The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3)

by Igor Ljubuncic

  Now, there was war once again in Eracia, and it called for skilled warriors to fight and protect the nation against the nomads. Mali had hidden long enough in Adam’s shadow. And now that her son was an emperor, and his lunatic half sister dead, she could finally emerge without fear.

  The last year had not been an easy one. War never brought good tidings. She had spent the days fretting, wondering, cursing her decision to involve James in this, swinging from elation to fear to shame. As far as she could tell from the few letters he sent, he was doing very well. He had survived the intrigues of the court; he had won himself a large army of followers, led them to battle and victory, even got himself a posh wife. She was angry for not being invited to his wedding, but she understood the reasons. A former Eracian army commander, hopping over for a friendly visit to an enemy country, to witness the wedlock of her son, bastard to a mad emperor in another realm? That would not do.

  Besides, she knew she would become a liability to James. She would jeopardize the secrecy of his risky mission, the delicate bits of truth of his upbringing. She would risk her own life. Worst of all, she would expose Windpoint to deadly scrutiny by all those who bore Adam a grudge. And the list must be long and bloody. Celeste and her family deserved better. They had suffered enough.

  Maybe, one day, she would get a chance to see her son again, meet his rich wife, see if she were any good for him. Men were so easily swayed by a pair of nice teats and a solid rump. They mistook passion for intimacy, the fools. Still, she did not seem to be doing him any harm yet, so perhaps he had chosen well. Mali had been present at the court in Somar enough to know what noble ladies could be like. Prim and evil.

  All of that mattered little now. She had a bigger problem at hand. Defending Eracia.

  A spasm of sorrow racked her chest as she exposed her past: a good old utilitarian sword made of solid steel, a nondescript uniform that hid the rank of the person who wore it. You’d never know it had belonged to a woman, either. Mali had never been big chested, even in her fattest days.

  “We’ll just take my weapons,” she told Alexa.

  Her former bodyguard and friend nodded. There would be no sense wearing those rags now. They must be scratchy like hell and crawling with tiny things. Furthermore, they might be taken for impostors or spies.

  “Let’s go.”

  The local garrison had erected a recruiting point outside Windpoint, at the crossroads, so they could ensnare as many patriots as they saw. The post was just a couple of tents and a single table with a bench behind it, where an officer sat, waiting to petition the newcomers. A large frame had been raised above the road, displaying the Eracian flag and the army banners. No text, few people could read.

  Mali felt somewhat squeamish about revealing her identity now. She would not mind doing it in some remote place full of strangers, but the people of Windpoint knew her for a quiet, meticulous scribe. They were not likely to forgive a two-decade lie easily.

  Alexa lugged the bundle on her shoulder, seemingly at ease. But she was worried, too, Mali could tell. Her friend was far more compassionate than her burly figure showed. Alexa was a rare kind who could split a man’s head with an ax, then weep over a dead kitten.

  Luckily, there were few people around. Windpoint was far from any fighting, but the news of Monarch Leopold’s idiocy had arrived on swift horses. And now, Eracia was split in two, and it had no ruler, just a bunch of fools trying to figure out what to do. Meanwhile, the army was trying to recruit as much fodder as it could, especially in the north.

  Men had gone to war, and women had gone into the fields and shops to salvage what they could before the winter. It was always that, women cleaning the mess their sons and husbands made. Mali nodded to the odd familiar face here and there, but no one came over to chat or ask silly questions. Good, good. She had to be gone quietly.

  Bailiff Edmund was the one man who knew she would be going away. He believed she was going to assist the Barrin family at their estate. She had a very fine hand, she was adept with numbers, and her skills were needed now that the count and countess were both away. It was a decent lie. At least, it would be good enough for the people of Windpoint. Their shop would be closed, and the bailiff would make sure no looters or migrants came by and tried to take over. One day, Alexa and she might return. Maybe. But they needed a reason to return. Mali wanted to believe she had a home after this war was over. Soldiers always wanted to believe they had a home somewhere.

  They had taken along only some gold and spare clothes, plus their swords. If everything worked out as planned, Mali would have all the accommodations she needed. If not, well…she did not want to contemplate that option.

  The former commander of the Southern Army frowned when she saw the recruiting officer. A woman. Not good. Men were more easily persuaded. Women tended to be picky.

  Three young men stood, waiting in line. A fourth was leaning over the field desk, listening to the officer’s promise of glory and pay. Two scrawny children were playing in the dirt nearby, oblivious to adult affairs. No, not oblivious, she noted. They had broken sticks for soldiers, and they were marshaling them into a battle.

  Mali and Alexa took their place at the end of the queue. Mali looked around; the world was sunny and green and beautiful. Poplars and chestnuts rustled in the breeze, she could see cows moving through thick grass, and there were curls of smoke rising from chimneys in Windpoint an arrow shot away. You could ignore reality here, she knew. That’s why she had chosen the place. Merchant wagons came and went all the time, but they did not leave their sorrow and vices behind.

  A soldier exited one of the tents, scratched his groin dramatically, and spat in the grass. He picked up his spear and shuffled over. He nodded at the lads waiting, then stopped when he saw two middle-aged women.

  “You two,” he squawked in a bored voice. “What do you want?”

  “Enlist, like the rest,” Alexa offered.

  He spat again. “You? You is old enough to be my grandmothers. Not that I has any left.”

  Mali smiled politely. “Surely we must be no older than your dear mother.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know about that. Why don’t you piss off, grammas?”

  Mali’s mien never wavered. “That’s not nice. You should show some respect. Tell me, was your father in the military?”

  The soldier was confused for a moment. “He was. Me dad was a sergeant.”

  Alexa put the bundle down and inclined her head theatrically. “A sergeant, you see.”

  Mali nodded. “We used to fuck many a sergeant in our day. Who knows, maybe we fucked your dad, too.”

  “What?” he whispered.

  “For all you know, son, I may have fucked your father,” Mali insisted.

  “Show some fucking respect,” Alexa growled, no longer friendly.

  “Bugger off,” Mali said.

  He moved away, dismayed, defeated. Then, he turned on the children playing on the ground. “What you little shitheads doing here? Get lost.” He kicked at them, spraying dirt in their direction. They slithered away some distance, then resumed their game. The soldier went back to the tent without looking at the two female recruits.

  Their turn came. The officer looked up, and her eyes lit. “Aren’t you too old?”

  Mali knew she should have expected something like this. “Let’s not discuss age. My name is Mali. I used to be the commander of the Eracian Southern Army. I want to enlist once again. This is Lieutenant Alexa, my second.” Back from the dead.

  The woman was quiet, licking her lip industriously; a hairy one, Mali noted. Even now, without male company in Windpoint, Mali made sure she plucked hers every other week.

  “That’s a nice story. All touchy. You here to waste my time?”

  “We’re here for the war,” Mali said, dead serious. “Who’s your commanding officer?”

  The recruit scratched her nape. “Captain Royce.”

  Mali racked her head. She didn’t know anyone with that name.
But then, it’d been too damn long. Two decades out of the service. There would be no one left to vouch for her name and identity. Even the lowliest privates back then would have been discharged by now. And she had mostly mingled with higher-ranking staff. Tricky, that.

  “Who leads the Northern Army now?”

  The woman puffed. “Look there, Mali. This ain’t a game. You need a job? Fine. Army needs all sorts. You can cook? Write?”

  Mali put her hands on the edge of the desk and pulled the sleeves of her shirt up as far as they would go. “Look at my arms. See the scars? They come from battle. What’s your name, Lieutenant?”

  The officer sniffed. “Violet. Nice scars there. Impressive. You got them from your husband?”

  Alexa flexed her fingers, angry. “Use your brain, woman. That look like something you get in a fight with some drunken fool?” She unbuttoned her own shirt. “Or this? Look!”

  Violet spread her arms and made a wise face. “All right, I’ll grant you that. You coulda been soldier girls once. Who knows? Fought a little here and there, got poked a bit. When was that? In the Great Desertion? You fought for that emperor? Maybe you’re deserters? Or spies?”

  This was going to be difficult, Mali knew. Sometimes, people didn’t listen to reason. “I can show my skill,” she said.

  Violent leaned forward. “Oh, you want to show me?” Alexa unwrapped the bundle. Violet stared at it. “You stole that somewhere? All right, if you want a thrashing, I’ll give you a thrashing.” With that, the officer tried to rise, leaning on the desk.

  Mali reached forward and grabbed her right thumb, then twisted back and sideways hard.

  Violet made a pained face of surprise and agony, then tottered off the bench and onto the ground, rolling, trying to reduce the pain in her near-broken finger.

  Mali stepped close, hunched over, and put a knee into the woman’s stomach, low, near her pelvis. She pressed hard. Soon, the woman was red in her face, and her legs twitched with little force.

  “Do you still want to give me a thrashing?” Mali reached behind with her free hand and flicked her fingers. Alexa handed her a knife. Mali started flipping it over her knuckles with careless ease. Then, as the handle reached into her palm, she closed her hand and rammed the knife into the ground, near the woman’s bulging face.

  Violet shook her head. Mali let her go and rose smoothly, waiting. Breathing deeply, the officer got up, watching the two older women with renewed respect.

  “Nice, that,” she said feebly.

  “What’s going on here?” a man yelled. A new face. He had come out of the first tent and looked annoyed. The soldier from before came out too, eager for violence.

  “Everything’s fine,” Violet rasped.

  The second tent emptied as well. A handful of new recruits stepped into the sun, trying to see what the commotion was all about. Two of the lads had stood in the line in front of her and Alexa just moments ago, Mali noted. Farther down the road, a man leading his mule on a leash had stopped to watch. A cart was coming from the east. Not good. An audience. Mali didn’t want any attention.

  “I want to see your commanding officer, right now,” she ordered.

  Violet did not argue this time. “We’ll get a wagon coming in in about half an hour. Will take you to the camp. You can see him there. This isn’t something I decide,” she offered defensively.

  “That will do, thanks,” Mali agreed.

  The other man, a corporal by the look of it, seemed to accept the truce. But the bored soldier from before still lingered, poised on his toes, ready for a fight. Mali hated bored idiots like him. They always caused trouble.

  “What’s that, Lieutenant?” he called.

  “It’s fine,” the woman insisted.

  But the fool came closer once again. He had taken a grudge over his fatherly fucking, it seemed.

  Mali nodded at Alexa. The larger woman casually picked a mean sword from the ground and stepped into a combat stance. She swung the blade once or twice to get the feel of it. “If you come any closer, lad, I’m gonna stick that spear in your ass,” Alexa warned. Her ruddy face was wrapped in hair gone mostly white, but it did not lessen her appearance—shirt unbuttoned, belly crisscrossed in vicious scars.

  The spearman suddenly developed vital survival instincts. He waved his hand in dismissal and walked back to the tent, defeated once again.

  “Relax, all’s well. Captain Royce will see you.”

  Mali nodded. “He will, indeed. You’re coming with us. I don’t want to have to explain myself all over again.”

  Violet massaged her wrist. “Yes.”

  The wagon arrived as promised. Violet wanted to load all of the recruits, but Mali stopped her. “Just the three of us ladies. We don’t want any distractions.”

  The officer hesitated for a moment, but then relented. She motioned to the corporal, and he led the gangly peasants back into the waiting tent.

  Alexa climbed up beside the driver, who grinned pleasantly at her. Mali and Violet sat in the back, opposite one another.

  “How’s your arm?” the former commander asked.

  Violet nodded, her hurt pride slowly recovering. “Hurts some. Will be fine.”

  Mali grabbed the rough seat as the cart lurched to motion. “That’s always a good trick to know. When you want to teach someone a lesson without beating them bloody. You should learn that.”

  The rest of the way trudged by in silence. Farmers watched the army wagon lumber past their green, yellow, and brown fields. Maybe only two leagues away, they reached the new garrison, a collection of huts and tents so haphazard they looked like bean vomit.

  Mali’s confidence was not inspired by the sight. But then, the Eracian army had been on the decline for the better part of the century. Once you stopped having real wars, discipline and order replaced the bodies as casualties. Even in her time, the soldiers had still managed some semblance of real war experience, and it had taught them to be efficient and brutal about their tasks, even simple ones like setting up camp. But the border skirmishes had ended altogether with Adam’s victory, and the two realms had slipped into laziness. She doubted there was anyone who still remembered real combat anymore. Maybe a few veterans from the Bakler Hills battles, but she doubted it.

  The stench of shit was overpowering.

  It was amazing how the sheltered reality of Windpoint ended so quickly, just a few hours away.

  The wagon halted near a long, narrow building made from fresh logs, some with the bark still attached and slowly peeling. Violet beckoned them to enter. Inside, it was cool and dark, with a single corridor slicing through and veering into smaller rooms on both sides every few steps.

  A small spotted dog was sleeping by one of the doors, curled into a ball. Violet prodded him away. He slunk to the next door and sprawled there. The officer knocked twice.

  “Enter,” a voice from inside called.

  “Sir, someone to see you,” Violet said as she opened the door. Mali and Alexa stepped in without waiting to be introduced. Captain Royce was a man with white skin full of freckles. His red hair was so thin and pale it looked like bleached rope.

  “Who are you?” he barked.

  Mali deliberated her strategy. She didn’t want to beat a captain. This time, she might actually get in trouble.

  “Will you believe me if I tell you I’m Mali, the former commander of the Eracian Southern Army, back to enlist into military service?” Please don’t be an idiot, she pleaded.

  Royce seemed to possess some intelligence. “That’s a bold claim. Got any proof?”

  Mali clucked her tongue. “What kind?”

  The captain reshuffled a swath of papers on his desk. “Well, anything. Uniform? Letters? Some ring? Witnesses?”

  James’s mother wished they had taken the old, moldy uniforms with them. But it was too late now. “Do you know anyone who served in the Southern Army twenty years ago? They might recognize me.”

  Royce rose. “We sure do need skilled officers.
What we don’t need is liars and spies and madwomen. I can look around. But if this turns out to be a joke, I’m gonna have you whipped naked in front of all my men before dinner. You get it? You wanna leave?”

  Mali shook her head. “Do you know anyone?”

  Royce grunted. “Here? This shit place? I got boys who can’t tell their left from right. In the name of the Abyss, most aren’t old enough to have even been born twenty years back. Maybe at the army command, there could be. I could take you there once we finish here. But why would I?”

  Alexa stepped forward. “Because you are a smart and resourceful officer who follows his instincts.”

  The captain snorted. “Oh, you want to tickle my pride. Got me there, woman. You two don’t seem like you’re mad. You look educated, well-bred. You can tell what a man’s thinking.” He stepped closer. Mali waited patiently. Everyone needed his or her share of importance. “You read and write?”

  “With great skill,” Mali admitted. “Both of us.”

  “And you wanna die in war?”

  “On the contrary, I want to make sure as few people as possible die in this war.” Mali looked him straight in the eye. “Seems like this shit place needs some discipline. From what I hear, the nomads teach their children to wield the sword the moment they are old enough to walk. You don’t want to be facing them with boys who can’t tell left from right.”

  Royce was still a long time. Then he shrugged. “Well, they told me to recruit. No one said anything about not recruiting old women. If you two can contribute to the war machine, so be it. But as to your identity, it has to be seen. And my promise of whipping stands.”

  “Where’s the army command?”

  “Barrin estate. We’re going there in a week. You can come along as my clerks. I got too many papers as it is. No pay until I get to know who you really are. Understand?”

  Mali could not help but smile sadly. She would be going to the Barrin estate as a clerk after all.