle of the stable.
Quinn dropped the helmet, grabbed Brandt’s hand, and pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go!” she whispered as she hurried out the door with Brandt on her heels.
She immediately started toward her camp, walking as fast as she dared. She didn’t want to attract attention.
Brandt caught up to her, his hand gripping her arm and pulling her to a stop. “What is happening?”
“We have to leave, Brandt,” She looked back at the building, eager to be away. “Come on. I’ll explain when we get further from the stables.”
She resumed her long, fast strides while her mind raced and he attempted to keep up.
Iko now knew she and Brandt were together. With Brandt pinned as a spy, she would earn the same label. Rorrick was sure to use the situation to his advantage. If caught, she and Brant would become examples to the army as a deterrent against treason. Juvi’s offense had been nothing compared to this. Images of nooses and whips and chopping blocks flashed before Quinn’s eyes, solidifying her resolve. We must escape, and we must do it now.
22
Flight
Brandt passed through the musketeer camp, walking as quietly as possible. With mud squishing beneath his boots, his footsteps weren’t as muted as he would have liked. The area was still with only a single waning glowlamp hanging in each cluster of tents.
He reached his tent and ducked inside. Lewin was snoring, as usual, the soft rumble masking Brandt’s movements. Moments later, he had his pack in one arm, his cloak in the other, and he was slipping outside.
“Going somewhere?”
Brandt turned to find Commander Ferdinand glaring at him. The man’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword, still in its scabbard. Before Brandt could reply, the man interrupted.
“I saw you sneak off earlier. Now you come back for your cloak and pack?” He arched a brow. “You do know what they do to deserters, right?”
“I…I wasn’t deserting. I’m just...um…going to meet a girl.” That much is true.
“A girl?”
“Yes. One of the Harriers.”
“Why your pack?”
Brandt looked down at the pack in his hand. “I made something for her. A gift.”
The man stared hard at Brandt, his curled mustache twitching as his mouth twisted in thought. “While I understand the lure of the opposite sex, and I do remember what it was like to be your age, I must insist you return to your tent for the evening.”
The pained expression on Brandt’s face was legitimate. He needed to leave and he had littl
e time. Quinn was waiting.
Turning, as if to head back into his tent, Brandt suddenly swung around, his pack striking Ferdinand in the head. The man staggered and Brandt hit him again. With the commander bent over, Brandt kicked hard, his boot striking Ferdinand’s temple and sending him sprawling in the mud. When the man did not move, Brandt ran.
Since the ground was wet and slippery, he had to run at a controlled pace. He circled to avoid another camp and split the gap between it and the next camp. When the palisade wall came into view, he slowed, frantically searching for Quinn. Thoughts of her running into trouble surfaced. He couldn’t leave without her.
“Quinn,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Over here.”
Hearing her call from the right, he angled toward the voice and soon spotted her waiting near the wall.
“I was growing worried,” she said as he slowed to a stop.
“So was I.” He said between breaths. “My commander caught me leaving. I had to hit him.”
“Oh, dear Issal. You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No. I don’t think so. He was unconscious when I left.”
“Well, if they weren’t after us for knocking Iko out, they will be now.”
“What can I say?” Brandt grinned. “I’m an overachiever.”
Even though it was dark and he couldn’t see it, Brandt imagined Quinn rolling her eyes.
“Enough stories,” Quinn said. “Let’s get out of here before they catch us.”
“Right.”
Brandt dug in his pack, dug out a chunk of glowstone, and began drawing a rune on the back of his hand.
“Why do you always get the augmentation?" Quinn asked. “I know how to handle myself with a Power rune, you know.”
“You want to carry me?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Brandt sighed. “Is now really the time to argue about this?’
“No. It’s not. That’s why you should just do your magic on me, and let me do the rest.”
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