Mihali stared into his wineglass. “Motion. That’s what I see. It’s a small event, but it stirs things up. It makes the certain uncertain. And right now, the certain does not bode well for us.”
Taniel snatched a quill pen and took the back of Etan’s letter. Quickly, ink smudging the page, he scrawled out a note. “Can you get this to Ricard Tumblar?” he asked. “I can’t send it regular post. If someone on the General Staff is profiteering, they’ll have eyes everywhere.”
“I can send one of my girls,” Mihali said, taking the letter.
“Thank you. Do you know where can I find Major Doravir?”
“As it happens… yes.”
Tamas watched the sunrise over the Adran Mountains to the east and wondered if it would be the last he would ever see.
The Kez dragoons had caught up with them late the day before. They made camp over a mile into Hune Dora Forest. He’d spent half the night watching their campfires flicker in the night and listening to them sing cavalry battle hymns. Every so often a gunshot would punctuate the distant sound as one of their scouts got too close and met a powder mage’s bullet.
Now, the world was quiet but for the sound of the swift river on the rocks behind him. Tamas lay on the ground, leaning against his saddle about a hundred paces from the river. He held a powder charge in his hand, kneading the paper between his fingers.
In his mind he could see the dragoons climbing from their tents, stretching in the crisp morning air and preparing Fatrastan coffee over their cookfires. They’d be unhurried. Restful. They knew that their heavy cavalry wouldn’t be here for some time yet, and that Beon wouldn’t attack before he had his full force.
“Where are the cuirassiers?” Tamas asked. His breath fogged as he spoke. Despite the heat of the summer days, the mornings were still chill this close to the mountains.
Gavril stared sullenly toward the tree line as if he expected the dragoons to appear any moment. “Not more than a few hours away. I’d expect them here by noon.”
“They’ll be in formation by two o’clock. One, if Beon’s generals are organized.”
“Not long to get ready.”
“Long enough. Olem.”
The bodyguard stirred from his lookout position a few paces from Tamas’s side. “Sir?”
“Pull our pickets back from the forest. Are the rafts done?”
“Aye, sir. Three big ones.”
“Begin ferrying troops across the river. Start with the wounded, then the greenest troops. Take your time at it. I expect the Kez to attack between one and two o’clock. I want about a thousand of our men across the river by then. Enough to be convincing, but not enough to destroy our ability to fight.”
“Very good, sir. Anything else?” Olem’s tone was crisp. Ready for battle.
“Does everyone know where they are meant to be when the fighting starts?”
“Yes, sir. We drilled them half the night.”
“Make things chaotic. I want lots of milling about. Fistfights. If you have to ‘lose’ one of the rafts in the river, so be it. This has to be convincing.”
“I spoke to Colonel Arbor last night, sir. His men are going to hide their kits and rifles. Make like they’ve abandoned them.”
“Good. Dismissed. Wait. Find me Andriya and Vlora.”
Olem flinched at the mention of Vlora’s name. He saluted and was off.
The wind was blowing westerly, and Tamas could see a low cloud cover inching its way off the Adran Mountains. If rain was coming, it would make this a miserable fight. Beon might even delay his attack, making all of Tamas’s preparations be for nothing.
He wondered idly if Mihali had heard his prayer last night.
“What are you up to, Tamas?” Gavril asked.
“Kind of obvious from this end, isn’t it?”
“I’ve been ranging since you arrived yesterday. To me, it looks like a half-finished defense.”
“Perfect.” Tamas climbed to his feet. The camp was shaped in a square. To the north, the Big Finger raged along its banks. To the east, a scree slope leading up to the mountain prevented a flanking maneuver by Kez cavalry. To the west and south, a mound of earth about three feet tall had been piled all around the camp. It was a standard short defense, from behind which infantry could take easy cover.
It would barely slow a cavalry charge.
To the west, the mound had been topped with tree trunks, propped together to form giant Xs. Between them, sharpened stakes had been driven into the ground. It was a thick, deadly defense against cavalry. A few hundred men worked hard at adding to those stakes as the mound of dirt swung around to defend the south. It wasn’t nearly enough men. There would be a gap in their defenses about an eighth of a mile long. A gap through which ten thousand dragoons would charge.
“Sir.”
Tamas broke away from his examination of the camp. Andriya and Vlora stood at attention. Neither looked like they’d slept all night. Damned fools.
“Gather the powder mages,” Tamas said. “I’m sending you across the river.”
They stared back at him blankly. “Sir?” Andriya said. His hands twitched on his rifle. “You promised we’d be killing Kez.”
