Several seconds passed by but there was no response. Frowning, he took a closer look at the ground and didn’t see the man anywhere. “Of all times for him to disappear….”
“Call for runner to find him?”
“No time,” Darius growled in frustration. Swearing under his breath, he left the tower as quickly as he could manage without breaking his neck in the process. Bohme followed after with more grace and speed.
He hit the ground running, moving at a quick lope through the camp. At this point, only the injured or the supporters were still in camp, with every able-bodied man on the front lines. He weaved in and around tents and stake lines, moving as fast as he could while avoiding barreling over something. The morning sun had not fully risen yet, but it rose in the sky at just the wrong angle, so that he had to avoid looking up or be blinded.
The few people that were around looked initially startled to find an able-bodied soldier not on the front lines. Then they took in his blond hair, the insignia on his chest, and their faces lit up in recognition before they darted to the side to give him room to pass. Aside from a quick scan of their faces to verify that none of them were the commander—or the commander’s staff—that he wanted, he paid them scant attention.
“General!”
Darius lifted his head, eyes darting around, trying to discern who called him. A skinny boy that couldn’t be more than eight or nine waved a hand over his head. “General Bresalier!”
A runner? No, Kaveh’s runner! “Is Commander Kaveh ahead?” Darius demanded, half-jogging to meet the boy.
“Yes, sir!” the runner responded, breathing a little hard. Sweat streamed from his temples and he wiped it absently with a forearm as he rapidly spoke. “He’s requesting permission to press ahead and forcing the enemy to retreat.”
“Where is he exactly?” Darius demanded, nearly vibrating with the urge to run.
“Straight ahead, sir.”
“Tell him permission granted. Drive them toward the mountains.”
“Yes sir!” the boy spun on a heel, sending sand flying in every direction, and sprinted back the way he had come.
He turned around, snagging Bohme’s elbow as he moved, and urged the bodyguard back in the direction they’d just come. He had to be able to see what everyone was doing. As much as he wanted to fight on the front lines, this battle was not the place. He couldn’t run at full speed as he once again had too many tents and people in his path.
He could still feel the sweat streaming down the center of his back and dewing on his forehead from the exertion under the blazing heat of the sun. The minutes ticked by relentlessly in his head as he moved. Not fast enough…he couldn’t get there fast enough, they were already moving ahead. He could hear the commands being yelled out, the horns blaring to signal the men moving. The archers had stopped firing altogether, and the only reason why they would do that would be if their own troops were in the way.
A victorious rumble rose and ebbed behind him. Darius had heard the like too many times to not know instantly what it meant. He stopped dead and spun about, heart beating, an incredulous sense of…something building in his chest. “We’re winning?”
Bohme blinked in surprise. “We are?”
Not answering, Darius started running even faster, feet digging into the sand. Have to get to the watchtower. I can’t know for sure until I can see it. Even as he cautioned himself, his blood started racing. He didn’t need to see to know.
He took the last turn around the line of tents and reached the base of the watchtower. From the second tier, an archer spied him and waved a hand, mouth stretched in a grin wide enough to reveal several missing teeth. “General!” he called down in a high, reedy voice. “We’ve pushed ‘em back!”
YES! Darius waved back in acknowledgement but didn’t slow down until he reached the ladder and even then he scrambled up it so quickly that he almost slipped and broke his fool neck twice before he made it safely up. Ignoring the spy glass hanging on the wall nearby, he braced both hands against the window’s ledge and looked out.
Ramin’s troops to the south-east had done their job and pushed the remaining Brindisi troops hard until they’d broken. Even now, they were fleeing from the Niotan soldiers for the Songhor Mountains. Kaveh had brilliantly maneuvered his own troops to back Ramin’s up and they were driving the Brindisi soldiers further north as well. Even though the troops in the center hadn’t lost yet, the ones in the back felt like they had because of the retreating eastern flank and they were turning and running as well. Word spread forward like a wave and Darius watched the domino effect of the Brindisi men in the very front lines losing their will to fight and turning in a quick retreat.
Navid must have pushed his western flank at the same time as Ramin’s, for his men were in an even position with the opposite end of the battlefield and the Brindisi soldiers were nearly gone. As they were the ones closest to the Songhor Mountains, they were already heading to the pass. Proving himself a man that could think quickly on his feet, he had also split part of his force and had sent them to help Kaveh to strengthen the central line.
Darius relaxed into a smile. “Good work.”
Bohme stared outside for a long moment, looking just like a man that had been smacked in the back of the head. “We…won.”
Clapping him on the back, Darius confirmed, “We won.” Only the battle, though. Not the war. “But that means the work is only just beginning. Come on. We’ve got a lot to do ahead of us and only about four months to do it in.”
“You shaid they won’t be back for five!” his bodyguard objected in confusion.
“I said if we’re lucky they won’t make it back for five months,” Darius corrected, already heading for the ladder, scratching irritably at the scraggly side of his face. Did he have time to shave the rest off before they left? Probably not. “Besides, Darr likes to torment me by messing up my orderly plans. I don’t give him any more openings than I have to. I’ll make this place defensible in four months or go mad trying.”
Darius barely had his feet on the paving stones of the palace stable yard when a palace runner came skidding to a stop nearby. “General Bresalier, the queen requests an audience.”
He mentally translated requests for demands without effort. He’d hoped on the ride here that he’d at least have time to wash off the worst of the dirt and sweat and change into a clean uniform before meeting with her but…judging from the runner’s agitated expression, he wouldn’t have the time. “I understand. Show me to her.”
No one could simply head for the doors, not in this mad confusion. Every officer that had an official posting in the palace had followed Darius here, and they were all dismounting at more or less the same time. Stable hands were rushing forward to claim the horses and leading them away, the men were all grabbing saddlebags and issuing quick orders to their personal servants. In spite of the wide yard they were in, a man couldn’t move two paces in any direction without risking life and limb. Really, if Darius didn’t have blond hair, then the runner probably wouldn’t have been able to find him so quickly in this melee.
As Darius tried to follow his guide, he glanced behind him to confirm that Bohme had kept up. To no surprise, he had, and even now shadowed Darius’s footsteps. Satisfied, he looked around for Sego, who would be easier to spot. Because of his leg, the aide couldn’t ride and had instead come by small carriage. The carriages were stored on the other side of the yard, away from the majority of the crowd. This worked in Darius’s favor as he could wave a hand to catch Sego’s attention and be reasonably sure the man would see him.
In fact, Sego spotted the motion quickly and paused half-off the carriage with a questioning look on his face.
Darius almost called to him, then reconsidered. The noise level around him made even thinking difficult. He could be loud, yes, but that loud? No, better to send Bohme as a messenger. Actually, considering the dangers of just crossing the courtyard at this point, Sego might need Bohme anyway. “Bohme, go get Sego.”
> His bodyguard instinctively froze up, a protest ready to fly.
Darius raised a hand to stop him, smile wry. “This is probably the safest I’ve been since arriving in Niotan. After that victory, no one can be that displeased with me.” Except any fools that were jealous of the political power he might now wield…hopefully Bohme wouldn’t think of that. “I’ll stay right outside the doorway and wait for you, but make sure that Sego makes it. Tell him that the queen has summoned us.”
Clearly unhappy, but unable to dodge a direct order, he just sighed and turned to do Darius’s bidding.
Darius followed the page to the doorway, dodging horses, servants and soldiers with the ease of long practice. As he’d promised, he stopped with one foot in the doorway of the palace and waited.
The runner stood on the other side of the doorway, nearly hopping from foot to foot, eyes pleading for the general to please get his arse in motion. Normally, he’d just ignore such behavior and silently snicker at the boy’s antics. But he’d just come off a campaign that had taxed him mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. After staying awake for hours a night after that assassin’s nocturnal visit, he especially didn’t have his usual patience.
He shot the boy a quelling look from the corner of his eye. It worked beautifully. The runner instantly froze and with a nervous gulp, meekly put his feet together. Good. Now, with him settled…Darius turned back toward the courtyard. What he saw made him frown. This trip had obviously been harder on Sego than the man had let on. He was clearly limping, the cane taking most of his weight with each step. His expression didn’t betray his pain but his skin looked almost grey. Not good.
Swearing softly, he stepped out of the doorway and went to meet them halfway instead of forcing Sego to come to him. Bohme looked clearly relieved by his general’s approach as he had been hovering around the other man without actually hovering, as if he wanted to help but didn’t know how. Well, with Sego’s pride, the bodyguard might be worried about losing a hand attempting to help.
“Sego,” Darius started once he was relatively sure the two men could hear him over the ruckus, “the queen has summoned me. All things in consideration, you should take the rest of this day and tomorrow off. I’ll probably do the same. But first—” he turned to Bohme, making his voice firm to make sure the bodyguard understood that this order could not be debated “—Bohme, take him to a healer and get his leg seen to.”
Despite the fact that only sheer willpower kept Sego upright and moving, the man looked flabbergasted at the order. “General! I assure you that is not—”
“Sego.” He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned forward a little to meet the man’s eyes square on. “I’ve told you this once. I do not break the men that work so hard for my sake. Shaa would forsake me on the spot if I did such a callous thing. For once, see to yourself before you see to me, alright?”
His mouth moved, as if he wanted to retort, only he couldn’t think of the right words. As Darius’s steward, he couldn’t disobey a direct order either, although he clearly wanted to.
Pretending not to see the other man’s confusion or hesitation, he just smiled, eyes crinkling, and moved on. Giving a pointed nod to Bohme, he silently urged the bodyguard to get moving. Bohme, a little resigned, nodded back just as seriously.
Good. Now, with that taken care of, he could put the poor runner out of his misery. Pivoting on his heel, he retreated back the way he had come. “Lead the way.”
As they left the burning heat of the sun for the relative coolness of the indoors, Darius tried to take a surreptitious sniff of himself. How badly did he smell? After almost two weeks of being on a campaign with no way to bathe, his body odor must be atrocious, but his own nose had shut down in self-defense days ago. He couldn’t tell anymore. He normally believed in presenting only his best appearance at court (the wolves would likely descend on him otherwise) but this time the matter was out of his hands. Well, hopefully they would be so delighted with his victory that they would overlook his appearance.
He sighed internally. I give the possibility of that happening a near zero.
Before leaving, he’d had little opportunity to explore the palace and this section belonged in the unknown category. So the quick twists and turns meant nothing to him as his guide quickly exchanged one white hallway with another, seemingly identical, one. Giving up halfway on figuring out where they were, he focused instead on the people that they passed. With his foreign features, practically everyone knew who he was at first sight, and the dirty uniform just confirmed what they already knew. They first looked a little surprised to see him, but they bowed politely as he passed. He acknowledged them as best he could but kept an ear open to what they whispered to each other as he walked on.
“—So different than I imagined—”
“—Apparently just arrived, judging by all of that dirt—”
“—Can’t believe he actually drove them off in seven days! Really, what were our own generals doing—”
The words varied a little here and there, but the meaning didn’t. Hmmm. So that’s what the palace staff thought. Good to know.
The runner took another abrupt right turn before stopping dead in front of a door guarded by two palace guardsmen. “General Darius Bresalier to see the queen.”
One of the guards nodded to him in dual acknowledgement and dismissal. The runner took off in a quick lope, never glancing back. The other guard opened the door and stepped in long enough to announce in a clear, strong voice, “General Darius Bresalier to see you, My Queen.”
Once again, the meeting took place in a room that he had not previously known existed. Unlike the throne room, or the quiet retreat, this room had clearly been designed as a study. Each wall had a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf built in that had parchment rolls, books, and knickknacks crammed in. Instead of a desk of some sort, a single long table dominated the center of the room with chairs all around it. The queen had been buried in reports at the head of the table, but at his entrance she popped up and quickly crossed to him, skirts flying about her ankles, eyes alight.
“Darius.”
It had been years since anyone had been so obviously delighted to see him. In spite of himself, he grinned at her. “My Queen.”
“I can’t believe you actually did it!”
Not insulted in the slightest, he choked on a laugh. “But you approved the plan!”
“Oh, it sounded logical and well laid out,” she assured him. “But I still thought you were crazy for proposing it. We’ve been fighting Brindisi for years and you sent them running in seven days. No one thought you’d succeed!”
“Their current general is an idiot, otherwise I might not have,” honesty forced him to admit.
“Then the gods have blessed us twice over.” She waved him to a chair and gestured absently for the door to be closed.
Darius hesitated before actually sitting down. The merchant’s son in him knew full well what those silk-covered chairs cost. And he really didn’t like the idea of sitting in one and ruining it. “My Queen, surely you’d prefer if I bathed first?”
“Oh, sit,” she ordered impatiently. “I’ve been waiting to hear a first account for days, I’m not waiting another minute.”
Hiding a wince, he obediently sat, sending silent apologies to whichever maid would clean this room later.
Delighted to have him cornered, Queen Tresea proceeded to pump him for every last detail. He didn’t know how much time passed, but the shadows on the floor shortened steadily as he spoke and gradually, his throat became parched from speaking so much.
Finally content, she sat back in her chair with a satisfied sigh, like a glutton that had just finished off a magnificent feast. “A wonderful accounting, my General. Thank you. I grant you a day of rest on the morrow before asking that you continue your work.”
He bowed his head in acceptance. “Thank you, My Queen.”
She gave him a dimpled smile. “Now, for the other reason that I c
alled you here.”
Other reason? Darius looked at her cautiously. That glint in her eye disturbed him. Just what had she been scheming while he wasn’t here to keep an eye on her?
“I knew that you would succeed,” she told him confidently. “I doubted your timeline—seven days seemed ludicrous—but I had no doubt that you would, in one way or another, succeed. So I prepared a suitable reward for you.”
Erk. There it was again! That glint that spoke of trouble. Darius didn’t know what ulterior motives she had behind this suitable reward of hers, but he did know that he wanted no part of it.
“My Queen,” he interjected hastily before the idea became permanently lodged in her head, “is that not perhaps a tad premature? Shouldn’t a reward come to me after I’ve won this war completely?”
She froze in surprise. Well, the reaction was understandable. Not many people would turn down a reward from their monarch. “You don’t want it?”
“I did not say that,” he assured her carefully. “But I do worry about the consequences of rewarding me with anything right now. I am, after all, a pariah within this court. Winning the battle has only won me a begrudging acceptance and little more. If I am to stand any chance of winning your retainers over, then I cannot seem as if I am using your good will to my advantage.”
She opened her mouth in an instinctive protest and froze without making a sound. Several emotions flashed across her face, ranging from indignation to startled realization, before her shoulders slumped slightly. “But I want to reward you!” she almost wailed, a pretty pout forming. “I have a very beautiful estate in mind.”
“And when the time is right, I will accept it with heartfelt thanks,” he soothed. Phew! Got out of that one.
“But I have to reward you somehow,” she protested, the pout becoming more noticeable. “It will look strange if I don’t!”
Well, she had a point. Darius racked his brains to think of something suitable that wouldn’t cost a prince’s ransom. “Perhaps you can have an insignia or crest made up for me?”
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