Роберт Асприн - Forever After

Two days later, they encountered ten more and again Domino passed the death sentence. As she was supervising the mass burial a natty figure on a light riding horse rode to join her. When he drew rein, Domino was tempted to ignore him. With a sigh, she reminded herself of her loyalties and motioned for him to join her.

“Hello, Piggon,” she said, with an effort at politeness. “Fine day for a hanging, wouldn’t you say?”

“General,” he said, without returning her pleasantry, “I am preparing my magical communique to Prince Rango and I was wondering how I should explain our slow progress towards the Lakes.”

Domino studied the small red-haired and goateed sorcerer, wondering, not for the first time, how he managed to ride a horse while wearing full skirts.

“I fail to understand your question, Piggon,” she said in the steely soft tones that made even her bravest men reassess the status of their wills. “What is there for you to explain?”

“Well,” he said, unrolling a map with a bossy flourish of his deep sleeves, “according to my travel estimates, we are making very limited progress. This dallying with the bandits has slowed us further. I believe that we are behind schedule and I wish to be able to explain why to the Prince.”

“What is there for you to explain?” Domino repeated in the same soft tones. “I understood that your job was to report. Report then, but don’t believe for a moment that this gives you the right to tell me to explain anything.”

Spite stomped one hoof and green diamonds of light flew from the turf. Piggon hesitated as if for a moment he would protest, then kicked his roan and rode back into camp.

Domino waited to regain her temper before following, but the episode rankled and that night she rolled over and elbowed Jord, who was half-asleep.

“I don’t like Piggon,” she announced.

Jord sleepily propped himself up on one elbow. “Why?”

Domino fidgeted with a corner of the pillow. “He’s so bossy — trying to give me orders! And I don’t like his name.”

“His name?” Jord grinned. “Piggon — yeah, it is an ugly name. I have a theory about that, Domino.”

“What?”

“Can you imagine any mother naming her son Piggon?”

Domino shook her head.

“Me either. Therefore, Piggon must be a nickname and although most nicknames come from your peers, only your superiors can force you to keep one. Right?”

“Like Dominik for Domino?” she said, her deep voice suddenly husky. “Yes, I know. Go on.”

“Well, the only group which fits both of those criteria are the sorcerers. Prince Rango assured us that Piggon is a sorcellet — a one-trick pony — so he’s a bit of a failure as a sorcerer.” Jord shrugged. “So he’s stuck with an ugly name and probably a bunch of other problems. Sorcellets must be a lot like critics or reviewers — they can’t quite make it, so they spend all their time on the edges of the business, telling everyone else how to do it right.”

“Poor poet.” Domino chuckled, running her fingers through the curly hair on his chest. “You have the oddest ways of looking at things. I’ll be more patient with Piggon — as long as he doesn’t tell me how to run my Company.”

“Good. Now,” he said, reaching out to extinguish the last candle, “I have a sonnet I’ve been saving for you.”

“I’m not much of a critic,” she murmured, pulling him to her.

“Good.”

The next morning as Domino waited for Seth to bring her fresh tea, Jord sauntered from the tent clad only in a long tunic.

“Going to review the troops, General?” he yawned.

“Yes,” she answered, self-consciously aware of the contrast between his bed-warm near nudity and her own crisp uniform.

“The job must take longer these days,” he said, accepting tea and trousers from Seth.

“Why should it?” she asked.

“The lot trailing the Company’s gotten bigger,” he answered. “I wonder where they’re coming from?”

Domino followed his gesture, her initial confusion turning rapidly into comprehension. The Company remained its tidy self, but trailing on the southern edge was a ragtag cluster of tents and brightly colored wagons. Quite a collection of strange beasts moved among the structures. She was certain that she saw a camel and possibly a llama among the horses, mules, donkeys, and oxen.

“Who on earth are they?”

Seth piped up from where he was feeding Spite a handful of salted sardines. “Word has it that they’re Magical Folk, General, and that they’ve been drawn here by you.”

“What childish nonsense…” Domino began, catching herself when she saw the boy’s crestfallen expression. “Thank you, Seth. That’s valuable information. Excuse me. I’m going to see Colonel Rafe.”

She found Rafe briefing the outriders on the bandit rumors garnered from the last village they had passed.

“They’re dressing better now,” he was saying, “and are less likely to be in uniform, but don’t let that make you careless. Many of them still have military experience and as the General’s policies put the fear of hanging in them, we can expect them to be pretty cunning. Dismissed!”

Rafe nodded to Domino. “Good morning, General. The Company’s just about ready to move.”

“Very good.” She twirled her riding crop between her fingers. “Colonel, why didn’t you inform me about our camp followers?”

“Camp followers? You never minded before…” His expression changed. “Oh… those. Yeah, strange, isn’t it?”

“How long have they been trailing us?”

“The first ones showed up after our second or third tangle with the bandits,” Rate said, “about the time that your policy regarding those who break the peace was getting obvious. When I suggested that they weren’t wanted, the answer I got was that they were within their rights and we had no cause to stop them traveling through public lands.”

“Have they been bothering the Company?” Domino demanded.

“No, they’ve even been helpful. A couple are healers and have helped Chase patch up our men. They may have done some trading with Supply as well. Certainly the food has been fresher than we have reason to expect.”

“I see. Carry on, Rafe, and keep this discussion between us for now.” Domino scratched her chin thoughtfully. “After we are moving, I believe I will check in with the Quartermaster.”

The approach of the General on her pale green horse sent the occupants of the supply wagons into something of a tizzy. Said General on said horse smiled somewhat sardonically. Early in her career, Kerman Blaid had given her advice never to fix something that wasn’t broken. Supply had benefited under her benign neglect, but it never hurt to remind them that she was in charge,

Although the Quartermaster technically was Colum Vrame, actually the operation was a joint effort between him and his wife, Bysha. In the old military, Bysha could not hold a commission, but Domino had plans to make some changes and Bysha, whether she wanted it or not, would be one of the first women to receive a retroactive commission.

Bysha rather than Colum intercepted the General as Spite trotted up before the first wagon. Thin, almost angular, features and oversized ears gave some credence to the rumors that Bysha had elven blood, but both her large eyes and straight hair were a matter-of-fact brown and her manners were anything but eldritch.

“General Blaid, good of you to drop back and see us!” she trilled in a voice just shy of shrill. “I’ll wager you’re here to check on Seth. He’s back on the head wagon, doing his lessons.”

Domino shook her head. “No, Bysha, I have no need to check on Seth. He is always admirable. I have come to consult with Colum. Where can I find him?”