Melissa definitely dodged a bullet, she thought, unpleasantly. Gaius may be more bearable without Fulvia, but he can still be an ass at times.
She didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she concentrated on bottling up the cooled potion and readying it for the sergeant’s inspection. Sergeant Miles would check everything before allowing her to add the bottles to the stockpile. And then ... her body ached uncomfortably, reminding her that she had more physical training in the evening. She was going to hate it.
“Lord Oswald has invited us to a reception,” Gaius said. Emily lifted her eyebrows at the change in subject. “He specifically invited you as well as the rest of us.”
Emily glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”
“I would not care to speculate,” Gaius said. “But you are one of the few unattached women in the camp.”
“I’m engaged,” Emily said, bluntly. General Pollack had told everyone, hadn’t he? Lord Oswald was either very brave or very stupid. “Doesn’t he know that?”
“And yet, you are not married,” Gaius said. “Lord Oswald probably misses female companionship.”
Emily shook her head in disbelief. Lord Oswald could have brought his wife — or a mistress — to the camp. God knew Lord Fulbright and his senior officers had done the same. A man as wealthy and powerful as Lord Oswald would have no trouble attracting a woman, judging from some of the harpies she’d seen in Zangaria. His looks came second to the position he could offer his bride.
“I think I’ll be going to bed early,” she said. Technically, their evenings were meant to be free, but their masters kept them busy until late into the night. “You can give him my apologies.”
Gaius seemed amused. “It would be very rude to decline his invitation,” he said. “I believe he has arranged an archery contest.”
Emily rubbed her forehead. She did need sleep. But she also needed a bath and fresh clothes and she knew she wasn’t going to get either of them. Maybe she should ask Casper to stay by her side, a constant reminder that she was engaged to his brother. But given how much he’d drunk at the last party, she had a feeling that would be a bad idea. It was a shame she couldn’t ask Sergeant Miles to accompany her.
A shiver ran down her spine as a nasty thought crossed her mind. Could Lord Oswald have spiked her drink? She couldn’t recall seeing him in the tent, but Lord Fulbright would probably have invited him. It would have been rude not to invite him. And if he had ... she told herself she was being paranoid. Lord Oswald was already pushing the limits. Trying to drug her would get him in deep shit.
“I’ll see what my master has to say,” she said, finally. Sergeant Miles might have something for her to do, in the evening. He wouldn’t be invited. “I believe he wants to go over some spells with me.”
“Lucky you,” Gaius said, dryly. “Have fun.”
Emily shrugged. It wouldn’t be fun. Sergeant Miles had been drilling her on firing spell after spell, casting them so quickly that the spellwork had started to blur together. It required concentration, but she also needed to cast them on instinct. No matter how hard she worked, it seemed unlikely she’d ever manage to master the skill. Even basic fireballs needed several seconds to cast.
But it will be better than going to the party, she told herself, sternly. Sergeant Miles is much better company.
She changed the subject. “Did Casper make it back?”
“He saw nothing, apparently,” Gaius said. He winked at her. “The necromancer doesn’t know we’re here.”
Emily wasn’t so sure. Any reasonably competent magician, trained in the spying magics, could provide a rough location for the camp. Shadye should have been able to cast the spells, although he’d known where Whitehall was for years. He’d been a student there. And he’d had allies on the near side of the Craggy Mountains. And a mounted patrol shouldn’t have any problems zeroing down the location, then calling in reinforcements. The necromancer should have attacked them long ago.
Unless he’s more interested in capturing people than destroying the opposing army, Emily thought. It made a certain kind of sense. Getting the army across the desert must have drained Dua Kepala’s power. Or he thinks the army won’t pose any threat to him.
She scowled at the thought. The necromancer might be right. Shadye had been powerful enough to take on a whole army ... and Shadye, in the end, hadn’t been particularly smart or well-trained. Dua Kepala, on the other hand, appeared to be rather more dangerous. And Shadye had come far too close to destroying Whitehall.
Gaius cleared his throat. “That will change,” he warned. “He’ll find us sooner or later.”
“Of course,” Emily agreed. She hadn’t been watching, but the final regiments should have arrived by now, surely. “We’ll be moving out soon enough.”
“I fear so,” Gaius said. “Do you feel ready?”
“I feel sick,” Emily admitted. She’d been plunged into danger before, time after time, but this was different. They were going to war. “Is that normal?”
“You’re doing fine,” Gaius said. He gave her a sidelong look. “I had my doubts about you, but you’re doing fine.”
“That’s not an answer,” Emily pointed out.
Gaius shrugged. “I think every young man questions himself before he goes into battle for the first time,” he said. “‘Will I stand in the line? Will I win glory? Will I break and run? Or will I die today?’ Yeah ... it’s normal to question yourself. But you just have to rely on your training and keep going.”
Emily sucked in her breath. She’d gone after Mother Holly, knowing that Lady Barb’s life hung in the balance; she’d chased Nanette, knowing that the older girl had to be stopped. But both decisions had been made in the heat of the moment. Now ... now, she knew she was walking to war. Maybe she should have declined the sergeant’s request and stayed at Whitehall.
But if I can stop a third necromancer, she thought, I must.
“Thank you,” she said. “Is that true of women too?”
Gaius winked. “You tell me.”
The flap opened before Emily could think of a response. A messenger, wearing gaudy clothes, poked his head into the tent. His eyes flickered across Gaius and came to rest on Emily. She couldn’t help thinking that his face looked alarmingly like a pig. Maybe someone had cursed him, long ago.
“Lady Emily,” he said. “General Pollack requests your presence in the command tent.”
“Oh,” Emily said.
She glanced down at the bottles. “Gaius, can you take care of these?”
“Of course,” Gaius said. “I’ll make sure Sergeant Miles has a chance to inspect them.”
Emily nodded. She thought they were perfect, but Sergeant Miles had insisted on checking them first. It was hard to blame him. A spoiled potion now would be a nuisance; a spoiled potion in the midst of combat would be disastrous. Gaius could check them, but she doubted his word would be enough for Sergeant Miles.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” she told the messenger. “Go.”
The messenger bowed and retreated. Emily took a moment to center herself, then followed him. She had no idea what the general wanted, but she’d find out soon enough. And then ...
Maybe he just wants to chat, she thought, dryly. We haven’t talked properly since we first met.
Chapter Thirteen
SHE WASN’T THE ONLY ONE INVITED, Emily discovered, as she stepped through the flap and into the command tent. The entire command staff — and Sergeant Miles — were gathered around a wooden table, staring down at a large map. Sergeant Miles glanced around, caught her attention and motioned for her to stand next to him. Emily couldn’t help feeling relieved, even though it made her feel like a small child. Lord Fulbright and Lord Oswald were on the other side of the table, facing her.
He isn’t looking at me, she thought. Lord Oswald seemed focused on the map. But he’s very carefully not looking at me.
General Pollack cleared his throat. “We can begin,” he said. His voice echoed aro
und the room. “The last of our regiments has arrived. We will commence the march to Farrakhan tomorrow morning. I believe we can have our forces in position before the enemy reaches the walls.”
He glanced at a sallow-faced man Emily didn’t know. “Sir Tarot?”
Sir Tarot reached down, one finger tracing out lines on the map. “The enemy’s army has continued to grow,” he said. “Small raiding parties have headed out in all directions, snatching peasants, livestock and crops. Everything has been taken back to their camp, rather than being consumed on the spot. Their army is unusually disciplined.”
“That is not good news,” General Pollack said.
Emily frowned. Orcs were very difficult to discipline. They could be kept in line with brute force, but they tended to revert to type if left alone for too long. She would have expected the enemy army to be rampaging across the countryside, looting, burning and killing its way through the peasant villages. And yet, their discipline made it easier for the peasants to escape the oncoming storm. The refugees might lose their homes and livestock, but at least they would be alive.
She kept the question to herself as Sir Tarot went on.
“It is our belief that the necromancer will begin his own march to Farrakhan,” he continued, tracing out another line on the map. “Unfortunately, there are very few natural obstacles between his camp and the city. The handful of rivers have been drying up for years. We have knocked down the bridges, but the orcs will have no trouble wading through the shallow water. We have also tried to remove anything the invaders can use ...”
He shrugged, expressively. Emily understood the unspoken message. Peasants were good at hiding things from governmental inspectors, from their crops to livestock. It was quite possible that they’d secreted supplies around the countryside, rather than tamely handing them over to be burnt. They might not believe in the invasion, particularly if they lived off the beaten track. The peasants might just think it was a trick to make them reveal just how successful they had been over the past couple of years.
“In short, we have to beat the enemy to Farrakhan,” General Pollack said.
He jabbed a finger at the map. “Lord Fulbright, I want mounted patrols heading out at first light, picketing the road. If the necromancer has orcs closing in on us, I want to know about them before it’s too late. Tell your men that I don’t want heroics. They are to shadow enemy forces and alert us rather than try to engage them.”
Because they’ll be killed if they try, Emily thought. Good thinking.
“Of course, General,” Lord Fulbright said.
“The first regiment will depart at daybreak,” General Pollack continued. “They will be accompanied by the magicians and their apprentices. The remaining regiments will follow, one at a time. This camp is to be broken down and anything useful taken with us to Farrakhan. Once we get to Farrakhan, we’ll take stock of what we have and don’t have.”
“Yes, sir,” Lord Alcott said.
General Pollack glanced at Lord Oswald. “I want your archers accompanying the regiments, as planned,” he added. “They may be needed.”
“If the enemy is waiting for us,” Lord Oswald said, “We’ll be ready for him.”
Emily nodded. She was no military expert, but she knew a marching army was uniquely vulnerable. The camp’s defenses were flimsy — terrifyingly flimsy — yet it was strongly held compared to an army on the move. General Pollack would need warning, plenty of warning, just to get his men formed up to repel an attack. Doing it without modern radios and training would be an absolute nightmare.
“I’ll be accompanying the first regiment,” General Pollack said. “And I’ll be assuming command of the defense of Farrakhan as soon as I arrive.”
“The city fathers will love that,” Lord Alcott muttered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lord Fulbright said. “They need us.”
“Make it clear that I expect your men to behave themselves,” General Pollack ordered. “I’ll have the hide and hair of any man who attacks a civilian. Make sure they understand that.”
“My men are disciplined,” Lord Fulbright said. He smirked at Lord Alcott. “They know their duty.”
“My men will do their part,” Lord Alcott said. “I ...”
General Pollack slapped the table. The two men fell silent.
“This is not a minor dispute over a border,” General Pollack said. He sounded more resigned than angry, as if he’d fought the same battle over and over again. “This is not some tiny campaign to teach an uppity nobleman a lesson or crush peasants who think they can ignore their rightful masters. This is not some half-assed skirmish or tournament where you laugh and shake hands with your opponent, perhaps after paying a pitiful ransom. This is a full-sized necromantic army invading this country, intent on using it as a springboard to wrest control of the Allied Lands. Everyone is at risk.”
His voice hardened. “The necromancer does not care if you can trace your family back several hundred years or not,” he added. “The necromancer doesn’t care if you have enough money to buy your own castle and still have enough left over to hire sellswords to protect your miserable lives. All he cares about is using you as a source of energy for his magic. We cannot afford to lose this war. We will not lose this war!
He looked from face to face, silently assessing them. “I expect each and every one of you to do your duty. Put aside your personal disputes. Put aside your grudges and dislikes and everything else that may get in the way. You are dependent, now, on the men around you. I don’t expect you to like each other, I don’t expect you to see each other socially, but — by all the gods — I expect you to fight together. And I will break any man who betrays his comrades because of a grudge.”
Emily glanced from face to face. Lord Alcott seemed oddly amused; Lord Fulbright had gone completely expressionless, his face utterly unreadable. Lord Oswald looked offended, as if General Pollack had hurt his feelings; Master Storm looked amused, eying Sergeant Miles as if he expected his old friend to share the joke. Emily kept her own face expressionless, knowing she was the youngest person in the room.
The General’s right, she thought. We have to work together.
The silence seemed to grow and lengthen before General Pollack finally spoke.
“I’m afraid your planned midnight soirée will have to be cancelled,” he said, addressing Lord Oswald. “I’ll be hosting a small dinner for my senior commanders this evening — you are invited, of course.”
“I quite understand,” Oswald said. He didn’t sound happy. “I shall be sure to attend.”
Emily allowed herself a moment of relief. She didn’t know if Gaius was right or wrong, but she’d been dreading either going to the soiree or explaining to Sergeant Miles why she didn’t want to go. Thankfully, she doubted she’d be expected to attend General Pollack’s dinner.
“Make sure your men have enough rest,” General Pollack said, addressing the entire room. “I want to be ready to leave at the crack of dawn.”
He paused, dramatically. “We face a hard challenge,” he warned, grimly. “Let there be no doubt about that. We face a powerful and determined enemy. But we will rise to the challenge. Dismissed!”
Sergeant Miles put a hand on Emily’s arm as the rest of the crowd started to make their way out of the tent. “The General wants to talk to you,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll be waiting outside.”
Emily nodded. General Pollack waved her to a seat as he spoke quickly to Sir Tarot and another officer Emily didn’t recognize, then dismissed them both. Emily took a long breath, feeling grimy. She’d looked better, surely, the day she’d visited Caleb’s parents for the first time. She could hardly have looked worse. In hindsight, maybe she should have cut her hair short. It was really too long for military service.
“Emily,” General Pollack said. He sounded warmer now they were alone. “How are you coping?”
“Well enough,” Emily said. “I could do with a bath.”
“There will be bat
hs in Farrakhan,” General Pollack said. He sat down on the other side of the table, his eyes glittering with amusement. “How are you handling the training?”
“I wish I had longer,” Emily admitted. “I’ve been getting better, but I don’t have the endurance the others have.”
“My wife said you would find that hard,” General Pollack agreed. “But it is important to keep up with your exercises.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Did you have a chance to watch Sir Roger’s men during their basic drills?”
“No, sir,” Emily said.
“You don’t have to call me sir, not when we’re alone,” General Pollack said. “You may even call me father, if you wish.”
Emily colored. She had no idea what had become of her biological father.
“I’d prefer not to get into bad habits,” she said, finally. She wondered, suddenly, if Sergeant Miles had told him about the attempt to drug her. It was impossible to tell. “It’s been an interesting few days.”
“The first few weeks of mustering an army are always hectic,” General Pollack confirmed, dryly. “We’ve been lucky not to come under attack.”
Emily looked down at the map. “Why didn’t he attack us?”
“I suspect he is more interested in gathering as much food and drink as he can, now he’s managed to get his army over the desert,” General Pollack said. “He’ll start moving northwards soon enough.”
He tapped the map. “What do you make of it?”
Emily hesitated. The map wasn’t easy to follow. She knew, from bitter experience, that mapmaking skills in the Nameless World were very limited. The map might easily be out of proportion ... it was hard to be sure, but Farrakhan looked as though it was easily several times the size of Washington or Moscow. She would be astonished if Farrakhan was even half their size. Cities in the Nameless World tended to be much smaller than their earthly counterparts.
11- The Sergeant's Apprentice Page 13