Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

They were in sight of the canal when shots rang out from all sides, billows of smoke rising from the buildings lining the road and behind the embankment. Argot’s men, slipping past the sentries in the darkness, had taken up positions close to the ford from which they could direct a lively fire at the Khandarai column. Men fell, screaming, and in a panic the Auxiliaries spread out, seeking whatever cover they could find. A few shot back, trying to pick out blue-uniformed men crouching in doorways or behind windows, and for a few moments the racket of the firefight drowned out all other sound.

Then, during a brief lull, a voice called in Khandarai for surrender. The Auxiliary lieutenant hesitated-the Redeemers were not kind to those who failed in the line of duty-but the choice was obvious. The way ahead was clearly blocked by an enemy force of unknown strength, and in the sudden quiet the drums of the main Vordanai line were quite audible. In any event, his men made the decision for him. First singly, then in twos and threes, they emerged from hiding with hands raised.

• • •

“All in all,” Adrecht said, “not a bad morning’s work. A dozen enemy dead and a hundred prisoners, in exchange for one man taking a bit of a bump on the noggin.”

That had been one of Argot’s, slightly injured when a shelf had collapsed on top of him during the firefight. Marcus permitted himself a smile.

“Don’t forget the lost night’s sleep,” he said.

“If we can trade a night’s sleep for a company in the bag, I think we’ll come out ahead.”

Adrecht stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He’d been able to put his head down for a few hours. Marcus himself had been too keyed up, thinking about Argot creeping into position and scanning the eastern horizon for signs of the rising sun.

“Are they all accounted for?” Marcus said.

“Yup. Their lieutenant is still doing his fence-post imitation, but a few of the sergeants were more talkative. Looks like we got them clean.”

The midnight raid had served its purpose, then. News that the Vordanai had seized the ford had not escaped north of the river.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

He turned his eyes north. The two officers stood outside the front door of the temple, on the low hill that dominated the village and the soggy fields beyond. From here Marcus could see the sludgy brown waters of the canal and a good bit of the land beyond. The horizon was thus far reassuringly empty.

Adrecht followed his gaze. “You think they’re coming? Maybe we moved fast enough they won’t get the news at all.”

“They’re coming. That first bunch, where we crossed, sent messengers in both directions as soon as they saw they were in for a scrap.” He shrugged. “Besides, we haven’t got the men to watch the whole canal line. It’d be easy enough for a single messenger to swim. No, Khtoba knows that we’re across, and that means his troops aren’t doing any good at Westbridge.”

“He still might march them through the city, instead of up the river road.”

“If he does, they’ll be too late to do any good.” Assuming Janus wins the battle in the south. The colonel had taken the majority of the Colonials to pounce on the other half of Khtoba’s divided army, but even that would only give him roughly even odds. He forced himself not to worry about that. Concentrate on our own problems. “Either way, we should assume they’ll try to force a crossing.”

“Stopping three battalions is going to be a hell of a job.” Adrecht looked down at the village with a professional eye. “There’s no cover on the bank itself. The shacks are worth something, but if they bring up guns it’ll be trouble. Even a four-pounder could probably reach us from the other bank, and anything heavier. .” He shook his head. “If the damn Khandarai would build their houses out of something a bit more substantial, we’d have more to work with. What I wouldn’t give for a proper Vordanai country village.”

“I think stone and timber are in shorter supply around here than back home,” Marcus said. He glanced at the temple behind them. “We can hold in here, though.”

Adrecht grunted. “Hold, sure. But if it comes to that. .” He trailed off sourly.

Marcus followed the thought. The temple made for a reasonable blockhouse, with thick stone walls and a heavy timber roof. The windows were tall and narrow, and began a considerable distance from the ground. The main doors looked solid, and in any case could be reinforced by a barricade. It was big enough to hold two or three companies, at least, and he wouldn’t want to have to take on the task of assaulting it if he were on the other side.

But if it got that desperate-a last-ditch defense that far from the ford-they’d be surrounded for certain. Once the Auxiliaries broke out into the open, their greater numbers would let them circle around and cut off any possible retreat.

“We’ll hope it doesn’t come to that,” Marcus said. “Get the men started loopholing the shacks by the canal, and tell Lieutenant Archer to start setting his guns up at the top of the embankment. We’ll have to work on something to camouflage them-” Marcus felt suddenly light-headed. He put out a hand to steady himself on the wall of the temple, missed, and took a few stumbling steps before Adrecht caught his arm.

“I’ll take care of it,” the other captain said. “Get some sleep.”

“You’ll wake me if there’s trouble?”

Adrecht smiled. “I swear to it. Go.”

Marcus lurched away, his feet suddenly feeling like they’d grown thirty-pound weights. Inside the temple, the air was dusty, and the floor tracked with mud and bits of smashed furniture. The crews that Adrecht directed inside, later in the day, were astonished to find their senior captain stretched out on a surviving bench, jacket wadded up as a pillow, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

WINTER

“T ake the knife-”

Winter opened her eyes. The light was the familiar blue-gray of the morning sun filtered through the faded canvas of her tent, but her lips still tingled from the kiss. When she blinked, tears spilled from her eyes.

“You were dreaming,” said a voice in Khandarai. Feor. Winter sat up abruptly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

“How did you guess?”

“You were speaking to someone,” the girl said, propped up on one elbow in her bedroll on the other side of the tent.

Winter cursed silently. If she’d started talking in her sleep, there would be no keeping her secret. “What did I say?”

“Nothing I could understand.” Feor raised an eyebrow. “In the cloister, there was a young man who dreamed of the future. Was it that sort of dream?”

“No,” Winter said. She could still feel the brush of Jane’s hair against her face. “I dreamed about the first time I fell in love.”

“Ah.” Feor fell silent, and Winter gave her a look.

“I suppose priestesses aren’t allowed to fall in love?”

“No,” the girl said, serious as always. “We are permitted to take our pleasure with the eckmahl , the eunuch servants, but love. .” She caught Winter’s expression. “Is something wrong?”

“Just surprised,” Winter muttered. “In Vordan, priests and nuns are expected to be chaste.”

“I pity them, then,” Feor said. “It seems unnatural.”

As opposed to taking little boys and cutting off their balls? But she declined to begin that argument. By the amount of light filtering in through the canvas, she could tell it was past dawn. Before she’d made it across the room to her jacket, the drumroll started, at the double-quick pace that meant “to arms.” Winter pulled on her uniform coat, buttoned it, and was working on her socks when there was a rap at the tent pole.