Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

“Where are we supposed to go?” Malig said, too loudly. “We're stuck in the middle of nowhere. You ever think about the trip back home when you were planning this shit, Caim? Or maybe you figured we'd be happy to just follow you anywhere and give no second thought about it?”

They reached the horses, and Caim took up his steed's frayed reins. “I never claimed to have a grand scheme. All I've got is a cold trail and an itch in my brain that won't go away.”

“You and your fucking quest.” Malig spat on the ground, some of it catching in his beard as he yammered. “You know what I think? I think you're batshit crazy. How about that? And we're crazy for following you. Your ma's dead and gone, but you can't face that.”

“Mal,” Dray said.

“No! He needs to hear this from somebody, because he sure as shit can't figure it out for himself. We've heard you, Caim. Talking to yourself when you think no one can hear. I've seen the way you look out into the dark like there's answers out there. You're on a death trip and you're dragging us to the grave with you.”

Caim sucked in a deep breath and turned around. Malig stared back with an angry frown. This was the moment. In his younger, wilder days this was when Caim would have drawn and attacked. Kill or be killed. The urge was still there, but he kept both hands at his sides. Malig wasn't saying anything the others weren't thinking. Maybe this was a fool's errand, but he'd come this far. “I don't have any answers. But I'm going to keep following this feeling until I find out where it ends, or someone ends me. If you're coming along, you need to shut up and start riding.”

Caim mounted up and steered his steed to the north.

The sun dipped in the west, its fading rays streaking the sky in hues of purple and blue. Josey rolled up the stiff parchment and tucked it into her fur-lined jacket. Hubert's latest letter was filled with ill news. Food shortages were causing protests in the streets of Othir-not violent so far, but it was only a matter of time. He had no evidence tying the Church to the demonstrations. In fact, he didn't mention the Holy Office at all, and that worried her not a little. News from the envoy to Mecantia wasn't good either. Talks to bring the free city back into the Nimean fold had failed. Hubert hadn't said, but Josey suspected Lady Philomena of sabotaging the summit. But she had more immediate worries. One of them was kicking inside her belly.

She placed a hand over her middle. Easy, little one. This will be a long night for us both.

The child inside her kicked again, but then quieted down. Josey's other worry was right before her. Sitting astride Lightning, Josey looked down from the hill she had chosen as a vantage point. Below, men moved with purpose, digging and building and hurrying. This is where we'll make our stand.

It didn't look like much to her. The field was little more than a half-drained swamp. Here, between tufts of scrub brush and stinkweed, was where her officers had chosen to meet the invaders. They had marched three long days to get here, pushing the soldiers hard, leaving a trail of supply wagons in their wake. The enemy was somewhere to the north of them. It wouldn't be long. Another courier had made it through the chaos in the north. If possible, his message was more disturbing than the previous one, telling of villages burned and civilians put to death. By all accounts, the enemy was moving at great speed, and Uthenorian standards had been seen among the horde, putting to rest the theory that this force came from Eregoth. It made her feel better knowing that Caim's people weren't involved.

Lord General Argentus rode up beside her and dipped his head in a nod. “Your Majesty, I have finalized the order of battle with the regiment commanders.”

As Argentus outlined the positions to be held by the units of infantry, horse, archers, and reserve companies, it reminded Josey of a chessboard. She imagined the footmen were her pawns, the cavalry her knights, and the archers her praetors. Except this wasn't a game. When the fighting began, real people were going to die.

“Will they attack tonight?” she asked.

“Not likely, but we have plenty of pickets out to forewarn us of an advance. I expect them with the dawn.”

Josey fretted with the reins looped around her hand. “What about treating with them? A diplomatic envoy to ascertain their intentions.”

The lord general's bushy eyebrows came together over the bridge of his nose. “Majesty, I believe they made their intentions quite clear when they sacked Durenstile and invaded Nimean territory.”

Josey looked down at a group of men digging trenches in the twilight. Exhaustion showed in their every motion. “Very good. I place my trust in you.”

“Majesty…” Argentus bowed his head. “If this battle should go awry-”

“That will be all, Lord General.”

With a nod, Argentus rode back down to a cluster of officers in clean blue jackets at the bottom of the hill. Josey tried to look serene and in control, but her stomach was churning, and her heart beat so fiercely she started to perspire under her clothing. She didn't blame Argentus for his lack of confidence. She'd sent missives to every noble and freeholder within a week's march, pleading for men and arms to help in the fight, but none had answered. And part of her didn't want to be here either. She wanted to be north, looking for Caim, and that made her feel horrible. This was where she belonged.

“Looks like something's put a bee in the general's britches, lass.” Hirsch winked as he reached the top of the hill. His eyes were bright, even after the hellish march they'd endured. It was strange how after just a couple months she had come to trust the adept so much. He had an easy manner that calmed her worries.

“Nothing too damaging,” she answered. “I asked about diplomatic solutions.”

Hirsch's eyebrows rose in an arch. “I can see how that might get him a bit riled. You having second thoughts?”

“It's not easy to send men into battle, knowing some of them won't survive.”

“I imagine not, but doesn't seem like you've been given much choice in the matter.”

“I suppose they have a plan for you in this?”

“Aye. I'm to remain with you.”

That surprised Josey. She would have thought Argentus and his officers would have devised a better use for the adept. “You've heard the reports. What do you make of these invaders from Uthenor?”

“Uthenorian mercenaries are notorious, both for their love of war and for their fickle nature. Duke Bregone of Leipterhas employed a company of them when he made his spectacularly unsuccessful bid for the throne of Firenna. Sadly for him, his rival had a deeper purse. The Uthenorians slit his throat and raided his treasury house.”

Josey considered that. If they could find a way to entice the invaders to leave without further bloodshed-

“However,” Hirsch continued, “these men aren't mercenaries. I spoke with the messenger. The banners he describes belong to clan chieftains, not sellsword companies.”

A chill dripped down Josey's spine. “So what does that mean? Are they likely to be less ferocious than mercenaries?”

“Just the opposite, lass. These warriors aren't fighting for gold and pillage. The clans of Uthenor have been at each other's throats for centuries. I don't know what's got them stirred up enough to fight together, but they'll be eager for blood.”

Josey stared at the battlefield, lost in her thoughts, as a tall man on horseback rode past. Brian had been sent by his father along with forty militiamen while Lord Therbold returned to his estates, hopefully to gather more troops and material.

Perhaps feeling her eyes on him, Brian looked up and lifted a gloved hand in greeting before he joined Argentus's gathering. Stop mooning, silly girl. He's just a man. A very tall, handsome man. But still…