“You can do that from the other side of the river. I’m not risking any of my mages in the melee. I want you where you can shoot without being shot — or stabbed.”
“You want us to cross in shifts to keep the Kez scouts at bay?” Vlora asked.
Tamas hesitated. A chill wind cut through the camp and he noticed a low fog creeping its way down from the mountains and across the floodplain.
“No. I want the Kez scouts getting a good look at the camp now. They’re welcome to get as close as they dare.”
“Sir, I’d rather be on this side of the river,” Andriya said.
Tamas sighed. “Not today, Andriya.”
Andriya gripped his rifle. “Please, sir.” He bared his teeth. “You promised I would get to kill Kez.”
“From a distance.” Tamas clipped the words off firmly. “Besides, they’ll be watching for the Marked. They’ll feel more confident with you on the other side of the river.”
“You’re coming with us, then?” Vlora said.
Tamas frowned. “No. Why would I?”
“You’re one of the powder mages, sir.”
“No. I have to remain in close in order to command.”
“That’s not fair.” Andriya was livid. He stared toward the forest, straining like a hound that could smell its quarry. “I’ve got every right to put my bayonet through a Kez noble’s eye. I want blood on my hands.”
“‘Blood on my hands,
He turned away from Andriya to make it clear that the conversation was over. The two powder mages left him alone with Gavril. Tamas and Gavril remained silent for a few minutes, watching the organized chaos evolve in the camp. Men shouted. Tamas thought he saw a punch thrown. A little while later, the first raft was launched. It got away from the handlers and was pulled downstream with no one on it. A cry of dismay went up from the brigades, and Tamas didn’t think it was feigned.
“Where do you want me?” Gavril asked.
“On your horse,” Tamas said. “You and your rangers should take the eastern flank, in case some of Beon’s dragoons attempt the scree.”
“All right,” Gavril said.
“Here.” Tamas unhooked the cavalry saber from his belt and handed it to Gavril. “Better to swing from horseback.”
“You’re not going to be mounted?”
Tamas smiled, though he didn’t feel any mirth behind it. “I’m taking the center. If I’m not mounted, the men won’t see when I fall.”
Gavril seemed to think on the gravity behind those words before accepting the cavalry saber.
Tamas took the small sword from his saddle and hooked it to his belt.
“I’ll see you after the battle,” Gavril said.
Tamas clasped hands, then was surprised when Gavril pulled him into an embrace. Gavril held him for a moment, then headed off to join his rangers.
Olem returned an hour later.
“Any of the men eat this morning?” Tamas asked.
“Caught a lot of fish in the river, actually. Andriya bagged a pair of goats on the mountainside. There was a little leftover horse. Every man had a bite of something.”
“Let’s hope it’s enough,” Tamas said.
Olem looked up. “At least the buzzards will eat well.”
Tamas watched as the fog he’d seen earlier moving in slowly enveloped the entire camp. It wasn’t thick — barely two feet deep. Enough to obscure the ground but not the camp itself. The clouds had moved in from above. They threatened rain, but Tamas had seen this kind of weather before. There’d be nothing more than a light mist.
Strange weather for a summer day.
At eleven thirty, Tamas caught sight of a pair of horsemen to the west, nearly a mile away at the bend in the river. He sprinkled some black powder on his tongue, and the men came into sharp relief. Tan-and-green uniforms under shining breastplates, and wearing plumed helmets.
The cuirassiers had arrived.
Adamat stood on the sixth floor of the Dwightwich bell tower with a looking glass at his eye. He was examining a fellow with shifty eyes who was wearing a faded red waistcoat and knee-length trousers and sitting on the stoop about a hundred paces from Lord Vetas’s headquarters.
“They have another lookout on the corner of Seventh and Mayflew Avenue,” Adamat said. He could hear the scratching of a pen behind him. He scanned the streets once more with the looking glass and then handed it to a young woman by the name of Riplas — the eunuch’s second-in-command. She took his spot at the window while he turned to the assembled group in the cramped bell tower room.
“You’re sure you have everyone?” the eunuch asked Adamat.
Adamat looked at the eunuch out of the corner of his eye. If he had any idea Adamat was blackmailing his master, he’d given no indication when he showed up the day before with forty of the meanest street scum Adamat had ever seen: boxers, gang members, dockworkers, pimps, and bodyguards.
“I’ve been watching them on and off for almost two weeks,” Adamat said. “They change their posts, but between your reports and mine I think we have everyone.”
