Veil of Shadows

by Walker, Shiloh

  What in the hell had he gotten himself into?

  It was standing-room only. Close to three hundred, she figured. Fortunately, a fifth of them were soldiers who’d made the decision to return east. They’d served at Sacril, one of the rebel outposts, and when Kalen made the decision to call them back, most of them had decided they’d just as soon join the convoy. It would be added protection.

  Syn would be glad when this was over. She would be glad when she could give her troops a clear, direct focus—the demons. She would be glad when she no longer had to balance and juggle numbers to figure out how to provide the safety the refugees needed without compromising the safety of the camp and without cutting back on the efforts to secure more of their land.

  In short, she would be glad when this day was over.

  It was hard enough maintaining order in the postwar chaos, but dealing with a bunch of lost and scared civilians had her wishing for a dark, quiet room, a hot bath and a big, bottomless glass of frostwine.

  Later, she could get the dark, quiet room and probably even the hot bath. She needed that hot bath, too. If nothing else, it might ease the raw ache of cold settled inside her. She was always cold these days, always chilled. Nothing helped for long.

  The frostwine could do a decent job of warding the cold off for a while, especially if she could have it with the bath. But that particular luxury was one she didn’t have. One she probably wouldn’t have again for years to come. Frostwine, like so many other luxuries, was something that was lost to them. Just like the world she’d almost forgotten—a world that wasn’t dominated solely by war.

  For now, she told herself. For now . . . Someday, you’ll be able to start rebuilding that world. After you make it safe again.

  She followed along behind Bron and Kenner, letting them clear the way while she took in the last group of refugees. The last . . . It was hard to even consider that idea. For as long as she’d been here, there had been refugees arriving at the camp. Most had come seeking to serve in the army, but over the past year or so, that number had slowed to a trickle. Too often now, those arriving at the camp had requests for “security” while the refugees tried to rebuild. Or food. Shelter for a few nights. Aid in rebuilding their homes.

  The rebel army’s resources were stretched thin as it was, and these people wanted Kalen to give them yet more.

  Those with half a brain had abandoned this area years earlier. It seemed as though the only ones who remained were those in the base camp—the rebel army. Except that was far from the truth. Every week brought in more refugees, many of them so gaunt and thin, it hurt to even look upon them.

  She didn’t need to ask their stories.

  She already knew.

  They fled to the mountains, fled to the north, to the south. They couldn’t go east—this was their home. Going east, to them, seemed too permanent, some kind of unspoken acknowledgment they had given up. They had to stay. They wanted to rebuild. They just needed some help . . .

  That was the story.

  In actuality, they needed their heads examined.

  It would be years before these mountains were completely safe again. Maybe longer.

  And the typical soul just wasn’t equipped to fight the demons that crept out in the night. So they ended up at the different outposts, or right here at the base camp, begging and pleading for help that the army couldn’t keep giving.

  Something had to change.

  She knew Kalen had made a wise decision, but that knowledge didn’t make her job any easier.

  With her men at her back, Syn forged her way to the front of the hall. Bron and Kenner took their respective places on either side of the dais as she strode up the steps, the soles of her boots making deliberate thuds on the wooden floor.

  With every step, she felt more and more eyes cut her way. Slowly, the dull roar of voices faded down to a muted murmur as one by one, row by row, the refugees took note of her.

  She was here to make an impact. She stood a good head shorter than most of the people in the room and although she was strong, she knew she didn’t look it.

  But Syn knew that attitude made all the difference.

  And attitude, she had in spades.

  She stopped in the middle of the dais and linked her hands behind her back. It was loud, people whispering to one another, looking all around, staring at Bron and Kenner with wide eyes, and then up at her with confusion.

  “My name is Laisyn Caar. Around the camp, I’m known as Captain. My superiors call me Syn.” She lifted her voice, knowing it would carry through the door and even out into the common area in front of the west hall. Most of the talkers fell silent.

  “Let me make a few things clear right up front.” Now just a few were whispering.

  One of them was a woman sitting next to the man who’d caught her eye. She was leaning over him, all but climbing into his arms trying to get his attention. Syn dropped off the dais, talking as she went.

  “This is a military base. It may not be recognized as such to those out in the rest of the world. But that is how we see it. That is how we run it.” She took her time, making her way up the aisle, occasionally looking at some of those sitting down and watching. As she passed, those still whispering fell silent.

  All save one.

  She drew her culn from her belt and twisted it. Immediately, the metal baton expanded to three times its size. It was now nearly as long as she was tall, and solid.

  She used it to tap the shoulder of the only person still talking.

  “And that means, when I am talking, every last one of you will shut up.”

  The brunette turned around and stared at Syn with irritated eyes. “Excuse me—”

  Syn lifted a brow and repeated herself. “When I am talking, every last one of you will shut up.”

  The woman went red. Then white. “Who in the hell—”

  Somebody next to her jabbed an elbow into the woman’s side. Syn pretended not to see it. “What’s your name?”

  “Vena Saurell.” She glared at Syn, a disdainful look on her face. “And who are you? The commander’s personal assistant?”

  Syn smiled. “No. I’m one of his captains. I’m third in command, and I have the authority to have you hauled out of this camp, this very second, kicking and screaming, should I so choose.”

  “Like hell.”

  Syn glanced toward the door. The two soldiers standing at ready stepped inside and flanked Vena. “I’m going to start from the beginning. My name is Laisyn Caar. Around the camp, I’m known as Captain. My superiors call me Syn. Let me make a few things clear right up front. This is a military base. It may not be recognized as such to those out in the rest of the world. But that is how we see it. That is how we run it. And that means, when I am talking, every last one of you will shut up.”

  Still smiling her nice, pleasant smile, she cocked her head and said, “Now, Vena Saurell. Are you going to shut your mouth or should I have my men escort you out of the camp?”

  “You can’t make me go out there alone. It’s not safe.”

  “No. It’s not safe. And yes, I can.” She wouldn’t. She’d just have the woman tucked away inside a dormer, with the door locked, until she could be placed on tomorrow’s convoy. She’d done it before and she had no problem doing it now. “Now, am I clear?”

  Vena glanced at the two soldiers flanking her. They didn’t look at her. They stared straight ahead, just like a good soldier should. Then she looked at Syn and nodded, slowly. Something ugly flashed in her eyes but she fell silent.

  “Good.” Syn twisted her culn and it folded back in on itself. Tucking it back into the loop on her belt, she returned to the dais.

  There always had to be one person. Always one person who had to challenge her. After all these years, Syn was almost used to it. But it still annoyed the hell out of her. She focused on those sitting on the right side of the room. “Are there any among you that have any sort of real combat experience?”

  A few lifted their
hands. She nodded and then focused on the other side of the room. “Every one of you told the men at the door you have combat training—is that correct?” Some nods, a few muffled affirmatives. Back in the back, her newest, dearest friend Vena just glared at Syn. Smiling at her, Syn asked, “Vena, I take it that means you have real combat experience?”

  “I—” She opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. Either somebody had gouged her with an elbow again, or she was growing something more than just a brain stem. Instead of saying anything else, she just nodded.

  Damn. Syn would much rather just get that woman off of her base.

  Looking back at the nonfighters, she asked, “Are any of you healers, witches, psychics or medics?” There wasn’t a witch among them—Syn had already looked. It didn’t surprise her, but it was disappointing. They needed more witches. Unfortunately, though, witches, as a whole, had the common sense to get out of a bad place when it was clear the bad was only getting worse.

  There were two medics and one psychic. She made mental note of their faces and then selected out the others who’d claimed some combat experience. She gestured all of them to the front and then looked at the remaining civilians.

  “This is a military camp,” she said, her voice soft, but firm. “We’re still fighting a war here, even though the Gate is gone.”

  Something about the gravity of her voice had them stirring uncomfortably in their seats. Syn could see it.

  Her gut twisted as she went on. “As of today, a new policy is going into effect. The army is making the demon threat its new focus—until that threat is contained, it will be our only focus.”

  People started to whisper among themselves, and some of them were watching her with outright hostility.

  “We’ve called our men in from the outposts. Sacril and the other outposts are being abandoned for the time being. We will no longer maintain them.”

  “But—”

  Syn lifted a hand. “Please, let me continue. When I’m done, if there are questions, I will answer them. In the past month, attacks on the outposts have increased. Attacks on the eastbound convoys have increased. Attacks on our hunting groups, our scouts, have increased. The demons are becoming more aggressive, more violent. The army’s focus must be containing that threat.”

  “But we’re safe here.” This came from a middle-aged woman, her voice soft, her eyes censuring.

  “We don’t have the resources here to feed, protect and see to an additional three hundred souls,” Syn said quietly. “And if we allow nonfighters now, then in a few weeks, we have more coming seeking refuge. As of today, the only civilians allowed in the camp are those who can provide us with certain useful skills—namely, witches, healers, medics and psychics. Since none of those apply to you, you’re being sent east tomorrow on the outbound convoy.”

  Voices rose.

  She lifted a hand and cut them off. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’m sorry. But we’re not here to play bodyguard; we’re not here to provide security for you while you rebuild your homes. For the next few months, probably the next few years, the mountains will be too dangerous for civilians, and we don’t have the manpower to offer you any kind of protection, not if we want to concentrate on eliminating the current threat.”

  “What threat?” one of the men demanded. He stood up, glaring at Syn. “The Gate is gone—we don’t have to worry about raids anymore. We just need some help . . .”

  Syn shook her head. “You need more than some help. Every last one of you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have abandoned your homes and gone to Sacril. You come to us seeking shelter, or food, or hoping we can provide you with some sort of bodyguard detail while you rebuild your homes. One of the last confrontations with Anqar decimated nearly half of our forces. We have roughly fifteen hundred able-bodied soldiers and we’re already stretched thin—we can’t possibly provide the security needed to every last soul that asks. It can’t be done.”

  “But this is our home,” he gritted out.

  “I know that. And I am sorry. But this isn’t up for discussion.”

  “I want to talk to the commander.” He glared at her.

  Syn angled her head to the back. Kalen Brenner had quietly slipped in just a few minutes ago. His timing, as always, was impeccable. “Feel free. There he is.”

  The man turned around. Kalen strode forward and stopped in front of him. “This is your home,” he said, his voice flat. His silver-gray eyes were not unkind, but there was nothing soft in that gaze, nothing yielding. “I’m aware of that. It’s mine as well. I can fight to protect it. I can fight to protect your land. I can fight to clear it of the demon infestation—then we can truly call it home again. And it will be safe. But I can’t do that if my men and I are playing bodyguard for all the civilians who want their homes rebuilt.”

  “But . . .”

  Kalen shook his head. “There are no buts. If you want your home rebuilt that badly, then do it. I can’t force you onto the convoy tomorrow—I won’t force anybody. But I can force you out of my camp. If you want safety, go east. Find a life there. This isn’t the time to rebuild here.”

  He scanned the faces of the civilians. Syn did the same, seeing the disappointment, the grief, the denial in their eyes. They’d come here with hopes, dreams of rebuilding their lives, and in under five minutes, Syn had been forced to smash every one of those hopes and dreams.

  Sometimes she hated her job. The cold knot inside her chest grew, expanded until it seemed to encompass everything—all of her. She suppressed the need to shiver, kept her teeth from chattering. But still, she was so cold.

  The job. Focus on the job.

  Kalen joined her on the dais, off to the side. Syn didn’t waste any more time. She gestured to the civilian medics and the lone psychic. “You three remain here. The rest of you, you’re dismissed. Outside, there are some of my men who’ll get your information and explain about the convoy.”

  They departed, an air of defeat clinging to them. Syn was sorry for it. But they’d be alive. Alive . . . and maybe in a few years, they could return to the mountains. She had to take comfort in that. If they allowed them to stay here, they’d likely be dead within a year. Hell, a month.

  Her men and women couldn’t protect everybody—there just weren’t enough of them.

  After the door closed behind the last one, she focused on the remaining civilians. “Medics and psychics are always needed here. You have the choice to stay, or you can join the convoy tomorrow. It is your call, completely. But if you stay, be prepared to work. Be prepared to work hard. And be prepared to die.”

  Horror flashed through the eyes of the youngest medic. Syn focused her gaze on the young woman’s face and said, “We’re still fighting a war. We can’t go a week without a demon attack and they are getting more desperate and more aggressive with every passing day. Those are the ugly facts of life here. If you can’t handle them, then you need to leave. Any of you three want to leave? Do it now.”

  Not one of them moved.

  “You’re going to be trained to fight. You’ll be expected to take part in daily training. You’ll be placed on job rotation. You’ll have one rest day a week. Other than that . . . you work. You eat. You train. You are ready to fight, should the need arise. This is our life—if you don’t want that fight, then leave.”

  Still, none of them moved.

  Damn. She wasn’t as good at scaring people off as she used to be.

  With a curt nod, she gestured to one of her men waiting by the door at the back. “This is Lothen, one of my men. He’ll get you a permanent dormer and get you added to the job rotation. If none of you have any questions, you may go now.”

  Now it was just the fighters she had to deal with.

  “Man, she’s a serious bitch.”

  Xan didn’t bother looking at her. Vena Saurell wasn’t letting that slow her down. She seemed determined to glue herself to his side, staying with him even as he waded through the crush of people gathered in the co
mmon area outside the west hall.

  “Don’t you think? I mean, hell, I came here to fight and all, but she doesn’t have any right to tell these people they aren’t worthy of protection.”

  Ignoring her wasn’t going to make her disappear, he decided. So he stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I don’t recall hearing her saying that. What I heard was a woman willing to fight to secure these lands—she can’t do that if she’s too busy taking care of refugees.”

  The woman’s lip curled. “Seems to me that the purpose of this whole damn army is to protect the refugees.”

  “The best way to do that is to eliminate those who are preying on them,” Xan replied with a shrug. “Once the demons are gone, the refugees will no longer need the protection of the army. It is not an easy choice to make, but it seems a wise one.”

  “Maybe.” Vena made a face. “I’m not too impressed. But she doesn’t need to be such a bitch, does she?”

  “If it keeps people alive, she can be the queen bitch,” somebody said from behind Vena.

  She went red and then white. Xan barely managed to restrain his grin as she turned to face the commander of the Roinan rebel army.

  Kalen Brenner was a name known pretty much throughout the world. One would have to have lived under a rock to not know this man. Vena obviously hadn’t lived under a rock.

  Syn stood at his side, her slender arms crossed over her chest. With a faint smile on her lips, she glanced up at the commander and said, “Captain Bitch, Commander. We don’t have kings and queens here.” Then she dismissed Vena and focused on Xan.

  Xan had spent much of his life learning to school his emotions, his reactions, everything. In that moment, he was very glad.

  He would hate for his reactions to show in just that moment.

  He looked at Captain Laisyn Caar and thought only one thing:

  Want.

  It was a powerful, all-consuming urge that damn near obliterated every other thought in his mind.

  Feeling more than a little dazed, he stared at her, committing her features to memory. He’d felt a stir of interest when she’d addressed the whole of the group earlier, but now, standing this close to her, interest didn’t begin to touch it.