It had been tricky getting this close to the Plenimaran encampment; the moon was just past full, and oak mast rustled and crunched inconveniently under cavalry boots. Beka envied her Aurenfaie husband his ability to make little noise as he moved and wished he were here, though Syra was a skilled scout, as well. Luckily there was no starlight to betray their movements.
From here they could make out the enemy watch fires through the trees and mist, spread out across the Mycenian plain, and hear the soldiers laughing and singing. A raiding party wouldn’t be making so much noise. There must be enough of them that they weren’t worried about an attack.
There would be sentries posted around the perimeter, of course. She and Syra were both armed, in case they ran into anyone here in the woods, but that would be a doubly unlucky thing, since dead or missing soldiers could alert the Plenimarans to the Skalans’ presence less than two miles away.
They’d left their horses tethered at the far side of the long,
narrow wood, knowing that, even through trees, sound carried. It had been a long walk, and slow going.
They made it to the edge of the trees, and Syra boosted Beka up into an oak. Climbing higher, she counted the enemy watch fires spread out before her, scattered like bright flowers on a sea of fog. There were more than fifty. Beyond the encampment were the smoldering remains of some unlucky farmer’s house and barn, and beyond that, the crucial ford Queen Phoria had ordered her half sister to capture at any cost. The warm night breeze carried the sound of rushing water.
“How many, Captain?” Syra whispered in Aurenfaie when Beka climbed down again. Nyal had taught Beka and the members of her Urghazi Turma the language when they were in Aurenen, and they used it in the field when an enemy might overhear.
“Three hundred. Maybe more,” Beka replied, frowning.
Princess Klia had nearly a third less than that. The Queen’s Horse Guard had taken heavy casualties, along with every other regiment. The queen had refused a truce offer from the Plenimaran Overlord a few months earlier, and there were plenty in the field who’d been disappointed. Despite recent successes in battle, there had been desertions.
“Are we going to take a closer look?” whispered Syra.
Beka grinned. “What do you think?”
They kept to the forest for as long as they could and saw several sentries silhouetted against the light from the encampment. After a while, however, the forest line curved inconveniently away from the camp. There was no choice but to cut across in the open.
The rolling meadow had been trampled down by the Plenimarans. At this close range, Beka could hear the night sounds of a herd of horses, and smell them on the warm summer breeze. So at least some of the Plenimaran force were cavalry.
Beka put her lips to Syra’s ear. “Find out how many, then meet me at the lookout oak.”
Syra saluted, then disappeared into the mist without a sound.
Beka skirted the camp until she came in sight of a larger tent, then belly-crawled to just outside the ring of light from a blazing watch fire in front of it. There were too many guards to get any closer, but she could see two standards on poles in front of it: one cavalry, one infantry. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Sakor that there were none of the dreaded Plenimaran marines. She’d fought against them several times and it was always brutal. They had a nasty habit of torturing their captives, including nailing them by the hands to a board across the shoulders. Their treatment of captured female soldiers was-worse.
Not all Plenimaran soldiers were like that, of course. She’d crossed swords with a number of honorable officers, and their soldiers were no better or worse than any Skalan force. And the goal of all of them was victory.
She remained there for some time, hoping the commander would show himself, but the camp was asleep. Giving up, she crept away and found Syra waiting for her.
“Thought I’d lost you,” the rider whispered.
“What did you find?”
“At least two troops’ worth of horse.”
“Damn!”
“That was my thought exactly, Captain.”
It was a few hours shy of dawn by the time they reached the Skalan lines again. Syra whistled to alert the pickets, and gave the countersign when they reached them.
“How did it go, Captain?” Corporal Nikides asked.
Beka shook her head. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
The camp was already stirring, and the green-and-white tabards of the riders looked ghostly in the morning mist. They were on cold rations rather than risk the smell of cooking reaching the enemy.
Captain Danos waved to her as she strode by his troop. They were sitting in small clusters on the dew-soaked grass with their cold beef and stolen cheese. This part of Mycena had been overrun by both armies twice this summer; there was little left to forage.
Beka smiled and waved back. Tall, broad-shouldered, and
fair, Danos was as good a fighter and able an officer as any under Klia’s command. She was proud to call him her friend.
Her riders were on the far side of Klia’s tent, which was distinguished by the green horse-and-sword pennant flapping on a pole at the tent peak, and the black Aurenfaie horse with a distinctive white mane and tail tethered outside.
“Go eat, if you can find anything,” she told Syra, her own empty belly rumbling with hunger. “I’ll give Klia our report.”
“I’ll see if I can find us some meat that hasn’t turned green yet,” Syra replied with a laugh.
As commander of the Queen’s Horse Guard, Princess Klia led a squadron-half the regiment-under General Moraus. There had been talk when she was not given the general’s position after her unexpected recall from Aurenen. Moraus was an able man, but Klia had proven her worth in the field, too, and was Queen’s Kin. It had only fueled the rumors of bad blood between them, but no one could say they’d heard Klia complain.
Two of Captain Danos’s riders were on duty at the tent door and saluted Beka as she entered. Inside, the tent was divided into two rooms: this one, large enough for a map table and the commander’s council of officers, and a small one beyond a canvas wall at the back where Klia slept-when she slept, which didn’t seem to be very often these days.
Klia and her aide-de-camp and friend, Major Myrhini, were at breakfast in the front room, eating the same rations as the soldiers. Beka’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the Aurenfaie-her Aurenfaie, as she liked to think of him-was with them as well, lithe and handsome in his worn leathers and corselet.
Even without the sen’gai of his clan, there was no mistaking what Nyal was. He had long, dark hair and fine ’faie features, and his lively hazel-green eyes were unlike any Skalan’s. He was a brave man, to be here in the midst of a war that was not his own. Harshly as the Plenimaran marines treated captured female soldiers, they treated ’faie far worse. Those they didn’t eventually kill they shipped back to their
homeland as slaves. She’d heard stories of ’faie falling on their own swords rather than be captured. It made it all the harder that she and Nyal were often apart from each other in the field; as her husband, it was against regulations for him to serve under her, so instead he was a scout for the whole troop, often working with Danos or directly for Klia. It had been nearly a week since she’d seen him.
He smiled, hazel eyes tilting up at the corners as she came in; she could tell he was equally relieved to see her. Nyal had no official rank beyond scout, but in the field he took his orders directly from Klia. It had taken them both time to get used to that. In the winter they lived as husband and wife, but here in the field they were hardly more than fellow soldiers most of the time.
Beka saluted Klia, pressing her fist to the front of her battle-stained tabard.
“Good morning, Captain,” said Klia. “Come and join us. You must be starving.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Beka pulled up a stool and gratefully broke her night’s fast. Even salted, the meat smelled a bit high, but she was too hungry to care.