“All right, all right. I’ll take it.” He closed the door behind him.
Ka-poel was waiting in the hallway, sitting on the ground just outside the door with her legs crossed, one of her wax dolls in hand. She stowed it and stood up. If she’d heard what Etan had to say about her, she gave no indication.
“Can you do anything for him?” Taniel asked.
A slight shake of her head.
“Damn it, Pole. You practically brought me back from the dead, and you can’t…”
She held up a finger, her forehead wrinkling in a frown. Taniel thought she might go on, but instead she turned and walked away.
He followed her down and through the common room of the inn, where wounded soldiers talked and drank while they waited to be sent home or back to the front. There was a somber air to the room. A woman sat in one corner, alone, her leg amputated at the knee. She moaned to herself, a lonely keening sound that everyone tried to ignore.
The weather outside didn’t improve Taniel’s mood. The sky had threatened rain for a week now, every day a little cloudier. Yesterday there’d been a misting drizzle in the evening — just enough to make the grass slick and the fighting all the more treacherous.
Taniel stopped just outside the inn and wondered if he should have gotten a drink before heading back to the front.
A pair of provosts approached from the street. Both carried heavy steel pikes and wore Adran blues with green trim and the insignia of mountains crossed by cudgels.
Coincidence, Taniel wondered, or were they waiting for him?
“Captain Taniel Two-Shot?”
“What?”
“You’re to come with us, sir.”
Definitely waiting for him. “On whose authority?”
“General Ket’s.”
“I don’t think I’ll do that.” Taniel touched the butt of his pistol.
“We’re placing you under arrest, sir.”
Arrest? This had gone too far. “On what charge?”
“That’s for General Ket to say.”
One stepped forward, taking Taniel by the arm.
Taniel jerked away. “Get your hands off me. I know my rights as a soldier of the Adran army. You’ll tell me the charges or you’ll go to the pit.” Taniel’s senses told him that they didn’t have an ounce of powder. They’d come ready. For him.
Or had they? The provost jerked hard on Taniel’s arm, like he was some kind of unruly child. “Come quiet-like now. We’re to bring the girl as well. Where is she?”
Where had Ka-poel gone? Taniel looked around, pulling his arm away from the provost.
“Now, sir! Don’t make us — ”
Taniel’s fist connected with the provost’s chin, sending the man to the ground. The other provost lowered his pike and stepped forward threateningly. Taniel shifted to one side, grabbed the pike by the shaft, and jerked the man off balance. The provost stumbled forward, and Taniel planted a fist into the side of his head.
The first provost came to his feet, already swinging. His ears were red, his face twisted in an angry grimace at having been sucker punched to the ground. The provost was easily a head taller than Taniel and weighed four stone more.
Taniel caught the provost’s fist and slammed his opposite hand into the man’s elbow. He heard the snap, saw the blood and the white bone sticking out of the flesh.
The provost’s scream drew more attention than Taniel wanted. He let the man fall to the ground and then started walking briskly toward the front.
Arrest him? General Ket had the gall to arrest him? It seemed like Taniel was the only thing left between the Kez and Adopest. He’d killed half of their remaining Privileged, giving the Wings a clear advantage on the field, and he’d run out of room for notches on his rifle, he’d killed so many infantry.
Ka-poel joined him a few moments later. One minute he was walking alone, trying to ignore the stares of anyone who’d seen him break a provost’s arm, and the next she was beside him, strolling along as if nothing had happened.
“Where the pit were you?”
Ka-poel didn’t respond.
“Well…” Taniel gritted his teeth. Pit. A general had an arrest warrant out for him. They’d come sooner or later, in force. What could he do? Break the arms of every provost in the army? “If they come again, disappear just like that. I don’t want them getting their damned hands on you.”
She nodded.
Taniel felt his steps grow in purpose as he headed back toward the front. He changed his course a little and went toward the cooking tents.
Taniel found his goal in the third mess tent he looked inside.
The master chef, Mihali, was alone inventorying barrels. He held a piece of charcoal in one hand and paper in the other. His long black hair was tied behind his head in a ponytail.
“Good afternoon, Taniel,” Mihali said without turning around.
Taniel came up short as the tent flap fell closed behind him. “Have we met?”
“No. But I’m friends with your father. Please, come in.”
Taniel stayed warily near the tent flap. Ka-poel had come inside behind him, and she seemed to have no reservations about plopping down on a barrel in one corner.
“Tamas is dead,” Taniel said.
“Oh, don’t be silly. You don’t believe that.”
“I’ve come to accept it.”
