It was, without a doubt, the biggest turnaround of the season, if not the entire campaign. And General Seske had yet to call for Tamas.
He paused inside the courtyard, watching as Adran soldiers made repairs. The munitions explosion had collapsed a large part of the courtyard and destroyed most of the barracks when the ground dropped a dozen feet beneath it. Bodies were still being hauled out of the rubble, while the sorcery-protected stones of the inner wall were being scrubbed clean of the soot and ash from the explosion.
Overseeing the whole operation was General Seske, standing up on the walls near where Tamas and his squad had gone over the top. He was surrounded by aids, a broad smile on his face as he handed out orders and cracked jokes with his officers, standing with thumbs hooked through his belt, bicorn cocked forward like he’d conquered Tilpur himself.
It did not, Tamas thought, bode well.
Seske’s gaze swept past Tamas, pausing for just the slightest moment, his smile faltering, before moving on. Instead of a gesture or a grin or anything to acknowledge the man who’d just handed him an enemy fortress, he continued bantering with his officers.
Tamas made a circuit around the fort, examining the repairs, taking a look down into the well and examining the ancient, rusted grate that had almost gotten him killed. He counted fifteen paces from the well and scuffed at the black, stained stone with one toe, chuckling to himself. The Privileged he’d landed on, he’d found out later, had died almost instantly, spine snapping like a twig at the impact. The stain under Tamas’s boot was likely his blood.
“Sergeant,” a voice said.
Tamas looked up to find one of Seske’s aids beside him. “Yes?”
“The general would like to see you.”
Tamas followed the aid to the nearest gatehouse and up the steep, narrow stairs, the pain in his side deepening with each step. By the time he reached the top of the wall he was covered in sweat and quite dizzy. He searched his pockets for a powder charge, only to come up empty.
Seske was alone when he approached. The general gazed out over the camp of the Gurlish prisoners, a scowl on his face. He did not turn as Tamas approached.
Tamas saluted with his left hand. “Sir,” he said.
“I suppose,” Seske said, “that you think you’re getting a promotion for this?”
Tamas let his salute fall, trying to fight the dizziness caused by the climb. His powder trance was almost gone. “I wouldn’t presume, sir.”
“No. No you wouldn’t. I’ve spoken with Pereg. He was rather excited by the Gurlish surrender and let it slip that you’re a man of ambition. You want to be commissioned. Is that true?”
Tamas’s mouth went dry. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I would like to serve my king as an officer, sir.”
“So that’s a yes?” Seske shook his head. “I won’t have it. Not in this army.”
Tamas bit back an angry retort. Surely there would be a good reason? “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”
“The king will likely grant me lands for this victory. Pereg himself will be made a major, which will please his aunt to no end, and for both those things you have my thanks. But an officer should be of noble blood. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Don’t be hard on yourself. I understand your birth is not your fault. But this is the way of the world and you need to get used to it.”
I’ll have his thanks? Tamas looked at Seske, then looked at the perilous drop off the edge of the wall. One quick shove and . . . and what? He’d be trundled off to a court-martial and then shot? All to silence a single braggart?
“You won’t get a promotion for this,” Seske said, “but you’ll be rewarded with a stipend. Your whole squad will receive medals from the king the next time you’re in Adopest. I’ve even recommended that your wounds be healed by a Privileged to shorten your convalescence. A man like you can be awfully useful, after all. Perhaps I’ll send you over to consult at the siege of Herone.” He paused. “Bah, don’t look so glum. You’ll make master sergeant within a few years. But as you said yourself . . . don’t presume. You’re dismissed, Sergeant.”
Tamas stared at Seske for several moments, disbelieving. He didn’t want a stipend, or Seske’s thanks. He didn’t give a damn about any bloody medal. He wanted a commission – a commission he earned killing two Gurlish Privileged and taking the fort almost single-handedly. From the self-satisfied expression on Seske’s face, the general thought Tamas should be thanking him for not giving him a promotion. Tamas could practically hear what Seske was thinking: this is for your own good, you common upstart.
“I said you were dismissed, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tamas managed to grunt, throwing up a half-hearted salute. Seske didn’t seem to notice.
He stumbled down the stairs, barely able to hold himself up, and stopped to rest in the main floor guardhouse of the tower. He leaned his head against the cool stone. Was this all that awaited him in his career? Did his superiors have any respect for the risk of an infantryman? Or was bravery just a word meant to spur him into the face of the grapeshot for the glory of others?
“Sergeant.”
Tamas looked up to find Captain Pereg had joined him in the guard room. He felt a spike of anger go through him even as he struggled to raise his arm in a salute.
“No, don’t,” Pereg said, his forehead creased. “I came here to apologize. Seske told me he wasn’t going to give a promotion for this, and I can see from your face you’ve just had that discussion.” He grimaced. “I know it’s a disappointment and, though it’s not much of a consolation, I’ve written a letter of commendation to go in your file in Adopest. I’ll be sure a copy gets to someone other than General Seske.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tamas said.
“No, thank you. I wanted you to know that I’ll be turning down my promotion under the objection that you didn’t get one.”
“That’s unnecessary, sir,” Tamas said.
“It’s the least I could do. At least one officer in the Adran army should show appreciation for what you’ve done.”
Tamas thanked Pereg once more and walked back into the heat of the desert sun. He paused, catching his breath, and looked down at his ragged hands. A cane may be a good idea, at least until Seske granted him access to a Privileged healer. He scowled, then looked up, aware of a sudden silence.
Every soldier working on the repairs to the fort had stopped. They stood, looking toward him, squinting in the sunlight. One of them raised their hand in a salute. Slowly, the others joined him, until over a hundred infantrymen were saluting him in silence.
Tamas wiped a tear out of his eye and stood up straight and returned the salute. He’d done this for a promotion, yes, he reminded himself. But he’d also done it for something more important – to save lives that would otherwise have been thrown away. And these infantry, these good men and women saluting him, knew.
And they’d remember.