“Fifteen thousand one hundred and seventy-four.”
Tamas staggered at the number. So many? That was a fourth of his army, not counting the irregulars. “Pit,” he said.
“The regimental breakdown of the losses is also on your desk.”
“And the Kez?”
“They’ve retreated all the way to Fendale.”
“Their losses?”
“We can’t be entirely sure yet, sir, but we estimate around ninety thousand. We’ve captured about twenty-five thousand.”
Tamas felt some of the tension drain from his body. “That’s significant.”
“It is, sir. Congratulations.”
Tamas allowed himself a deep breath and some hope for this war. “Thank you for staying here.”
Vlora looked down at her feet. “It’s the least I could do after fighting to have you go after Taniel. I did the best I could.”
“I think you were equal to the task.”
“Just following your orders. Sir?”
“My mission was successful, Captain, if that is what you’re asking.”
Vlora gave a none-too-subtle sigh of relief. Tamas wondered what she would feel about Taniel’s declaration of love for the savage—for Ka-poel. He had advised that his son keep it under his hat for a while longer, but truth be told, Tamas didn’t know what he thought of it. Not something he had the luxury to deal with right now. He glanced at the piles of papers on his desk. He would have to scour everything in there to learn the details of the battle. If Vlora had made mistakes, it would be his own fault for leaving her here alone.
“You selfish, foolish prig!”
The voice broke angrily through Tamas’s thoughts. He whirled to find Abrax awake and on her feet. She advanced toward him and stopped an arm’s length away and thrust a finger out. Tamas felt himself shrink back slightly. She was not a large woman by any means, but with her ire up she could be imposing. She jabbed him in the chest.
“What kind of damned idiocy has gotten into your head, Tamas? How could you do this to us? To me? To your entire army?”
“Do what?” he asked mildly.
She sputtered. “You abandoned us on the eve of a decisive battle. You left a captain in charge of your army and ran off with an entire company of your best soldiers—for what?”
“For my son.”
“For one man’s life! I thought you were a leader, Tamas.”
“I have responsibilities to more than just this country,” Tamas said. He could feel his initial fear turning to anger. Part of him understood Abrax’s anger, but to harangue him in front of his men? To criticize him for trying, once in his life, to be a good father?
“The country is your only responsibility, Tamas. You can’t afford to be a father. You gave that up years ago when you decided to overthrow your king.”
Tamas’s hands shook at his side and he ground his teeth together violently. Everyone in the tent had their eyes locked on Tamas and the Wings’ brigadier. Vlora looked shocked by Abrax’s outburst, while Olem hovered nearby with a hand on his sword. “I never gave it up,” he growled.
Abrax sniffed at him. “You did.”
“We won this battle. And you’re furious about it?”
“I’m furious that you risked everything. Once battle had joined, I spread the word that you returned. I personally told my officers that you would lead us to victory. Morale soared. They thought you were here, issuing every command yourself. You made a liar out of me.”
“Countries rise and fall on bigger lies than that,” Tamas said. “And those were my orders. I had returned, and I did give you a victory.”
“Semantics!” Abrax spat.
Tamas thrust his finger at the table in the middle of the room, which was covered in his maps and notes. “I fought the entire battle the day before it happened. And we still won.” Tamas felt a trickle of sweat go down his spine and hoped that Vlora had, in fact, been honest with how well he’d predicted the battle. “I did all of that in a single afternoon. I fought my way across bloody Kez, through betrayal and death to get back here.” Tamas choked as he remembered the night he thought he had lost Gavril, riding hard across the plateau south of Alvation. “I would have won this war already had I not been beset by treachery.”
“You’re such a bloody genius,” Abrax said, her lips twisted in disgust. “You can fight the rest of the war on your own. I’m going to recommend to Lady Winceslav that the Wings of Adom cancel their contract and withdraw our forces. Or what is left of them.” Abrax brushed past him and stormed from the tent before Tamas could respond.
Tamas stood in silent shock, until Olem took him by the shoulder. “Sir?”
“I’m all right.” He stumbled to a chair and sat down. The exhaustion of months of riding, fighting, desperation, and anxiety seemed to catch up with him all at once and he found that his strength was gone. His eyelids felt weighed down by lead shot. What had he done? If the Wings abandoned him now, could he finish this war?
Someone cleared his throat.
Tamas looked up to find Inspector Adamat holding his hat, looking rather embarrassed to have witnessed the fight between him and Abrax.
“In a moment, Inspector. Vlora, what were the losses to the Wings of Adom?”
Vlora shifted from one foot to the other. She’d not yet put on her boots, Tamas noticed absently. “A little less than twenty thousand.”
“Ah, pit. No wonder Abrax was so angry. That’s almost half of their forces wounded or killed.”
“They took the brunt of the attack, sir. Just like you planned.”
“Just like I planned. Of course.” His thought had been to let the mercenaries earn their pay. And they had, many times over, it seemed. They weren’t his men. They were Abrax’s, and she had the right to be furious that Tamas had used them for a millstone. “Inspector. How did the affair with Lord Vetas go? Is your family safe?”
“Lord Vetas is dead,” Adamat said. “And thank you for asking, sir. We were able to rescue all but”—he paused to clear his throat—“my oldest son.” Adamat looked as weary as Tamas felt. There were large black bags beneath his eyes and the little hair on his balding head was mussed from sleeping on the ground.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, sir. Our expedition against Lord Vetas was a success. We even captured many of his papers and men, but, I’m afraid, it was all in vain. You’ve been told that Lord Claremonte holds Adopest?”
“That’s what I was told. But one thing at a time. We still have to throw the Kez from our lands. Write up a report for me—”
“I have.”
“Excellent. I’ll read it and we’ll talk before the day is over. You’re free to roam the camp, but I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d stay close until I know everything I need to about Claremonte.”
“I’m afraid I’ll be of little help there, sir.”
“Every little bit counts. Now I would…” Tamas stopped himself. “Miss, could you come here?”
The girl with the curly red hair slowly stepped away from the corner. At first glance she seemed shy, but upon further examination Tamas recognized wariness, like an animal sniffing the air to identify a friend or foe.
“Nila?” Olem suddenly exclaimed.
“Hello, Captain,” the girl said, giving Olem a small smile.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re the laundress!” Tamas blurted out as the memory caught up to him. “The one who disappeared with the Eldaminse boy.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where the pit did you get to? And what are you doing here?”
Nila curtsied and then folded her hands behind her back. “Field Marshal,” she said, “I did not steal away the Eldaminse boy. Not precisely. We were both captured by Lord Vetas, and escaped when Adamat attacked Vetas’s compound. The inspector will corroborate my story.”
“Is that so, Inspector?”
Adamat gave a nod, albeit hesitantly. “I don’t know the whole of it, sir. But she’s an hone
st girl.”
Tamas leaned back. Every vein in his head seemed to throb, and the pain from the wound at his side had surfaced through his powder trance. There was so much that needed to be done. Could he allow himself any rest? He looked cautiously at Vlora and Olem out of the corner of his eye. Olem’s brow was furrowed as Vlora regarded the whole affair with a look of bemusement. Tamas wondered if she knew that Olem had courted the girl just a few months ago. But then, the two of them were over, weren’t they?
“So she’s with you?” he asked Adamat.
“No sir,” Adamat said, coughing into one hand.
Tamas raised his eyebrows at the laundress. “Well?”
“I’m Privileged Borbador’s apprentice, sir,” Nila said with another curtsy.
“You’re a Privileged?” Olem asked.
“Yes. Field Marshal, if I may ask? Where is Borbador?”
“Ah,” Tamas said. He forced himself to get to his feet. “That’s another important matter. Adamat, I understand you were witness to Privileged Borbador ridding himself of his gaes—the one that compelled him to kill me.”
“That is true. I saw him remove the gem with my own eyes.”
Tamas felt the relief of another small weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Good. Thank you, Inspector. Olem, would you show Nila to her master and release Bo from our custody? They are allowed to leave, but I would be grateful if Borbador would come and see me before he does.”
Olem escorted Nila out of the tent, and at a nod from Tamas, Adamat followed them out. Tamas found a seat once again and lowered himself into it with a sigh.
“Sir,” Vlora said, “you should get some rest.”
Tamas leaned back, pressing one palm to the wound at his side, and closed his eyes. “We have work to do.”
“You’ve earned the rest, sir. If you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Not quite yet.”
“What do you intend to do?”
Tamas opened one eye. Vlora was lacing up her boots. “I’m going to drive the Kez from my country once and for all. I’m going to break their army and then I’m going to break their king. And then we’ll see about this army that holds Adopest.”
CHAPTER
19
Nila and Olem wound their way through the camp with silence between them, Olem greeting men as he walked, saluting officers, and nodding to infantrymen. Nila was still fuzzy-headed, the smell of an officer’s breakfast—ham and eggs, if she wasn’t mistaken—made her stomach growl. She had not slept well in two days, her dreams haunted by the screams of the dying, the report of artillery fire, and the smell of burned flesh.
“You understand that it’s vital the men think that Tamas was here for the entire battle,” Olem said, his voice low.
These were the first words he’d spoken to her since they left the tent. She felt her emotional defenses pull tight, and quickly said, “Of course. I won’t say a word.” What were they talking about again? Oh yes, Tamas’s absence. What did it matter if Tamas had been gone for the battle, if they had won? The mercenary brigadier seemed angry enough about it.
“Thank you.” Olem stopped them near the edge of the camp, out of earshot of the closest sentries, and looked off into the predawn darkness. “They should be here anytime now.”
“Who?”
“Our expedition. We took two hundred men with us to find the field marshal’s son. We found him, Privileged Borbador, and over a hundred prisoners. Once we had secured the prisoners and made sure Taniel was safe, I and the field marshal rode ahead to sneak into the camp to make it look like we’ve been here the whole time. The rest will be along shortly.”
“Won’t word get out? If two people know a secret, everyone else does too.” Nila remembered a time at the Eldaminse house when one of the maids had been caught sleeping with the head butler—caught by the butler’s wife. They’d tried to avoid a scandal by keeping it quiet, but the maid gossiped and the butler was dismissed.
Olem removed a rolling paper from his jacket and began to roll a cigarette. “Of course. Rumors will spread. But as you said, we won the battle and it doesn’t really matter now. As long as the Wings don’t decide to make an issue of it, it’ll stay nothing more than rumor.”
He finished rolling his cigarette and held it out to her.
“No thank you.”
He nodded and lit it with a match, smoking silently. Nila examined the side of his face and wondered what he had gone through during the last several months. She had thought him dead when she heard about the field marshal being caught behind enemy lines. But here he was, and didn’t seem much the worse for the wear—a new scar above one eye, his beard longer.
It was strange to think he had courted her. Had things gone differently, they might have become lovers.
She clung to that bit of nostalgia to silence the voices in the back of her head—the voices of all those men she’d murdered in a wave of fire.
“You’ve certainly come a long way in life in the last few months,” Olem said suddenly.
Nila ducked her head. “And you. I heard someone call you a colonel. Congratulations.”
“That’s temporary,” Olem said.
“Oh? They can do temporary promotions?”
“It’s not that. The field marshal wants me to remain a colonel. I just…”
“You don’t think you can do it?”
Olem ashed his cigarette and rubbed out the embers with his boot. “It’s not for me. But you? A Privileged! That’s incredible. I always thought you were more than a laundress.” He gave her a smile, and the crack in his façade revealed a deep exhaustion.
“Laundering is a good job,” Nila said, somewhat more defensively than she’d meant to. She cleared her throat. “Is that why you courted me? Because you thought I was something more? A spy, perhaps?” Had his interest been fake? She wanted to feel angry at the thought, but found she didn’t have the energy.
Olem took a drag on his cigarette and looked her in the eye. “Not a spy.” He cleared his throat, then added, “I’m glad you’re a Privileged. We’ll need you before this is all over.”
Need her to do more killing, he meant. The suggestion brought on a wave of nausea. Nila could still see the blackened skeletons, could still smell the smoking human remains.
“Ah. Here they come,” Olem said, saving Nila from having to respond. A train of mounted men came into sight over a rise, holding torches and lanterns. They paused before the sentries and were waved on and ten minutes later they reached Nila and Olem.
Olem called to ask how the mission had fared. A major responded that they had succeeded, and a cheer went up among the group. Nila heard one of the sentries call to another.
“Taniel Two-shot is alive! He’s come back!”
The word spread like wildfire and Nila couldn’t help but smile at the cheers that erupted a few moments later from the camp behind them. Taniel, it seemed, was well loved.
A man rode up to Olem. His hair was dirty, a black beard concealing his weary, pinched face. His skin was a patchwork of bruises and scars. He wore an Adran jacket over his shoulders, a powder keg insignia pinned to it. Taniel Two-shot, Nila presumed. In the saddle behind him was the most striking girl Nila had ever seen.
She was a savage, her pale skin splattered with ashen freckles, her cropped hair red enough to match the torchlight—a far brighter shade than Nila’s own auburn curls. While the man gave Nila a curious glance and then looked past her to Olem, the girl caught her gaze and held it for a moment before giving her a wink and a mischievous smile.
The man nodded to Olem, and Olem said, “You better go see your father. You’ll want to know he’s given orders for Bo to go free.”
Taniel gave a relieved sigh and flicked his reins. His companion twisted in her saddle to look back at Nila and Nila watched her in return until they disappeared into the camp.
“So that’s the field marshal’s son?” she asked.
Olem sucked on his cigarette. “It is.”
> “And the girl?”
“Ka-poel.”
“She’s a savage sorceress? I’ve heard rumors about her.”
“Yes.” Olem crushed the butt of his cigarette beneath his boot. “She is, as the field marshal put it, something else entirely.”
Nila saw Bo a little way down the line. He was surrounded by soldiers, his suit rumpled and his hair disheveled. She wanted to run to see how he’d gotten on, but the sting of being left behind—in a war zone, no less—rooted her feet to the ground.
“Hello, Nila,” Bo said jovially as he rode up. He gripped the saddle horn with both hands and it became quickly apparent that they were tied tightly. The two big Adran infantrymen closest to him didn’t take their eyes off him. “Hello, Olem.”
“Privileged,” Olem said with a nod.
“Am I allowed out yet?”
Olem nodded to the men watching Bo, and he was soon dismounted and untied, rubbing the feeling back into his wrists. One of the guards handed him back his gloves, which he took without a fuss, and Bo and Nila were soon left alone.
“Well,” Bo said. He put the gloves into his pocket and nodded, as if to himself. “Glad that’s over. Where are we bunking down? And I’m famished, let’s go—”
Nila put her whole arm behind the slap. She felt the impact all the way to her shoulder and into her frame, and it spun Bo half around again. There was an audible gasp from over a dozen soldiers who had seen it.
Bo held his cheek and stared at her. The thought that she’d just slapped a Privileged with every ounce of her strength made her knees a little weak, but she whispered to herself that she was a Privileged too, now. For good and for ill.
“What the pit was that for?” Bo demanded.
“For leaving me in a war zone.”
He rubbed furiously at the side of his face. “I swear I’m going to kill the next person who hits me. You look fine! What the pit are you so mad about?”
“I…” Nila’s voice suddenly caught in her throat. The image of charred bits of bone and flesh floated before her eyes, and her fingertips tingled—and not just from the slap. She could still feel the flow of the sorcery through her, the terror and the ecstasy as she became a conduit for destructive forces. Her vision swam.
The Autumn Republic Page 17