Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

She nodded, her chest tight.

“The late Lieutenant d’Vries led the company down that ridge, across the valley, and up the next rise,” he said.

“He was eager to make contact with the enemy, sir.”

“Did you advise him to this course of action?”

She straightened slightly. “No, sir. I advised against it.”

“On what grounds?”

“That we would be too far from the column to fall back should we encounter the enemy in strength, sir.”

He nodded. “Then, at the top of the ridge, you saw the enemy cavalry approaching. The company”-the captain glanced at a paper on the table- “‘ran for it like a bunch of rabbits,’ as one of your men put it.”

“They were startled, sir. The enemy were. . numerous.”

The colonel’s lip quirked slightly at the understatement, but he said nothing. Captain d’Ivoire went on.

“What was Lieutenant d’Vries’ response at this juncture?”

“He. .” Winter paused. Criticizing one senior officer in front of another was simply Not Done. For one thing, officers tended to club together, so the most likely result would be some kind of subtle retribution. But he had asked. She sought for a positive interpretation of the facts. “The lieutenant started to ride at once for the main column. I imagine he was eager to alert you to the presence of the enemy.”

Another slight smile from the colonel, and something like a smothered laugh from Fitz Warus. Captain d’Ivoire’s face remained composed.

“At which point you took command of the company and ordered them to form square at the bottom of the valley.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which they proceeded to do, in spite of the fact that company squares are not a formation in our drillbook.”

“We had. . a little practice, sir.”

“And then you held off the attack of, what, three thousand enemy horsemen?” The captain looked at Fitz.

“At least three thousand,” the lieutenant said.

“Most of them just rode by,” Winter said. “Only a few hundred actually stopped to attack us, sir.”

“I see.” D’Ivoire turned to the colonel. “There you have it, sir.”

“Indeed I do,” the colonel said. “The only pity is that the lieutenant’s unfortunate demise has robbed me of the chance to castigate him for his incompetence. All that remains is to acknowledge your accomplishment, Sergeant.”

Winter blinked. “Sir?”

“You rescued your company from an impossible situation, and brought them safely back to the column when your officer broke and ran. That is an accomplishment, I would say.”

“Sir,” Winter said stiffly, “thirty-eight men of the Seventh Company are dead.”

Colonel and captain looked at one another, then back to her. The colonel gave a slow nod.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “things could have been much worse, and that deserves recognition. You are hereby brevetted to lieutenant, for the duration of the campaign, with the Ministry of War to review and approve a full promotion following the conclusion of hostilities. You’ll remain in command of the Seventh Company, as you have demonstrated such aptitude for it.”

“Yes, sir.” That didn’t seem quite sufficient. Winter licked her lips and looked from one officer to the other. “Thank you, sir.”

The colonel waved a hand airily. “Well done, Lieutenant.”

“Congratulations.” Fitz Warus stood and took her hand amiably. He led her away from the table and out of the tent, talking, but Winter still felt too stunned to reply. Apparently he didn’t mind. He left her at the edge of the little group of tents that belonged to the senior officers, with another handshake.

How am I going to tell Bobby? The boy would overreact, and she wasn’t sure she could stand it. She shook her head, then remembered Feor.

I wonder if I should have told the colonel. An hour ago, she wouldn’t have even considered it, but that was before she’d met the man. He seemed-not friendly, of course, not even kind . But fair, possibly, and even-tempered. That was a pleasant change from Colonel Warus, whose rages had been rare but legendary. She had the feeling that he wouldn’t fault her for rescuing the girl, and he’d see to it that she wasn’t treated badly.

She shook her head. No matter how she parsed it, it felt like a betrayal. Winter smiled crookedly and turned her steps back toward the Seventh Company’s tents. We’ll have to deal with this ourselves.

MARCUS

“Adrecht!” Marcus rapped twice at the tent pole. There was no reply, and he frowned. “Adrecht, I’m coming in.”

He twitched the flap aside, letting a shaft of sunlight in and momentarily brightening the semidarkness under the translucent canvas. There was a soft sigh and a murmur from the far end.

“Marcus?” Adrecht said. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” Marcus said, picking his way carefully among bits of discarded clothing. He blinked the darkness and made out a figure lying on a mat at the other side of the tent. “We need to talk. I-”

He paused. Some of the clothing on the floor couldn’t be Adrecht’s, unless the Fourth Battalion captain’s tastes were stranger than Marcus had given him credit for. He took a step closer and saw that there were two people on the bedroll. The smaller one sat up, letting the sheet fall away from her. She was a Khandarai girl, not more than eighteen or nineteen, with dark eyes and long dark hair. Her small breasts were uncovered, but it didn’t appear to concern her.

“Saints and martyrs,” Marcus swore. “She had better not be from the Redeemer camp.”

“What?” Adrecht sat up suddenly. “No! Honestly, Marcus, what do you take me for?” He brushed the girl’s cheek lightly. “Dali’s a camp follower. She’s been with us since Ashe-Katarion.”

Marcus relaxed a little. Quite a few Khandarai had followed along with the regiment when it had fled the Khandarai capital: those whose livelihood depended on the Vordanai soldiers or who didn’t fancy their chances under the new regime. More had come to them while they waited at Fort Valor and on the return march, drawn by the chance to sell their wares, their services, or their bodies to the foreigners.

“Well, tell her she needs to go,” he said.

Adrecht gave an exaggerated sigh and said something in Khandarai. He spoke the native language better than Marcus did-better than any of the officers, in fact, except possibly Fitz. The girl laughed and rolled to her feet, stretching ostentatiously in front of Marcus before hunting around on the floor for her clothes. The sight of her body, lithe and trim, forcefully reminded Marcus of how long it had been since he’d enjoyed that particular comfort. He ground his teeth while he waited for her to gather her things and go.

In the meantime, Adrecht had slipped into a pair of trousers and gotten out of bed. When the girl had gone, he turned to Marcus and crossed his arms on his bare chest.

“Well?” he said. “What is it this time? It can’t be missing drill; I heard the announcement last night.” Janus had given the regiment the day off for recovery, except for those needed on work details.

“It’s not that.”

“Well?” Adrecht smiled. “Why do you look so gloomy? We won, didn’t we?”

The victory seemed to have reinvigorated the Fourth Battalion captain. He almost looked his old self again, albeit still missing his fancy trappings.

“It’s not the battle, either,” Marcus snapped. “It’s what happened afterward. Have you been out to the camp?”

“Oh.” Adrecht looked away. “That was. . unfortunate.”

“‘Unfortunate’ is not the word I would choose,” Marcus said. “I gave an order that the men halt outside the camp and return to their formations. Your men ignored it.”