He closed his eyes again and tried to force his whirling thoughts into focus. There had been a party ... not a party, a celebration. There were soldiers... he was a soldier now. That was right. In the Felk army. Sometimes he forgot. Sometimes he drank to forget. But last night there had been a party... a celebration after a successful battle. U'delph!
Like a bright, unwelcome ray of light, the name smote his struggling mind. Udelph! He had been drinking to forget. Now he remembered.
They had moved on U'delph through the portals that the magicians opened up right out of the air. Rumors had been circulating through the ranks about the powers of the army's mages, but this amazing ability had been kept from the troops until the last moment.
Aquint, like many others, had been frankly terrified to step single file through the narrow opening. The portals were like gaps in reality. Hah! That was exactly what they were. They led into some other realm of existence, a strange, uneasy, milky place, where everything was unfamiliar. But apparently when one crossed a short distance in this other domain, it corresponded to a vast distance in this world.
Thus they had completed the final several days' marching toward U'delph in a matter of mere moments.
Now they were camped just south of the place, and U'delph was no more.
Aquint forced the memories away to deal with more pressing matters, like emptying his bladder. He considered rolling onto his side and relieving himself where he lay, but decided against it. While he was no great advocate of cleanliness, uniforms smelled bad enough when you lived in them without adding urine to the bouquet. With a sigh that was almost a groan, he gathered his legs under him and pushed himself to his feet. He was by no means old, but he certainly wasn't a youth anymore, either.
The bush was actually a small clump of scrub that covered him to his waist as he stood. That gave him an illusion of privacy as he relieved himself, not that it mattered. There was little room for modesty in an army, and the soldiers—men and women—were used to performing their natural functions in full sight of each other. After a while, one simply didn't notice.
As he finished, Cat rose from where he had been sitting on the ground just outside the bushes and moved to his side. The boy's presence was no surprise to Aquint. Cat was always around.
"I figured you'd be needing this when you came to," Cat said, thrusting a large earthen mug of water into Aquint's hand.
Aquint drained it greedily, then held it out for Cat to refill from his waterskin, which the boy did. Aquint drank another half mug before pausing and heaving a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, lad. That helps."
Cat topped off the mug again, then restoppered the waterskin and sank smoothly back into his seated position. Aquint joined him, though he groaned slightly as he sat.
"Tell me, my young friend," he said as he ran a hand through his unkempt hair, "did we have a good time last night?"
Cat favored him with a level stare before his gaze returned to its normal pattern of scanning the immediate environs.
"I think you had enough fun for both of us."
The boy always had a proprietary, vaguely disapproving attitude toward the older man. Rather than being offended, Aquint found it amusing.
"That's right. You don't drink, do you?"
"I'm a thief," Cat said, bluntly. "A thief has to keep his wits about him more than a businessman ... or a soldier."
It was an old conversational argument between them. Stretching all the way back to the day they had first met.
Aquint had been running his freight-hauling business in Callah, with an unadvertised side in smuggling
and black marketeering, back in those not long ago days before the Felk had come and captured the city. A patrol of city constables had come into his warehouse in pursuit of a cutpurse who had eluded them in the crowds outside. Aquint had sworn to them that there was no one on the premises other than himself and an alley cat he kept around to chase vermin, blandly ignoring the quick glimpse he had caught of a young sinewy boy slipping through his door just ahead of the patrol. After the constables had moved on, Aquint had expected the lad to vanish back into the city streets and alleys. Instead, the boy had remained and become his inseparable shadow. When asked for a name, he had simply shrugged and said, "I'm your cat... just like you told the patrol." And Cat he had been ever since.
When Aquint went into the army, Cat had followed, though he was never actually officially enlisted. Whether the other soldiers thought of him as Aquint's son or bed partner, they kept their opinions to themselves, simply ignoring the boy as they did the other camp followers who traveled with the army in their southward sweep. That army had come out of the Isthmus's northernmost city-state, Felk. It had moved south, capturing Aquint's home of Callah, then the neighboring city of Windal... then farther on, to U'delph.
"For once, I'll have to agree with you, Cat," Aquint said, darkly, sipping at the water while he stared straight ahead. "It doesn't take much in the way of wits for a soldier to do what we did yesterday. In fact, the fewer wits, the better."
"Don't start again," Cat hissed, looking at him sternly. "You said more than enough last night. They don't like critical talk in this army."
"I'm sorry, but it makes me sick," Aquint insisted. "That wasn't a battle. By the madness of the gods, it was butchery."
"It's the job of the generals to make decisions and issue orders," Cat said.
"That pitiful garrison folded in a matter of two watches. After that, we could have accepted their surrender and claimed the city-state. There was no reason to go to the extremes that we did."
"It's the job of a soldier to follow those orders," Cat said. "That's how an army is run. If every soldier tried to make their own decisions and plans, it wouldn't just be ineffectual, it would be chaos."
"Are you saying you approve of what was done?" Aquint asked.
"I'm saying that my approval doesn't matter... and neither does yours. Even if you had been consulted about the battle plan—"
"Which I wasn't."
"—which you weren't, you would have been overruled. You couldn't change it then, and you certainly can't change it now that it's over. All your complaints and criticisms can do now is put you in jeopardy if you insist on voicing them."
Aquint drew a deep breath and blew it out. The lad was articulate for a thief who'd haunted Callah's streets and alleys.
"All right," Aquint said. "You've made your point. I'll try to keep my mouth shut."
"It may be a little late now," Cat said. "You mouthed off last night enough to get arrested for treason. I only hope you satisfied Sonya."
"Sonya?"
Cat favored him with another prolonged stare.
"The little corporal from Third Squad," he said. "The one with the muscles and the bad teeth. She was your companion there under the bushes last night."
Aquint winced as the vague memory struggled to surface in his still befuddled mind.
"Bugger. I must have been really drunk," he said. "I've been dodging that one for weeks now."
"Count yourself as lucky." Cat shrugged. "If she hadn't been so eager to get into your pants, she could have reported you for what you were saying."
"Well, I'll try to watch it in the future," Aquint said. "Bedding Sonya is too high a price to pay for the privilege of shooting off my mouth."
"I'd hold any plans for the future for a while, if I were you," Cat said softly.
Frowning, Aquint followed the youth's gaze.
There were three of them. A lieutenant and two guards. They were at the squad campfire speaking to
his sergeant. As he watched, the sergeant looked around, then pointed directly to where he and Cat were sitting.
As the trio approached, Aquint briefly considered running, but discarded the notion. He was in the middle of an army encampment. There was no place to run to. Instead, he rose to his feet and saluted as the group came to a halt in front of him.
"Is your name Aquint?" the officer said.
"Yes, sir."
"You will come with me. Now."
With that the lieutenant turned on his heel and strode off, leaving Aquint little choice but to follow behind. As he did, he noticed the two guards were now positioned on either side and behind him. Cat had faded from sight as the contingent had approached, but Aquint had little doubt that he was watching from somewhere else.
Aquint wondered for a moment what would happen to Cat if he, Aquint, were imprisoned or executed, but shrugged it off, turning his mind instead to his own predicament.
Actually, he wasn't all that worried. This was far from the first time in his life that he had been hauled in front of the authorities, and so far his wit and glibness of tongue had saved him from any serious consequences. If this was about his comments of the previous evening, he would simply claim to have been drunk and to have no recollection of having said anything that could be taken as treasonable. If cross-examined, he would have no difficulty claiming support and loyalty to the army and its policies. Except...
Aquint blinked as a sudden realization struck him. Except that a part of him wanted to be punished. Maybe that was why he had allowed himself to voice his criticisms in front of so many people last night. What was more, it wasn't just the guilt of having participated in the destruction of Udelph.
He had made a suggestion, an observation, really. A forced quick march, leaving the supply wagons behind, would allow them to attack U'delph days earlier than if they stuck to the tradition of moving the army in its entirety as they had been doing since Callah, he had said. Hit them fast, before they had a chance to consolidate their defenses, and the city-state could be taken with the least possible losses on both sides.
A mere watch after he'd made this comment the army had halted and the various unit commanders had announced that the portals would be used to transport the troops the remainder of the distance to U'delph.
It was, in effect, a variation on his own plan. He couldn't help but wonder, in some irrational corner of his mind, if his suggestion had been passed up the line. What he had envisioned came to pass, except... he hadn't known the decision had already been made to make an example of U'delph.
Instead of a simple surrender, virtually every one of its inhabitants—man, woman, and child—had been put to the sword without mercy, and the city itself razed to the ground. Only a very small group was spared, survivors that were deliberately allowed to flee southward, to spread news of the might and terror of the Felk army and its wizards.
It was a startling revelation that he was taking the blame for that on himself. Now that he was aware of his deeper feelings, however, Aquint set his mind to quickly correcting them. Subconsciously seeking punishment was one thing. When one's life and limb were actually about to be put on the line, however, it was time to focus on self-preservation.
The lieutenant paused at the entrance to a large command pavilion.
"Wait here," he said, and disappeared inside.
Aquint ran his fingers through his hair again and tried to dust the twigs and blades of grass from his uniform. It looked as if his case was to be reviewed by the company commander, and trying to put on a presentable front couldn't hurt. Perhaps he could get off with a reprimand and a warning.
The lieutenant reappeared, holding the tent flap open and beckoning Aquint to enter. As he did, the lieutenant pointed to a spot at the center of the tent, then left, letting the tent flap close behind him.
Aquint moved to the indicated point and stood, forcing down an impulse to fidget. Looking exceptionally nervous or overly innocent would only label him as guilty even before the conversation
began. Instead, he worked on appearing patient and curious.
The commander was seated behind a low table, scribbling on one of several pieces of vellum scattered across the table's surface. He did not look up or otherwise acknowledge Aquint's presence.
The only other person in the tent was a thin, pale woman in dark robes who sat in the tent's corner. Wizard, Aquint thought. He didn't often see them up close like this. It was incredible to think that this creature and her fellows had opened those portals, that any beings could have such power. It was rumored that they could also communicate directly with the city-state of Felk through magical means and often relayed orders from Matokin himself.
People, in Aquint's experience, generally feared magic. It was an ancient practice. But the Felk had embraced the art apparently, absorbing it into their own army, a tactic that had never been used in the history of the Isthmus. These wizards—wherever they were coming from—were formidable.
Aquint did his best to ignore the one in the corner. Looking at her only reminded him of how frightened he'd been to step through that portal.
"You are Aquint?" the commander said at last, looking up from his writing.
"Yes, sir."
"The same Aquint who came up with the idea for the quick march?"
Caught off guard by this line of questioning, Aquint hesitated a beat before answering.
"Yes, sir."
"Could you explain to me how that idea occurred to you?"
Aquint decided there was nothing to be lost by telling the truth.
"Well, sir," he said, "before I joined the army, I ran a small hauling and freight business in Callah. We charged different rates, depending on the size of the load and the urgency of the delivery. It just seemed to me that if I had run things the way the army has been moving troops, I would be out of business."
"How so?"
"Everything would have to be delivered at the same time, and by definition, that time would be dictated by the heaviest, hardest to move item." Aquint continued to resist the urge to fidget.
"Go on," the commander said.
"It occurred to me that if we expedited certain units of the army like I used to expedite certain cargos, those units could move farther and faster than the army as a whole."
"Interesting," the commander said. "A good business, was it?"
Was. He had the tense right, Aquint thought with wry bitterness. "Actually, the army commandeered most of my stock and wagons, so I didn't have much of a business left," he said. "I didn't have anything in the way of other marketable skills, so I, uh, enlisted."
The truth was of course that he had been conscripted as well. Few able-bodied individuals in Callah had escaped being impressed into the army. Luckily, no one had discovered the false-bottomed wagons and mislabeled shipments that marked him as a smuggler as much as a legitimate businessman.
"My point," the commander was saying, "is that you're new to the army, not a career man. That's good. One of the problems the army has is clinging to old procedures because they've always worked before."
Aquint had no ready response. Was he being complimented?
"Your idea was a good one," the commander said. "As it happened, we had ... other means of quickening the speed at which we could move."
Aquint noticed the officer give an involuntary, uneasy glance to the magician in the corner. So, thought Aquint, even this army's higher-ups hadn't enjoyed stepping through those portals.
"Anyway," the commander continued, "this is a new means of transportation. I don't know how often General Weisel will want to make use of it, or even how reliable it is." Another look toward the corner, this one mildly defiant. "But I need transport officers in the regular ranks. These... mages might be able to send us magically through the air, but I'll wager they don't know how a convoy should be organized to pass most efficiently through those tight portals."
Aquint blinked, still groping for a reply.
He didn't get the chance to make one. "You have a background in freight hauling," the commander
said. "You're not afraid to express your ideas. Fresh thinking is rare, and it's in our best interest to make use of it when we find it. I'm promoting you, effective when your paperwork is complete. That's all. You can return to your unit."
Aquint was out of the tent and walking back to his unit when it finally, truly sank
in that he was not going to be punished. When it did, he burst out in sudden, joyous laughter. Cat appearing at his side, peering at him with concern, only made him laugh harder.
PRAULTH (1)
A SHEET OF parchment was whipped abruptly underneath her narrow nose, causing her to start violently and nearly spill from the high stool. Having her intense study so crassly interrupted made her bare her teeth in annoyance. Some prank? Some lower phase brat playing games with—
'Tell me what you make of this by the end of the watch. Wherever I am, find me. Start now."
With a rustle of his robe, Master Honnis glided past her desk, his shrunken body moving with its usual grace. The pure white fringe of what remained of his hair stood out starkly against his richly dark flesh. Master Honnis was the oldest individual at the University, one of the oldest people Praulth had ever met in her life. Yet within that small, bony shape burned an irascible vigor that had earned him a widespread reputation as a taskmaster.
Praulth didn't entirely share that general view, though Master Honnis's fearsomeness was evident. His speech was often short, his manner curt. Yet she had gotten to know the old instructor—as much as anyone was likely to—and quite admired him. He had once told her that the reason for his brusqueness was that he simply didn't have time for social niceties. At his age there could only be so many days left to him.
Praulth, a fourth-phase student of first ranking here at the University at Febretree, was twenty-two years old. Physically she was of average height and lean, with short blandly brownish hair. Her trimness wasn't due to exercise. She was slim only because her diet was poor; as an obsessive intellect she regularly overlooked meals.
She was charting a course of academic excellence, one that was almost predetermined to secure her a post on one of the scholastic councils. Historic studies to be specific, since that was her field of greatest achievement. Another tenwinter of diligence, of honing her analytical faculties, and she would perhaps be Mistress Praulth. Would she then also be blunt? Intimidating? Intellectually ferocious? Just like her mentor, Master Honnis. Perhaps.
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