Jon Sprunk: Shadow's master

He shook his head.

She shrugged. “I'm not leaving until you say it.”

Caim growled under his breath. “I love you. All right? Now get going.”

She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Love you, too.”

Then, with a swift, ethereal kiss to his neck, she was gone. Caim looked at the others, but everyone was focused on the way ahead as the caravan got under way. The bodies of the Suete were laid out beside the dead guards. Already their faces and hands had begun to pale, or maybe that was his imagination. The wind had picked up. Iron-headed clouds were gathering at the top of the pass.

Caim clucked to his horse and pulled his cloak tighter as he followed the last wagon.

Josey sat up on the cot and groaned. Knots of soreness ached in every part of her body from weeks of riding. Her back. Her thighs. Even her hair hurt. And sleeping on a sheet of stiff fabric strung across a wooden frame wasn't helping matters. Why didn't I insist upon bringing a proper bed?

Despite the protests from her muscles, she swung her legs over the side and stood up to meet another day. Several large trunks served as her wardrobe and vanity. She pulled out a riding dress and sighed. It had once been a lovely turquoise, but now the skirt was mottled brown and gray like the rest of her clothes. There was no time for proper laundering traveling with an army, so they had to make do with quick dunkings in the local stream and a few passes with a cake of lye soap. Shivering in the early-morning chill, she shrugged out of her sleeping shift and pulled the gown over her head. It fit a little loose around her middle. All her dresses had been purposely made overlarge in that area. She smoothed the fabric over her stomach to feel the soft rounded bump. Did it show? No, she was fine. She would just go without a belt.

As always, thinking about the baby turned her mind toward Caim. Was he all right? Was he even alive? Don't think like that! He was alive, and she was going north to find him. And hopefully bring him home.

The cloth door-flap was pushed aside, and a young girl waited in the opening. Josey pulled her hands away from her middle as a frigid breeze blew into the tent and puffed out the canvas sides. It was Iola. When Josey had departed Othir, she decided to leave her maids behind, intending to “rough it.” But after a few days one of her staff officers, Colonel Klovus, introduced her to his daughter Iola, and Josey had taken an immediate shine to the girl, who was quiet and good-natured, not to mention industrious. Every morning Iola brought her breakfast, which Josey ate while reading the morning dispatches. “Come in, come in!” she said, waving the girl inside.

“I have your breakfast, Majesty.”

“What is it today? Not more oat porridge with nuts, I hope.”

“No, milady.” Iola set down the covered bowl and whisked off the cloth. “Oat porridge with bacon.”

Josey's nose wrinkled as she leaned over the bowl. She despised porridge, and the cooks' attempts to enliven the dish with flourishes like bacon only made it all the more appalling. She considered waiting to eat until the midday meal, but her stomach started rumbling. Oh, baby. You can't be serious.

With a sigh, Josey picked up a spoon and took a bite. It wasn't good, but it wasn't horrible either. Before she knew it, she was scraping the bottom of the bowl and wishing for more. With a sigh, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and gave thanks her morning sickness had waned after the first month of pregnancy. “Is there anyone waiting outside?”

“Not when I came in, milady.” Iola stripped the cot and folded the blankets. “I mean, the captain was out there, but he looked to be standing guard. Not waiting, exactly.”

Josey leafed through a small stack of reports on her camp table while she nibbled on her spoon. Over the past two months she had learned much about the logistics involved in transporting an army, even one as small as hers. Four hundred and twenty-eight soldiers ate a great deal more than she had expected. The quartermasters compiled daily lists of everything that was used, from food and beer rations to uniforms and boots.

Several of the papers were letters from Hubert. He kept her informed of the happenings in the capital. From what she read, it seemed that the city was once again under control. The protests had ceased, and repairs to damaged neighborhoods were under way. There was even a note about Lord Walthom, whom she had sent west to deal with the banditry problem. The field reports indicated he was doing an excellent job, having freed a town under siege and captured some outlaws. There was no further news from the north, but she tried not to let that disturb her.

The border between Eregoth and Nimea had been a trouble spot since the marchland broke free of Nimean rule a generation ago. The last dispatches, months old, had described a sharp spike in the number of raids from the north, and then the messages stopped. Privately, Josey feared the worst.

Invasion.

But what she'd hoped would be a swift trek to the north had proved both longer and more arduous than expected. The farther north they traveled, the worse the roads became as the empire's paved highways gave way to dirt tracks, made more treacherous by the thawing snow. She'd been disheartened at first to hear how the commons scavenged stone from the roads wherever they could. However, as the army passed villages with meager fields and wretched people, she could not hold such thefts against them. Theirs was a difficult lot, and one she wanted to change for the better if she was able. But she had other worries on her mind. Lady Philomena had accompanied- without imperial sanction-the official envoy to Mecantia to engage in negotiations regarding the free status of that city after Hubert's agents reported that their eastern neighbor, Arnos, was making overtures to annex the wealthy trading port. Philomena! Why didn't I have her imprisoned before I left Othir?

Josey sighed. While she didn't like the idea of Lady Philomena interfering with state business, it was probably better that the devious woman was out of the capital for a while.

Shuffling through the reports, Josey shrieked when she spied a letter from her dear friend Anastasia. She tore open the seal and unfolded the short note.

Dearest Josey (it feels naughty addressing our Imperial Matron so candidly),

Well, he finally did it. I'm looking at a sparkling diamond sitting on my ring finger, courtesy of your good regent. Hubert asked for my hand! I wish you could have been here, Josey. He invited me over for a private supper on Hale Saints Day and got down on his knee after the soup course. He was so nervous he almost tipped over the table!

Anyway, we're waiting for your triumphant return so you can help me plan the wedding. Come home soon!

Your Loving Servant, Anastasia

Josey kicked her feet under the table. She couldn't believe it. Hubert and ‘Stasia! They were simply perfect for each other.

She put the letter aside as a man in a crumpled, oversized brown coat entered the tent. His profile was craggy, with a high brow, full nose, and a block of a chin under his short beard. Fresh snow dusted the brim of his dingy hat. Josey smiled and got up to embrace him. “Master Hirsch. When did you get back?”

“Just this morning.”

Passing through the ducal seat of Ostergoth three weeks ago, they had found it in the grip of starvation. The problem had been there was no liege lord to tend to the people. Josey recalled hearing something about the old duke and his family being murdered a few months back, but she and Hubert had missed it in the rushed transition to her new government. Once the winter stores were depleted-or stolen, as some suggested-there was no way for the commons to get more. It was a problem all across the country. Years of drought and lack of foresight by the previous prelate when he reigned over Nimea had caused widespread famine. Josey had stayed in the town for a sennight attempting to help, but finally her urgency to get north compelled her to go, leaving Hirsch to manage the problem.