David resisted the urge to sigh. Once, no officer of the military would have been ignorant of the stalking wolf. Spoken of in whispers in dark corners, it symbolised the secretive side of Saint Ciro and anyone carrying the badge was accorded the respect worthy of the church. Things had definitely changed if this blockhead didn’t know what the stalking wolf meant.
Thankfully, the Fire Mage did and leaned in to whisper in the Second-Lieutenant’s ear. Botello’s face went through confusion, deeper confusion, then finally, understanding. Glaring at David, he motioned for the privates to stand down.
“Well,” the lieutenant said, solicitous, “these seem all in order, Pilot Garza.” He handed the papers back, grabbing the message tube from the mage and offering it like a peace treaty. “I’ll have a private escort you and your crew to our mess for a meal while you wait, if you wish.”
“Wait?” Garza slid his orders back into the tube. “We’ll be lifting off immediately, sir. Our job here is done.”
“They’re leaving.” David stared at the suddenly nervous officer. “I’m not.”
Garza took that as a dismissal and climbed back on board, shouting orders for his crew to prepare for take-off. David settled his coat back into place, nodded to the lieutenant and walked toward the camp. The dirigible engines burst into furious life and the propellers kicked up a cloud of dust. Botello and his people rushed after David, arms protecting their faces from the dirt. Coat blowing around his legs, David entered Tejon Company’s camp.
It was likely few of the current personnel knew how the company had formed during the civil war between Ibarra and Roque all those years ago. No one would remember a lone soldier gathering the scattered remains of three obliterated supply companies into a small, grimly resolved group. They wouldn’t understand that the name had been a joke. A company burrowing into the dirt, pure stubbornness keeping them entrenched in the thickest of the fighting, determined to support the other companies with food, water, healing and weapons. Ibarra lost the war, the frontline collapsing until all that remained was David’s company, dug in deep, surrounded by de Roque military. It had been the Duchess of Roque who’d named them Tejon Company, applauding their tenacity and honour in struggling on with their duty in the face of imminent destruction. Tejon Company had been released back to Ibarra, a sign of the respect the Duchess of Roque felt for them. The then Duke Ibarra hadn’t been so impressed. He’d had the senior officers hanged for dereliction in duties that saw their original companies defeated and David had been whipped before being locked away.
But Tejon Company had survived and David almost smiled as he walked through the neat rows of tents and bustling personnel. The Badger had more than lived up to its Name.
Second-Lieutenant Botello hurried to catch up, dusting off his jacket and straightening his hair. “I didn’t see your name on the orders.”
“No,” David said dryly, “you didn’t.”
They came into the central yard and David stopped. In the middle of the open space was a pole and dangling skeleton. A child by the size of it.
“What’s your name, then?”
David ignored him, striding to the skeleton, unable to comprehend what would make them string up a child’s body. It was a moment before he heard Botello come after him, followed now by only the clerk and the amused Fire Mage.
“I demand your name,” the lieutenant snapped.
It wasn’t a child, at least not a human one. The skeleton was of some sort of creature David had never seen before. Human-like but different. It clicked and clacked in the breeze.
“Clerk Dulce, go to Captain Meraz,” Botello commanded. “Inform her of this man’s arrival. I’m sure she’ll want to speak with him immediately.”
The clerk hurried off as David turned a slow circle, taking in the camp. The pole stood in the exact middle. It was more than a perverse decoration. It had meaning.
“You will tell me your name.” Botello’s face grew red with frustration.
David spared him a bored look. “I have no name.”
“Everyone has a name. How else will I command you?”
“You,” David said softly, “don’t.”
Mouth falling open, Botello stared at him.
Leaving the lieutenant and Fire Mage behind, David saved Dulce the trouble of informing the captain. He entered the command tent, ignoring the protests of a couple of clerks as he strode through the entry way and into the inner office.
Clerk Dulce was in there, paused in mid-sentence as David stepped in. The captain stood behind her desk, an older woman but one with significant combat experience, if the way she reached for her pistol was any indication. She looked him over quickly, her hand never leaving the butt of her weapon. David revealed his badge and she pulled in a short, sharp breath. Someone who remembered.
“Clerk, you can leave us,” she commanded.
Dulce, snatching glances at David as she went, left. He waited until the canvas settled back into position before speaking.
“I’ve been sent to find someone,” David said.
Captain Meraz narrowed her gaze, then sat, as if an agent of the church was an everyday occurrence. “Does this person have a name?”
“Obviously, but I’m sure he’s not using his real name so it would be pointless to tell you.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No.”
Meraz’s expression was calculating. After a moment, quicker than David would have thought, her eyes widened. “It’s you.”
David didn’t bother to confirm or deny it. “We believe this man was aboard the troop carrier that crashed several days ago. I’d like a manifest of every soldier from the carrier who was treated in your camp.” If the boy had been wounded bad enough to be sent back to Delaluz, he needed to know before wasting more time here.
Meraz pressed her thin, wrinkled lips together. “Not every soldier from the crash required treatment so it’s hardly a complete manifest.”
“It’s a start. Whom do I speak to about getting a copy of the list of injured?”
“The Bone Mage. Gabriel Xavier Castillo Ramos de Roque.”
He was out the door before she’d finished speaking, but refused to turn around to question her last words. A de Roque mage in Ibarra’s military? Another change in the world, or something else? Still, it wasn’t as important as finding his prey.
He passed Lieutenant Botello on his way out, ignoring the man’s demand to know what was going on. The Fire Mage stood back, curiosity in every nuance of his expression.
“Where can I find the Bone Mage?” David asked the Fire Mage.
“Best try the hospital, I guess.”
“What’s your business with Castillo?” Botello asked.
“It’s not my business,” David said, walking away. “It’s the church’s.”
That got Botello off his tail, at least, but it sent the lieutenant into the command tent, probably to wheedle whatever he could from the captain. The military hierarchy was just politics and David had no patience for it. The authority of the church might give him access to whatever he needed to perform his task, but sadly it couldn’t get fools like Botello out of his way before they irritated him.
The camp was relatively quiet compared to David’s memories of the first Tejon Company. Of course, back then, support units weren’t stationed several leagues behind the frontline. They were right there, in the thick of it, relying on the active companies they supplied for protection. A lieutenant like Botello would never have been tolerated in a supply company. He most likely would have been left behind when they had to invariably move camp due to shifting battles.
This camp looked very sedentary. They’d been here for a while and would probably stay here a while longer. The personnel appeared sedate, relaxed, so different to the near constant air of tense expectation, fatal acceptance and exhaustion David was intimately familiar with.
Yet there were definite similarities. The cohesion of a well-led, finely-trained group of people, dedicate
d to their tasks, and, most importantly, the companionship. He saw it in a game of hoop-ball in the small yard behind the supply tents, in a group of laughing Engineers and an intense argument between clerks and the huddle of privates taking wagers on the outcome.
David felt a pang of things nearly forgotten.
He’d had friends, once, companions he could talk with, share a laugh and a drink with. Other orphans taken in by the church, awed by the concept of warm, dry beds with mattresses and clean sheets; amused by the monks’ fanatical need to polish everything they could lay their hands on; trying to outdo each other with plans to avoid sermon and the harsh tongue of the Dean of the boys’ dormitory. That sort of camaraderie had almost been his again when he’d formed Tejon Company in the war against Roque, ripped away by the defeat of Ibarra and his return to the duke as part of the settlement.
David didn’t miss it anymore. He’d learned not to long for it. Friendship required some concept of equality and David had long since learned there was no one like him.
Thankfully no one else bothered him on his way to the hospital. He slipped into the building that had replaced the familiar tent. A sole Sacerdio tended a couple of occupied beds. She was young and pretty, possessed of the stately poise of someone much older.
“Excuse me,” David said.
Everyone looked to him, all of them showing various levels of surprise at his appearance. The Sacerdio hid her initial shock, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.
“How may I help you?” Her gaze flickered over the weapons bristling about his person but her expression didn’t reveal what she thought of them.
“I’m looking for the Bone Mage.”
“Can I ask why you need to see him? Perhaps it’s something I can help you with. Mage Castillo has been under some stress lately and I’d rather he not be bothered unless it’s necessary.”
“It’s necessary.”
“If you tell me what it’s about I’ll inform the mage and he can decide if he wants to meet with you.”
David didn’t particularly want to show the stalking wolf badge to all and sundry. Striding about camp like a mobile armoury wasn’t very discreet but causing a little gossip and speculation was better than spilling the whole truth. Captain Meraz had worked out who he was within moments. It wouldn’t take long for the rest of the camp to come to the same conclusion.
“Ma’am,” he said, soft and firm. “The matter is a delicate one. I would prefer to speak with the mage myself, and Captain Meraz would prefer it that way as well.”
The Sacerdio considered him, appearing unmoved by his words. “If you’ll allow me a moment to fetch another Sacerdio to take my place here, I’ll escort you to Mage Castillo.”
The woman stepped around him and left the hospital. David took a last look around, marvelling that the staid and immutable military had made such a change, then followed. Her replacement was a sleep-rumpled young man who cast sceptical glances at David before entering the hospital.
The woman led David toward the edge of the camp, where the round huts clustered like ant mounds. As they drew closer, drums and singing reached them. The beat was simple, the harmonies complex. Mixed in with it were yelling, laughing and the rhythmic beat of feet on the hard packed dirt. Rounding a hut, the source of the noise came into view.
The brown-skinned natives were fighting. It was artfully choreographed with blows never hitting, kicks never reaching their marks and the opponents dancing gracefully within and around each other’s moves.
A circle of natives stood around the combatants, drumming, clapping and singing. They wore wraps of roughly woven material dyed in dull colours that blended into the muted shades of the landscape. The fighters were stripped down to loincloths, sleekly muscled bodies glistening with sweat.
Amongst the circle stood a pale-faced Delaluzian. Though his skin was lightly tanned, beside the Valleymen he looked sickly white. His dark blond hair looked like the grey of great age even though he was no more than thirty years. Green eyes marked him as of the northern reaches of Delaluz, and his non-military clothes said he wasn’t a regular member of Tejon Company. A black glove on his left hand left no doubt as to who he was.
Mage Castillo was focused on the fight, clapping and tapping his foot, leaning in to speak with the massively tall native next to him. The Valleyman laughed and shook his head, to which the mage scowled.
The Sacerdio made her cautious way around the circle to the mage and tapped his shoulder. He turned to her, keeping one eye on the rhythmic fight. She spoke, gesturing to David. The mage glanced at David, looked back to the fight, then nodded. He followed her back to David.
“How can I help you?” he asked, annoyed at being interrupted.
“I’m sorry I took you away from the fight, but my business is urgent.”
Mage Castillo snorted. “It’s not a fight, it’s a dance.”
“If you say so. I would like to speak with you in private.”
“Is it about an injury or illness?”
“No.”
“Then you can speak in front of my Sacerdio.”
“I’m here on private business for Abbess Morales and Duke Ibarra.”
The names had a deeper effect than David had expected. The mage drew in a sharp breath, his gaze flickering to the Sacerdio, then back to David, carefully devoid of the questions David knew he wanted to ask.
“Dina, you can go,” Mage Castillo said.
“Are you certain, Mage?” There was an element of protection in her voice that intrigued David.
“I’ll be fine. Return to the hospital.”
Dina, lips pressed into unhappy lines, gave David a parting glare and walked back the way they’d come.
Castillo followed her at a slower pace, letting the distance increase before speaking. “Do you have a name, sir?”
A surge of rebellion made David want to tell him his name. He wanted to defy the duke’s assertion that David was nameless, that he was the Immortal Soldier and nothing more. It would be so much simpler to say he was David Exposito de Ciro and forget about the unsettling sensation of the link to Duke Ibarra.
“No,” he said, regret and relief warring in his chest.
“Then what do I call you?”
“Nothing. You answer my questions and I’ll be gone.”
Castillo cocked an eyebrow. “Answer questions? That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You mean you’re not here to take me back to Ibarra?”
“No.”
The mage let out a little whoop of joy. “That’s a relief. I mean, this dust bowl isn’t a grand palace but it’s a damn sight better than Ibarra. For me, at least.”
David grunted. “For others, as well.”
“So, Nothing, what questions do you have for me?”
More and more each moment, but few of them had anything to do with why he was here, so David pushed them aside. How a civilian de Roque mage ended up in Ibarra’s military wasn’t important, nor was the reason he feared Duke Ibarra and Abbess Morales.
“I’m looking for a soldier,” David said. “At least, he’s impersonating a soldier. We believe he was on the troop carrier that crashed here the other day. A young man, a couple of inches shorter than yourself, dark hair, blue eyes, possibly in the company of a taller man approximately the same age. Captain Meraz said you had a complete list of the injured and I want to know if any of them matched that description.”
The mage pretended to think though David could tell he suspected something. His shoulders had stiffened and he was too casual about pulling a cigarillo from a packet and flipping it into his mouth. Searching his pockets for something else, he shrugged.
“Doesn’t sound familiar, I’m afraid. I treated a lot of soldiers from the crash. Lots of burns, few broken bones. Of course, there were a lot of soldiers who didn’t need my attention, as well. He could have been amongst them.”
“He could have been, but I would like to see the list of injured all the same.�
�
Castillo rolled the cigarillo from one side of his mouth to the other, finally finding a small silver case in one of his pockets. He raised it to the cigarillo, and cupping his hand around it, flicked a small lever on the side and a short, blue flame appeared at the top of the case. He lit his cigarillo from it, shook the case until the flame went out and tucked it away again. Another innovation from the last century.
“I don’t bother reading the brands of all my patients, and frankly, it’s easier to not know their names. Makes it too personal and I can’t keep my distance.” The last was said with more than a touch of sarcasm. “Dina, my Head Sacerdio, has the list.”
David stopped the growl before it could get past his chest. The Sacerdio could have given him what he wanted without having to find the mage.
“If,” Castillo continued, “you insist on looking it over, I’ll ask her very nicely if she’ll show it to you.”
An alarm sounded, a high pitched rise and fall that flooded the camp. Castillo snapped around, staring toward the west with a dreadful expression. The cigarillo drooped from his lower lip for a moment, then jerked up as he clenched his teeth.
“What does that mean?” David’s hand reached up to the sword hilt.
“Nothing good.”
Chapter 9
A dozen Valleymen headed for the gate, long legs carrying them gracefully like the finest race horses of Navarro. Castillo watched them go with a gloomy expression, shook his head and started after them, though at a slower pace. Throughout the camp, others were also rushing for the gate, a stark contrast to the mage, who seemed thoroughly annoyed at whatever the alarm meant.
David followed him as far as the hospital, hoping to find the Sacerdio, but she wasn’t there. The man she’d roused to fill her duty was busily helping the last of the patients pack their few things and hurry them out the door. A stack of new sheets waited on one bed.
Incoming wounded. That was what the alarm signified. Another innovation. In David’s experience, all alerts had been shouted out by the company Earth Mage. How fascinating the world was now, where humans, and even animals, were being replaced by other means.
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