“They love the idea,” Abrax said. She leaned toward him. “Tamas recently stole one of our very best. He did it fairly, I think, but it still stung. The brigadiers consider this revenge.”
Taniel examined Abrax. She seemed sincere. Tamas had had nothing but good things to say about the Wings, and being in a mercenary company was certainly preferable to having to sit out the rest of the war.
“Who did Tamas steal?”
“A young brigadier by the name of Sabastenien,” Abrax said.
The name rang a bell, but Taniel could not give it a face.
“How long do you want me in the Wings?”
“Until the end of the war. We disband between assignments. You’ll be paid in full and disbanded, with the option to muster for our next assignment.”
“Ka-poel?”
Abrax frowned. “Your savage?”
“Yes.”
“Bring her with if you want. I don’t care who you’re bedding. I put on a good front, but I’m not a prude.”
“I’m not sleeping with her. She accompanies me on the battlefield as my spotter.”
Abrax seemed to mull this over for a few moments. “I can’t promise any more than a private’s wages for her.”
“Oh, ah…” Taniel almost stepped back. No one had even considered actually
“We have a deal?”
“I think so.”
“Report to our camp in two hours,” she said. “We’ll get you bedded down in temporary quarters and then outfit you in the morning. I want you on the field killing Kez by noon tomorrow.”
Tamas climbed from his bedroll. He paused once, taking a deep breath.
“Getting old,” he muttered.
Every morning his limbs ached a little more, especially his leg. Every day it took him just another couple of seconds to climb from the bed. Worse now, sleeping on the hard ground. Every night for the last five weeks.
Five weeks. Hard to believe it had only been that long since he’d faced the Kez Grand Army, planning how he’d take them from the side and smash them against the gates of Budwiel. Bloody stupid, now that he looked back on it, thinking he could take the entire Grand Army with two brigades.
His arrogance got him into this. Had he been there, manning the walls beside Hilanska and the rest, they would have fought off those Wardens and sent the Kez army to the pit.
Tamas got to his feet. He pulled on his shirt, long since yellowed and stained with blood — his own blood, and that of others — then on came his uniform pants and boots. Olem had polished the boots during the night, like he did every night. He understood that a field marshal needed to keep up appearances. Finally, Tamas put on his jacket, and he stepped out into the morning air with his bicorne tucked under one arm.
Gavril stared down at him from on horseback. Somehow, he kept that Watchmaster’s vest of his immaculate. His pants were ripped and stained, his arms and shoulders covered with powder burns, nicks, and cuts, but the faded colors of the Watchmaster’s vest showed no wear but that of time and washing.
Gavril had Tamas’s charger saddled and ready, and held the reins out to Tamas.
“I’m not going on some bloody jaunt with you,” Tamas said.
“Then why are you dressed?” Gavril looked around the camp. No one had stirred yet. Tamas let them off easy the last couple of days, sleeping until past eight in the morning. They’d earned their rest, and with the Kez cavalry broken, their remnants sworn to leave Tamas be, and the infantry still a week off, Tamas could afford to give his men some slack.
“The army is marching today,” Tamas said.
“We’ll catch up.”
Stubborn bastard. Why did Gavril need this? Why did he need to drag Tamas along with him? The dead were best left buried, undisturbed. They cared not for the sentiments of the living.
Tamas would rather have tipped his hat to the west and bowed his head in respect for a few minutes. It would have been more practical.
“Get on your damn horse,” Gavril said.
Tamas climbed onto his mount.
They rode west in silence along one of the many rivers that made up the Fingers of Kresimir. Tamas didn’t know if this one had a name. The locals probably called it something — not that there were many locals in this part of Kez.
Northern Kez, with its countless farms and ranches, had once been filled with people. The alternating droughts and floods of the last ten years that had caused Adro so many problems had also affected Kez, and huge portions of the Kez population had gone to the eastern cities in search of work. He imagined those cities even more crowded and dirty than Adopest.
Tamas wondered how Adopest had fared in the war. The canal over the mountains should be finished by this time, alleviating some of the strain off the Mountainwatch for trade. With war with the Kez, food would have to come from Novi and Deliv.
Tamas and Gavril came down out of the highest foothills to where Kresimir’s Fingers began to meet. The Fingers didn’t all converge, not all at once. It was several days’ ride to the place where they did, and their destination was not that far out onto the plains.
