Insurgents (Harmony Book 1)

by Margaret Ball

  Renzi looked dubious but followed Isovel’s suggestion, flipping the switch at arm’s length and quickly backing up a couple of steps. He and the colonel and she were all pressed against the bookshelf now.

  And The Monster performed. Isovel started to grin. There were sparks and snaps, arcs of light, black smoke… It was glorious!

  Colonel Travis held Renzi’s arm when he started forward to turn the printer off again. “Best not touch it.” He glanced around the library tent, removed a lightweight wooden stay from the roof structure. Held it out, tried to use it to flip the switch, didn’t have the leverage. Snapped the stick down along the side of the printer with enough force to both flip the switch and break the printer.

  “What did you do to my printer?” For the first time, Isovel saw the capacity for violence in Renzi. He reached out towards her, only to be intercepted by the colonel.

  “Renzi. We don’t beat prisoners. And we don’t hit girls. No matter how sly and sneaking and vicious they turn out to be.” He glared at Isovel.

  She lifted her chin. “You forget, Colonel. We are not on the same side. It’s my duty to hamper your plans in any way possible.”

  “Try not to make me forget that part about not hitting girls,” the colonel said tersely. “It wasn’t enough for you to distract half of my officers, you had to move up to sabotage? More fool me, for thinking that we could all act like civilized beings here!”

  “That was an impressive way to repay our hospitality,” Renzi chimed in.

  The colonel glanced at him. “So that was how she conned you into leaving her alone with the printer? Idiot. I’ll deal with you later.” He blew a whistle and two very young men edged past the tent flap. “Forget escorting me,” Colonel Travis said. “Escort her. Straight to the hospital tent. She’s not to leave it and nobody is to talk to her. She’s a very dangerous prisoner.” As the young men took charge of Isovel, he muttered under his breath, “And a damned nuisance!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Andrus looked around the rebel base and wondered why they felt the need to guard it with multiple sentries and passwords. There was nothing here but tents and rocks, muddy black paths and rain-sodden pale grass. It was all but incomprehensible that this rag-tag bunch of volunteers, lacking even uniforms, had been able to inflict such losses on the Harmony Expeditionary Force. He supposed it helped that the rebels were used to poverty and backwardness. This so-called “colonel” didn’t have to coddle his guerrillas the way Harmony had to take care of the city-bred scum they were trying to transform into soldiers. And the rebels probably didn’t value human life the way a civilized country did.

  A sharp breeze swept across the little plateau in the center of the base, and Andrus was grateful for the smartcloth uniform that kept him warm and dry. How did the ragged “soldiers” like the ones who’d brought him in manage when a cold wind followed the rain that soaked their clothing? Oh well, they were used to it; they wouldn’t feel these things the way civilized people did.

  “How much longer will “Colonel” Travis be?” he asked the yokel who’d been assigned to guard him.

  The rebel shrugged, reached under his shirt to scratch vigorously, and yawned.

  “I asked you a question, man!” Altogether deplorable. These troops had no concept of discipline.

  The rebel looked down at him. “You’re worried about being late for your next appointment, maybe?”

  Andrus began to regret having taken the chair he was offered. It was hard to impress these bumpkins with his superiority when they could all look down on him. But his feet hurt. If he’d realized just how much walking, scrambling, and climbing lay between the Expeditionary Force and the rebels’ base, he’d never have set off in the pre-dawn darkness with his little white flag, hoping to be challenged by somebody who would take him to the base.

  The “colonel”, when he was finally available, didn’t come to meet Andrus, but had him escorted to a small tent that was marginally less shabby than the ones on either side.

  “Please, sit,” said the unimpressive rebel leader.

  Andrus took the offered camp stool and sat quietly, wondering how much he should simplify his terms to communicate with this tired middle-aged man who looked totally overwhelmed by the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. At least Rauf Dayvson, stubborn though he might be, wore his uniform with style and looked the part of a gallant military leader. This “Colonel” Travis looked like an aging schoolteacher – the kind who was always teased unmercifully by the bad boys.

  “Well? I assume you went to this effort because you had something to say,” Travis snapped.

  Andrus blinked and scrambled to retrieve his thoughts. “I’ve come to end a stalemate that does neither of us any good. My principals –”

  “General Dayvson?”

  Andrus straightened his tired shoulders. “I have the good fortune to report to a much higher level than the good General!”

  “Ah – your Central Committee, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “Divided command,” the colonel mused. “How’s that working out for you Harmonicas?”

  “It wouldn’t be a problem if –” Andrus stopped himself. “There are occasional impasses,” he said. “We appear to have one right now. You don’t want our army here. The Central Committee is willing to agree to a temporary withdrawal of forces pending a more lasting treaty.”

  “Good. Go do it, then we’ll talk.”

  “But I fear that General Dayvson’s respect for the Committee is overridden by concern for his daughter. If I could bring her back I feel sure the General would abide by any decision you and I agreed on.”

  “You want her back.” The colonel seemed bemused. “You want her back. You want her back?” He might have been trying different inflections on a string of nonsense syllables, searching for meaning.

  “In good condition,” Andrus appended. Who knew what this rabble had done to the girl? “If she’s… damaged… in any obvious way… her death, properly witnessed, would be an alternative solution.” Not a good one, but better than bringing back a shattered torture victim whose condition would only inflame the general.

  The colonel whistled – very undignified for a man in his position, but doubtless the native knew no better. “I’d heard you people were cold, but not that you were willing to kill your own for political gain!”

  “I did not say that was my object,” Andrus pointed out. “I would much prefer returning her to her father in good condition. That would make it much easier to persuade him to honor the wishes of the Committee.”

  “Oh, she’s all right,” said the colonel, with an odd emphasis suggesting that some other things – men? equipment? – were not in as good shape. “And you can have her back with my blessing. Mirez! I want a guard and a guide to escort this gentleman and Citizen Dayvson back to the Harmony army.”

  Andrus blinked again. He had hardly expected to achieve his goal quite so easily. What was the catch here?”

  He watched and listened carefully as Mirez and the colonel discussed – quite openly, right in front of him – how many men would be required to guarantee the hostage’s safe return.

  “Two men should be enough,” said Lieutenant Mirez.

  “You’ll settle for that?”

  “Oh. I’m in charge of this effort? Then I want six men. At a minimum.”

  “Of course you’re in charge. You’re the only officer I’m sure hasn’t fallen for her.”

  Mirez smiled slightly. “I don’t think she’s ever figured out that Gabrel’s more my type.”

  With a little haggling the colonel beat him down to three armed guards and a guide. It was all quite undignified and unsuitable, but these people seemed to have no concept of proper behavior.

  “I’d have liked to entertain you tonight,” the colonel said. “We could have had a civilized chat about this unfortunate war; you seem like a man who can rise above petty considerations of pride and revenge. But I quite understand your desire
to reunite Miss Dayvson with her father as soon as possible. If you leave at once, you should be able to rejoin the column before dark.”

  Andrus didn’t recall having expressed such a desire, and he was tired and footsore from the journey here. And how did Travis know exactly where the column was? Never mind; he’d achieved his aim with amazing ease, now it would be as well to get away with the girl before the colonel had second thoughts.

  ***

  “We’re actually not that far from the head of the column,” Andrus assured Isovel. “You’ll be reunited with your father well before dark.”

  “Thank you,” Isovel said through stiff lips.

  She felt as though his voice were coming to her from an immeasurable distance; from the other side of an invisible wall that separated her from reality. A wall she’d been building around herself ever since Colonel Travis had hustled her out of camp. Reality hurt; in reality she was to have no chance even to say good-bye to Gabrel. In reality he had dropped her like a hot potato as soon as he decently could after she’d caused him to kill Jesse, and had avoided the base camp ever since because he couldn’t stand even to see her. In reality she was the enemy. Hadn’t she been doing her best to sabotage the rebel operations?

  Reality was vastly overrated.

  All the while she’d been at the base – not that long, really – she’d clung, without knowing it, to a tiny, infinitesimal scrap of hope. Gabrel might report to Colonel Travis in person. He might not hate her for her part in Jesse’s death.

  It was only now, when she’d lost it, that she realized how much comfort that last hope had been. She couldn’t exactly fantasize that a captain of irregular forces would drop in to visit the enemy army. And if what Andrus said of the Central Committee was true, the Expeditionary Force would soon be withdrawing to the plains, even farther from…

  From nobody she expected to see again. Anyway, he’d lied to her. That stupid affair with Jonny made her feel like a cradle-robber; it was farcical to have repeated the mistake with an enemy soldier, of all people! Really, it was for the best that she was going back to her own people.

  Isovel blinked away tears and concentrated fiercely on her surroundings. The donkey she rode had been picking its way down the mountain without her guidance. Now she looked around her and tried to memorize everything around her. They were passing through a sort of clearing – well, a place where the rocky bones of the mountain surfaced and discouraged most trees. Pale, rain-sodden tall grasses flopped over every patch of dirt, every crack in the naked boulders. Behind them was the dark forest of needle trees; ahead, more forest, but with a sprinkling of gold-maples that lightened the gloom under the needle trees. The air was crisp, no longer soggy with unshed rain; the sky was a distant, brilliant blue against which the rare branches of gold-maple flew golden and scarlet flags. I will remember this. And I will remember that it was beautiful.

  A sound from the trail ahead startled her. Someone coming towards them? Who cared? She prepared to scowl at whoever had interrupted her reverie.

  “Gabrel! What are you doing here?” Lieutenant Mirez exclaimed as the approaching figure came out of the shadows.

  “That’s Captain Gabrel to you, infant. And I might ask you the same question.” He glanced at Isovel and Andrus. “Has peace been declared, and nobody told me?”

  “Steps towards a peace, maybe. We give the girl back, and the army withdraws from the mountains.”

  Gabrel’s dark brows drew together. “What’s the good of that? We need to keep the army tied up in the mountains, where we can raid and harass them and break their nerve.”

  “Look,” Mirez said, “I know you’ve been having fun and finding new ways to make the Harmonica soldiers’ lives interesting, but you can’t expect Colonel Travis to conduct policy solely on the basis of what amuses his youngest captain. If you want to argue, go talk to the colonel.”

  Gabrel looked at Isovel but continued talking to Mirez. “That’s where I’m headed. Got word he wants to see me. About this?”

  Mirez shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I, as you’ve pointed out, am merely a lowly lieutenant.”

  “But a very trusted one,” said Gabrel, “to be charged with escorting such a valuable package. I’m acquainted with the lady; who’s her friend?”

  “A political.” Mirez might have said, “A maggot,” in the same tone.

  “Sent to negotiate?”

  “Something like that. Look, Captain, this discussion is above my pay grade and I need to get on, or we’ll be climbing back by moonlight.”

  “You can wait another five minutes,” Gabrel told him. “I have a little unfinished business to settle with the lady.”

  “Concerning?”

  “Above your pay grade,” Gabrel snapped.

  “Fine. Go ahead.”

  Gabrel glared at him. “You’ll allow us a little privacy.” It wasn’t a request.

  Mirez bowed ironically. “Take her aside if you like. But stay within sight. I do have a responsibility here; I’m sworn to return her undamaged.”

  “I wasn’t planning to damage her.” Gabrel stepped past Mirez and offered Isovel his hand to dismount.

  Touching him – was a mistake. Possibly for both of them; Isovel fought to keep her composure, while Gabrel inhaled sharply and removed his hand as soon as she was on her feet. He bowed slightly and waved towards the patch of bare rock Mirez had indicated. “After you.”

  The imaginary wall melted; all her walls collapsed. Her hands shook as she walked away from the escort group. Did Gabrel know that she had no defenses against him? Did he care?

  When they were well out of earshot of the others, she stopped and turned to him. She’d meant to raise one eyebrow, to be the epitome of cool self-possession. But that possibility had melted away when she touched his hand.

  He looked ill. She was willing to bet the idiot had been abusing his bad knee again, once she and Jesse weren’t around to nag him about it… Jesse.

  “I – didn’t know you were leaving us so soon. I’d been meaning to ask you…” His voice trailed off into a bare thread.

  “Ask me?” Discord! She still couldn’t raise an eyebrow. She could only wait, defenseless, for whatever he might want to say.

  “I hadn’t meant to bring this up so soon. I thought I – we – had time. But if you’re going away now… Had you ever considered…” He gestured around them, a wave of his hand taking in the crisp blue air and the flags of gold-maple. “This part of Esilia is beautiful, isn’t it? I mean, you know now that it’s not all hot, dusty plains… Do you think… Is there any possibility that you might consider staying here? In Esilia. I mean. After the war – well, of course not, I’m an idiot, forget I said anything, I know you hate it here…”

  “I don’t hate it here.” Isvel couldn’t get any more past her dry throat. Where Gabrel was babbling, she was trapped in silence.

  “Oh, really?” His face brightened. “Then… do you think you could get used to it? I – I mean… to me, really.”

  I already am. Your face will follow me in dreams for the rest of my life. Isovel clamped down the traitorous urge to go all sentimental and squishy.

  “I – have to return to the army. It’s part of the deal.”

  The life went out of Gabrel’s face. “I see. And I, of course, have to report to my superior officer. It would seem that, for the moment, our paths lie in opposite directions.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “I have only one argument left.” But instead of voicing it, Gabrel turned around and shouted, “Mirez!”

  “Sir?”

  “A little privacy, if you please…Turn your back, idiot! And that goes for the rest of you as well!”

  They were of a height; his lips met hers, his hands were hard and forceful on her back, crushing her against him. Isovel’s head swam and she melted against him.

  She was still intoxicated when he stepped back. “All right, then. Go back – for now – if you insist,” he told her. “I know bette
r than to fight your insane sense of duty. But don’t get too settled. I will come for you.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The library tent was large enough to accommodate Renzi, a bookcase, a table and chairs, and a curtained-off space at the back that used to be reserved for printing. Back when he’d had a printer, that was.

  It was not anywhere near large enough to contain his friend’s nervous energy. Sitting across from Renzi, Gabrel constantly shifted his weight, drummed his fingers on the table top, cracked his knuckles, and tilted his chair back at an angle just five degrees away from disaster.

  So much for a nice afternoon reconnecting with his oldest friend.

  “Oh, go ahead and pace,” Renzi snapped the third time Gabrel tilted his chair to the point of eliciting creaks of protest from the abused frame. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  Gabrel sat forward, elbows on the table, and started cracking his knuckles. Again. “There’s not enough room to pace properly in here. I need more than three strides at a time to get my brain working.”

  “Then go outside and get it over with.”

  “Not enough privacy. I need to talk to you. New orders – I’m not sure what to do. Thought I could bounce ideas off of you.”

  Renzi snorted. “Instead of bouncing yourself off the tent walls? Let’s go for a walk. At least you can burn off some of that energy.”

  The crisp fall air, scented with resin from the needle trees, seemed to give Gabrel even more energy. He set a pace that Renzi could barely match, and even that much speed precluded using his breath for anything as trivial as conversation. Too much time sitting in the tent because I’m ashamed to face my brother officers. I should use the exercise ground every day.

  There was a solitary runner on the circular track to which Colonel Travis had sacrificed the largest patch of sort-of level ground inside the lines of the base. Gabrel turned onto the track, hands clasped behind him, and glowered at the jogging private. Renzi was not surprised that the runner suddenly discovered that he’d exercised enough; Gabrel in one of his moods exuded a nearly-visible force field twanging with tension.