“Abomination means they’re less than animals,” Chard muttered, frowning unhappily. “But he was a good dog…”
She was startled enough when he climbed down into the wagon, that she said his name.
“Captain Reiter.”
“You have the advantage of me.” He’d heard Lieutenant Lord Geurin say that once. It seemed more likely to get a response than, And you are?
She shook her head, turned it toward the boy who was whining low in his throat. “Tomas?”
He still didn’t have her name, but he had the boy’s name. The boy had a name. The beastman had a name. Abominations didn’t have names.
“It was Soothsayers, wasn’t it, Cap?”
“Wasn’t what?”
“What sent us into Aydori to get the women. I mean they told us that we were there because if you take their mages they do what you say and not fight, and we were all about not fighting beastmen, and then their mages were all women and that wasn’t good, but this…” He jerked his head toward the back “…this is more than that. It’s enough more and it’s enough crazy, it’s gotta be Soothsayers. ’Cause we got five. Why would we need six so bad?”
“Stop asking, Private. That’s an order.”
“It’s Soothsayers,” Chard sighed.
Reiter let it go because he’d just remembered…
The baby.
He’d forgotten the prophecy said she was pregnant.
The unborn child begins it all.
Or would be pregnant.
Or was back when they stopped the coaches in Aydori, when and where the Soothsayers had instructed them to.
He should’ve asked the surgeon to check.
Reiter watched the shadows stretching out in front of them on the road. It looked as though the darkness his gran had warned him not to walk in was in a hurry to get to the empire.
“Long as the weather’s holding, we could make a push, Cap.”
It took him a moment to understand what Chard meant by a push. Reiter stared at the horse. Thunder, as though aware of the scrutiny, farted twice before pulling the wagon through the cloud. “I don’t think he’s got a push in him.”
“We’ve barely had him at more than a walk all day, Cap. He’s got…” Chard’s voice trailed off as Reiter turned. “Still,” he added slowly as though checking each word for Reiter’s reaction, “we bring him in overheated and it’ll be my ass the stable-master puts in a sling.” He flashed a sudden grin in Reiter’s direction. “Thanks for thinking of my ass, Cap.”
“Shut up, Chard.”
“Yes, sir.”
The growing Imperial presence on the road indicated the checkpoint they’d have to pass at the old Imperial border would actually mean something. The first day out of Abyek there’d been only a couple of couriers, and although the road past the Seat had been busy enough—given the building of the governor’s complex and its half garrison—the lateness of the hour had meant the road beyond had been nearly empty. Today, after passing Fraris, there’d seldom been a moment when they’d been without Imperial company. Couriers. Soldiers. Wagonloads of goods. A ragged work detail, chivied along by a bored sergeant who saluted with his whip handle. A trio of cavalry officers, one with a bloody pelt tied on behind his saddle. Reiter returned salutes, saluted when it mattered, and was just as glad when the cavalry officers ignored him as they cantered past.
Chard had made a noise, but for a change said nothing. Reiter had seen a muscle jumping in his jaw and from the depths of his frown, obvious even in profile, the younger man seemed to have been thinking deeply. Thinking was fine. He could think all he wanted.
There wouldn’t be a green lieutenant asking the questions at the old Imperial border, but someone whose balls had actually dropped. A report detailing the wagon, the prisoners, and the orders being followed would be on its way to the Lyonne garrison before the smell of Thunder’s passage had faded. By the time they arrived, the garrison’s duty officer would know exactly what to expect. Given the prisoners, odds were high a courier would be sent to the emperor before Reiter had time to load them on a mail coach.
“Start looking for a place to camp, Private.”
Chard glanced around at the forest on both sides of the road. “Yes, sir.” The expected protest about time or location never came.
Major Halyss had been right. On a trip this long, anything could happen. But it would have to happen on this side of the border.
Chard found a place by a creek far enough off the road and under thick enough cover that they wouldn’t be seen even before the sun fully set. Wheel ruts and a fire pit made it clear the area had been used as a campsite in the recent past.
By the time Chard had returned from the creek with the horse, Reiter had decided that a small, smokeless fire would be best. He didn’t want the attention a larger fire might attract, but neither did he want the attention that might arise from having had no fire at all.
“Hey, Cap!”
He looked up from his small blaze to see Chard emerge into the clearing holding a twelve-pound shell.
“Busted a bunch of trees back there all to ratshit. What do you think they were firing at in here?”
“Given the artillery had to pass by on the road, I’d say a sniper.” The crews on the guns could set up and fire surprisingly fast when they had to.
“Just one?”
“If there’d been more than a single sniper, they’d have reduced these woods to kindling before they advanced.” The Duke of Traiton, taken by surprise, had rabbited the moment it had become clear that the troops gathering at the Lyonne garrison were not the traditional bi-yearly show of strength but intended to cross the border, diplomatic protests be flamed. He then turned and dug in along the border with Pyrahn, where his much smaller force could count on the Duke of Pyrahn’s backing. Reiter acknowledged it was the best the duke could’ve done. It hadn’t changed the ending.
When dusk had settled almost into night, Reiter lit the lantern and climbed up into the wagon. Chard was so emphatically not watching him, he might as well have been staring. The mage’s eyes were closed and her breathing shallow, but Reiter could tell she was conscious. Her body practically vibrated with the need for him to go away.
He knelt by her feet, pushed the bottom of her skirt, heavy with dirt, out of the way and untied the rope manacles. Her feet were filthy and cold, so he wrapped his hands around them until they warmed. They weren’t tiny, delicate feet. They were sturdy, like the mage herself, strong enough to do what was necessary. When he set them carefully down and looked up, she was staring at him, frowning slightly. He felt his face grow hot as he untied the rope from the metal ring. “Come on.”
She glanced at the boy, Tomas—Reiter made himself say the boy’s name. The hair—fur—had been pushed up on one side of his head exposing the point on his ear. It wasn’t an extreme point. Reiter had known an artillery captain back in the Shields whose ears looked much the same. The artillery captain didn’t walk on all fours covered with fur, though. At least, not as far as Reiter knew.
The boy’d begun to shift slightly, small movements against the hold of the ropes, but he hadn’t even begun to mutter. They had time.
“Chard.”
She flinched although he hadn’t raised his voice.
“Get the boy in your sights. Same orders as last night.”
“Yes, sir.”
He took his musket with him tonight.
He led her away until the fire was a barely visible flicker through the underbrush and turned his back. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he expected the cool slide of the tangle across his fingers, but felt instead the strand of her hair he’d taken from the artifact the night she’d escaped from him. He pulled it out, drew it one last time between thumb and forefinger, settling the memory, then scattered it on the leaf litter. When he heard the rustle of her skirt falling back into place, he asked, “Are you…” How did the quality say it? “…increasing?”