With convenient timing, Captain Javes emerged from Suiden’s tent.
“Oh, hallo, Rabbit.” He paused to tug on his gloves. “Escort me to my tent?”
No, I thought. Go away.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and fell into step with him.
“Some big changes happening, what? With promotions and magicals and missions and all.” Javes stopped at his open tent, a lantern casting a square patch of light over us. “I’d invite you in for a drink, but you look fair knackered.” He paused, but I said nothing. He then pasted his bugger me grin on his face and said, “Good night, then, Lieutenant.” It took all that I had not to stomp back to my tent. I flopped down on my bed after flinging my uniform anyhow at my saddlebags. I still lay there brooding when my tent-mate came in. He settled into his bedroll and there was quiet.
“Good night, Lord Rabbit,” Laurel said.
I shot straight up.
“What the poxy hell are you doing here?”
“Ryson’s tentmate brought back an extra tent.” Laurel chuffed. “Apparently he couldn’t take any more of Ryson’s aromas. Trooper Jeffen is bunking there.”
I lay back down feeling abandoned and forsaken.
“Also, the good captain wanted me with you just in case someone decides to go roaming in the night watches.” I was startled out of my self-pity at the thought that my mates needed to be guarded against. Then I remembered they weren’t my mates any longer, but were on the other side of the great divide that separated regular troopers from officers. Plus, there was Slevoic with Ryson and whatever other stoolies that were hanging about. I lay back down and stared towards the ceiling for a long time.
Chapter Nine
The next morning dawned bright and clear. Captain Javes’ troop carried pennants and standards that looked grand snapping in the breeze against the blue sky and scudding clouds. (We didn’t bring ours as we felt no need to impress mountain goats.) Javes also looked grand in a crisp field uniform, boots (Colbies, suitable for country wear), an embroidered cloak and, to my surprise, a serviceable sword that replaced his filigree one. It was all topped with a cap with troop insignia and feather, set at a jaunty angle atop his pomaded blond curls.
However, the weather showed the fickleness of spring in the mountains. One moment the clouds were fleecy white, the next the entire sky a solid dark gray. It drizzled at first, but soon the rain was coming down in sheets, plastering Javes’ cap to his scalp, the feather dribbling into his face. The next days saw us sleeping in dripping tents on soaked ground wrapped in sodden bedding as the rain showed no sign of letting up.
It wasn’t the first time my troop had to ride in bad weather. We were at the bottom of the garrison’s pecking order and harsh conditions during patrol were normal for us. Javes’ unit, however, were King’s Road patrollers, a cushy assignment handed out to pets, suck-ups and the well connected. It was no surprise when they began complaining, but I was startled to hear grumbles from my own troop—and several times when they saw me come near, my old mates would fall silent.
I tried once to find out from Jeff what was going on.
“Tell me, Rabbit, why are we here?” Jeff asked.
“We’re escorting Laurel Faena.”
“It’s a little convenient that we get lost and this cat turns up just in time to show us the way home. And then there’s your covenants, feathers and all. What have you gotten us into?”
“Me? I haven’t done anything. Besides, we’re taking an ambassador to Court, Jeff. Not going on a suicide mission.”
“An ambassador who’s been stirring the pot, getting the stew seasoned just the way he wants it.”
“You don’t want to go to the Royal City?”
“Not like this. Not will ye, nill ye.”
I blinked, thinking that was the whole point of being a solider. “Uh, Jeff—”
“You know what I mean. Manipulated.”
“Laurel said he had nothing to do with us getting lost.”
“Of course he would. But it was magic, Rabbit.”
“Yes, but Faena don’t lie.”
Jeff stared at me for a moment, then started to turn away. I grabbed his arm.
“Damn it, Jeff—!”
He stiffened and, turning back, snapped off a salute. “Yes, sir!” This time I stared, wanting to point out that I too was wet, cold and miserable. That Captain Suiden would no more allow me or Laurel to run his troop than he’d allow Javes. Or Slevoic. That I didn’t want to be a lieutenant, definitely didn’t want to be an aristo, and I wasn’t any happier with the Border catching up with me than the troop was. But Jeff’s eyes were remote and I felt a grayness wash over me. I let go of his arm.
“Forget it,” I said, walking away.
Later that evening I overheard someone whisper how I’d ordered Jeff to stand guard over a rock in the rain for hours until Slevoic finally had pity and dismissed him.
Chapter Ten
It took us four days to reach the King’s Road instead of the normal two. By the time we reached the flatlands, the rain had stopped and the afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds—a welcomed sight. Still we were a bedraggled bunch, and all smelled like Ryson. When we reached the Road, Captain Suiden had us halt and he looked us over.
“There is no way we’re going into Gresh like this.” He turned his horse in the opposite direction from the city. “We will dry out at the way station that’s a few miles down the Road.” We reached the station as the stars started coming out. Laurel Faena, who loped beside me the entire trip, followed me into the stables and then into the station proper, his eyes bright as he stared about. Someone had started a fire in the hearth, and the warmth was welcomed, even though the odors became more potent as the steam rose off of us.
We set up laundry and Basel took over the cooking detail, and those not on one did the other. Rabbits had been caught again and Basel made stew out them. The smell drove me to the rear of the station where I rolled up my sleeves and joined those who were scrubbing on washboards. Elbow deep in suds, I’d glanced up from time to time to check on Laurel. He sat on a bench with a sewing kit in front of him, mending his coat. As he finished a thread, he would extend a claw and cut it. No one crowded him.
When the stew was ready, Basel requested four burly troopers to dish out the first hot meal we had in days to prevent a stampede. I got bread out of my bags (I was able to pinch the mold off), cheese (the same) and a couple of withered apples. I then went back to where the laundry had been set up, the soap overriding some of the smell of cooked meat, and Groskin found me there.
“Basel baked some potatoes for you,” he said, handing me a couple on a plate.
“Thank you.” I put my cheese on the hot potatoes and watched in satisfaction as it melted. Groskin sat down next to me and we ate in happy silence. After a moment Laurel joined us, the two captains came and sat down opposite us and last, Slevoic wandered by and hesitated, then sat down on the other side of Groskin and tucked in.
Captain Javes finished his stew, wiped his mouth with a kerchief (it had lace edges) and looked at me. “I say, Rabbit, why are you back here away from the fire?”
“Lieutenant Rabbit doesn’t eat meat, except for fish.” Captain Suiden answered for me, his voice carrying to the front of the room and all four corners. “I suspect he was trying to get away from the smell of the stew, not hiding from anybody.” He scraped the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. “Though what’s this I hear about you ordering someone to guard a rock, Lieutenant?”
I was sure that Captain Suiden knew everything about it moments after it happened, but I answered anyway. “Trooper Jeffen was being a twit so I told him to stand there until he got over it, sir.” Up until now there was the rattle of spoons against bowls, but it stopped as Jeff jumped up, knocking his empty bowl on the floor. “Uh—” I grinned as it sank in he couldn’t call a superior officer a liar. At least not in front of other superior officers.
“Yes, Trooper Jeffen?” Captain Suiden asked.
“It wasn’t quite like that, sir—” So maybe he could call me one, in a roundabout way.
“It wasn’t quite like what?”
“I wasn’t being a twit, sir.”
“Oh? So Lieutenant Rabbit made you guard a rock in pouring rain for no reason at all?”
“No, sir.”
“No, what?”
“I didn’t guard a rock, sir. He didn’t have me guard anything. And I’m not a twit.”
“Well, Lieutenant, Trooper Jeffen says you didn’t have him guard a rock. And he’s not a twit,” Captain Suiden said to me, his face straight. He turned and signaled one of the duty cooks who brought him another bowl of stew.
“I thought it was Trooper Jeffen, sir. But the way it was raining, I could’ve been mistaken.”
“I see.” Suiden laid his spoon down and stood up. “Is there anyone who was ordered to stand guard over rocks or other inanimate objects—things that don’t move,” he added when frowns showed up on some faces, “—by Lieutenant Rabbit?”
No one said anything.
“Maybe Lieutenant Slevoic knows, sir,” Groskin said. “I heard that he was the one who dismissed the guard.” Slevoic gave Lieutenant Groskin a blank stare. “No, I didn’t dismiss anyone from guarding a rock.” He looked at Captain Suiden and added, “Sir.”
“No one?” The captain sat down again and picked up his spoon. “Perhaps in the rain you mistook a horse for a trooper, Lieutenant Rabbit. It’s sometimes easy to do.”
“I could ask them, honored captain,” Laurel offered.
For the first time ever I saw Captain Suiden disconcerted. “You can—The horses can—” He shook his head. “Uh, no, thank you.” He scooped some stew, stared at the chunk of rabbit meat sitting in the spoon, and quietly laid it back into the bowl.
Chapter Eleven
It was raining again the next morning and we stared out at it, glum. Long-suffering faces turned to the captains, as we hoped that they’d let us wait out the storm in the comfort of the station—and it looked like they would, as the captains didn’t want to get wet again any more than we did.
I found an iron to press my clothes. I had left all my best pieces in Freston, thinking that we’d be in the mountains, but I didn’t want Captain Javes to hog all the glory. I stood there in my smalls, running the iron over the creases and cuffs in my trousers. My own jaunty cap, with the feather pinned to it, lay on the table ready to be donned.
“Peacock,” someone muttered as he went past. Not yet, I thought, but soon. I carefully placed my trousers next to my already pressed tabard and laid out my shirt.
“Lieutenant Rabbit, have you seen any of my gear?” Basel asked as he joined me, bringing with him the smell of herbs and green plants.
“Just Rabbit. Please. And no, I haven’t.” I flipped the shirt over and started on the front. “Why?”
“I’m missing a couple of sacks, sir,” Basel said, a worried frown on his face. “I’ve searched but can’t find them.” I stood the iron upright and, looking around the room, saw Ryson walk in from the stables, carrying two sacks. “There,” I said. “They must’ve been left behind when we unloaded the horses.” I reached for the iron again, but as I did, Ryson shifted the sacks, revealing mud on his trousers. I frowned. It shouldn’t have been there, as every muddy garment went into the wash last night—I had the wrinkled hands to prove it—and the only way to get splatter like that was to ride a horse. A galloping horse. The mud glistened weakly in the lamplight. It was fresh.
“I saw him last night with Slevoic, sir,” Basel said softly, also staring at Ryson. “They seemed to be having a rather involved discussion.”
I slid a glance at Slevoic, who was edging his way around the back of the room towards Ryson. Feeling a chill creep down my spine, I grabbed my trousers and put them on.
“How involved?” I asked Basel as I held my shirt up. It wasn’t as crisp as I’d have liked, but most of the wrinkles were gone. I pulled it over my head and did the same with my tabard.
“I couldn’t exactly hear, Lieutenant,” Basel said, his voice even softer. “But it seemed like Slevoic was giving him directions.” Nodding as I snatched up my cap, I looked around again and located Captain Suiden. I hurried over, but just as I reached him, a shout went up outside from one of the poor sods assigned guard duty.
“Riders approaching!”
Captain Suiden looked at me and I inclined my head towards Ryson and Slevoic. The captain’s eyes narrowed before he turned to the room. “Everyone get dressed. We have company.”
I hurriedly searched for Laurel and found him dicing with some troopers in the stables, out of Suiden’s sight. (Not that Suiden was against gambling, but he felt it shouldn’t happen while on duty. Or off duty. Or at the garrison. Or out of the garrison. Or awake. Or alive.)
“We’ve company coming,” I said to the men as they jumped up and saluted. The dice disappeared and Laurel grabbed his staff, which was propped in the corner. I pushed him into the station where he joined Captain Suiden and Javes, every bead and feather in place. I put on my cap and joined Groskin and Slevoic, who stood behind the captains. The door was flung open. . “Governor Hoelt of Gresh!”
We stood at attention as the governor and her entourage entered, a start running through them as they saw Laurel Faena. There was frantic rustling behind me as the half-dressed troopers rushed to finish clothing themselves. To Governor Hoelt’s credit, her hesitation was barely noticeable before she walked over to us, and it could’ve been because of the diminishing nakedness of the men as well as Laurel. Her aides stayed by the door.
Suiden bowed, his hand over his heart. “Grace to you, Governor Hoelt. I am Captain Suiden of the Freston Mountain Patrol, Horse. May I present to you Ambassador Laurel Faena”—Laurel bowed—“and Captain Javes, of the Freston King’s Road Patrol, Horse.” Captain Javes also bowed.
Governor Hoelt bowed back. “Grace, Captain Suiden, Captain Javes. Uh, Ambassador Laurel—”
“Riders approaching!”
“Part of your group?” Captain Suiden asked.
A very frustrated expression flashed across Hoelt’s face. “No!” She struggled for control. “I mean, no, they’re not.”
“I see.”
The door flung open again.
“Doyen Allwyn of Gresh!”
Once again, we, including Governor Hoelt and her group, bowed as the churchman walked in with his entourage. They also started when they saw Laurel. The church clerks bunched up at the door with the governor’s aides as Doyen Allwyn joined us, he and Governor Hoelt eyeing each other. The candlelight twinkled on silver embroidery in his vestments as the doyen then turned and faced the captains. He tapped his Staff of Office twice on the floor, making the tiny silver bells ring.
Captain Suiden bowed again. “Doyen Allwyn—”
“Riders approaching!”
Captain Suiden sighed. “I assume they aren’t with either of you?” Doyen Allwyn shook his head while Governor Hoelt gave a resigned shrug.
Once more we all turned to the doorway and waited. The guard tried to fling it open but it hit one of the governor’s aides and bounced closed. After a moment, the door creaked slowly open again and the guard peeked around it, holding his sword.
“It’s all right,” Captain Suiden said. “Announce whoever it is.” Satisfied that we weren’t being butchered by our unexpected guests, the guard opened the door all the way.
“Major Verne of the Gresh Command!”
Major Verne and the troopers with him tried to enter but the governor’s and church’s groups had flowed back into the doorway. All we saw was the crest of the major’s helm rising above their heads.
“Move, dolts!”
A couple of clergy suddenly went sideways and Major Verne thrust through. He too stopped short, which may have been because of Laurel but also may have been because of the frown on Doyen Allwyn’s face. Major Verne flushed and bowed.
“I beg pardon, Doyen.” He straightened, tug
ged at his tabard, which had gotten twisted in the brief scrum at the doorway, and walked over to join us.
Captain Suiden saluted and waited to see if there were any more announcements. When there were none, he waved a hand. “Ambassador Laurel, Captain Suiden, Captain Javes.”
“Where’s Lord Chause—”
“Blessings, Ambassador Laurel—”
“Commander Freser is waiting for your report, Captain Suiden—”
All three of our guests were shouting over each other, the major ahead by loudness. Doyen Allwyn won, though, by rapping his Staff on the floor. Hard. In the silence, a bell fell off and with a tinkle landed at Laurel’s feet. A gasp ran through the church clerks as he bent down and retrieved it, his paw closing over the bell. Laurel looked up at the doyen, who was frowning at the magical who made so free with a holy object. I too frowned at the Faena’s thoughtlessness and, hopefully unnoticed, took his tail and gave a gentle tug.
“That is a most interesting staff, Doyen Allwyn,” Laurel said, ignoring me. “Oak, no? May I ask how you came by it?”
I looked closer at the Staff of Office, then turned on the doyen. “Murderer!” I shouted, as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Chapter Twelve
“Of course I didn’t know it was a Border oak,” Doyen Allwyn said as he looked down at his Staff lying on a cloak spread out on a table.
“Are you sure that it is spritewood?” Captain Javes asked.
I said nothing, figuring from Captain Suiden’s stabbing stare that I had already said too much. Laurel extended a claw and traced over the wood, careful not to touch it.
“Look, honored captain. What do you think this is?”
The sprite’s openmouthed death throes stared back at us.
“It could be just a random pattern,” Javes said, leveling his quiz glass at the Staff. “I once had a bed stand where the swirls made a perfect outline of a windrider in full sail. It was complete with rigging and everything.” I gave the captain a sidelong look and tried to step away from him, but Groskin caught me by the arm and held me still. The thunder rumbled nearer and the patter of rain turned into the rapid thumps of hailstones.
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