In the Shadow of Lightning

25

Idrian received an eight-hour leave of absence – not difficult during the confusion of the entire Foreign Legion pulling out of Grent – to rush into Ossa and deliver the cinderite to the Hyacinth Hotel. The concierge told him that Demir was not available, but allowed him to take the cinderite directly to Demir’s office, where he promised that the hotel master-at-arms would keep it under her personal protection. Idrian left disquieted, wishing he could have handed it to Demir directly. It was enough. It had to be. An itch had started right behind his godglass eye that told him a battle was brewing, and sooner than he would have liked.

He returned to the Foreign Legion in late afternoon, far out beyond the western suburbs of Ossa where all three brigades had moved their strength into the Copper Hills. It was rolling farmland, barren for the winter, with plenty of defensible positions and hilltops for artillery batteries.

It was on one such hilltop on the right flank of the army that Idrian found the Ironhorns. Soldiers and engineers alike had out their short military shovels, digging trenches and putting palisades into place to protect seven heavy cannons and four mortars while the artillery crews went through last-minute drills to make sure both they and their weapons were in top order. The entire region was crawling with soldiers and support staff – even backup companies of National Guard from the city. Glassdancers wandered the hillside, getting a feel for the slopes and the winds.

As much as Idrian preferred being in the middle of the action, he could see the relief on the faces of his compatriots. In the city they were on the front line, capturing bridges, erecting barricades, and throwing grenades. Here on the open battlefield, engineers were less useful in combat. Their privilege was manual labor under Mika’s expert gaze, and most of them would be glad of it.

Let the regular infantry hold the front line for a change. Idrian and the Ironhorns would protect the artillery.

“How are we looking?” Idrian asked, striding into the camp, where Tadeas and Mika were having a heated discussion underneath a canvas pavilion.

Tadeas looked toward Idrian, giving Mika the chance to flip a rude gesture at his shoulder.

“I saw that,” Tadeas snapped. To Idrian he replied, “Most everyone has pulled out of Grent. We’ve got a solid defensive position here – if Kerite tries to go around us, she’ll lose at least a week on the march.”

“Stavri doesn’t want to go on the offensive?”

“He doesn’t see the need to, and for once I agree with him. Let Kerite come to us.”

“How long do we have?”

“If she contests us straight on? Two days. If she decides to juke around it could be longer.”

“I wager it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

“Your eye itching again?”

Idrian nodded.

“Shit,” Tadeas replied. “It’s a weird sixth sense, but it’s never steered us wrong before. Better keep your engineers working through the night, Mika.”

Mika rolled her eyes. “Glassdamnit. Fine, but I’m going to press-gang some of those National Guard into helping us. Asshole policemen ordered out here to play soldier, they’re going to get their hands dirty.”

“I’ll send a messenger to the nearest regiment,” Tadeas told her.

Idrian climbed the hill a few dozen feet to look around, noting the best approaches for enemy soldiers trying to take the artillery battery. Once the fighting began, he’d need to focus his own efforts on those spaces. A breacher was most effective on offense, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t plug defensive holes when needed.

He returned to Tadeas, who’d resumed his previous argument with Mika.

“I want mines here, here, and here,” Tadeas insisted, pointing at the partially finished defenses.

“And I’m telling you they’ll be a waste over there,” Mika replied hotly. “Focus them right there, and each mine will be worth two more casualties on average, I stake my reputation on it.”

“You have a reputation other than the insane explosives woman?” Idrian asked. When Mika whirled on him he waved her off. “Tadeas, you know better than to argue with Mika. Mines are her territory.”

Tadeas snorted and turned to one side to spit. “Fine. Go on, make sure the ditches are deep enough.” He aimed a kick at Mika’s backside as she scurried away, cackling victoriously.

Idrian sank into Tadeas’s camp chair and pressed on his godglass eye. Somewhere, as if from over the next hill, he could hear a child’s laughter. It was starting to get real old, and the fact that he knew it wasn’t real didn’t help things. “You think Kerite has a chance of unseating us?”

Tadeas sucked hard on his teeth. “She’s never lost a battle. At least that’s what the rumors say. She’s always been very good at her own publicity.” He made a dismissive gesture. “General Stavri is confident that we’ll crush any attack she makes.”

“What are we facing?”

“Kerite’s Drakes – about ten thousand infantry, with breachers and glassdancers – as well as whatever the Grent lend her for the battle. I think … I think we’ll be okay.”

Idrian had known Tadeas long enough to see through the uncertainty. He also knew better than to press him. Forcing him to talk about his nerves wasn’t going to help either of them. As he watched Tadeas continue to pace, Braileer approached from down the hill. The armorer was carrying Idrian’s shield, and presented it to him proudly.

“I finally got a chance to work a forge for a few hours, sir,” Braileer said. “I popped the godglass plates off and hammered out those deep gouges here and here. The hammerglass is back in place and doesn’t have that wobble you’ve been carrying around.”

Idrian inspected the work. It wasn’t the best he’d ever seen, but it was a damn sight better than the mending Braileer did a couple of days ago. “That wobble was getting on my nerves. Well done.”

Braileer beamed. “I was thinking about getting my fiddle out tonight, sir. Is that allowed?”

“Tad, do we have keep-quiet order in place?”

Tadeas shook his head, and Idrian nodded at Braileer. “It’ll help with morale. Go ahead.”

“One other thing, sir,” Braileer said. “Two women came around earlier. A soldier and an engineer.”

“Squeaks and Fenny?” Idrian guessed.

“That’s them, sir. They brought you these. A thank-you for saving Squeaks from that rubble.”

Idrian reached out and took a pair of calfskin gloves. To his surprise they were of the highest quality, of the kind you might find in the pocket of an officer from a rich guild-family. “I can’t take these,” he said. “Must have cost them two weeks’ wages. Besides, there were others helping dig that night, yourself included.” He tried to hand them back.

“The taller one – Squeaks, I think – said you’d say that. No disrespect meant, sir, I’m just quoting her, but she said if you tried to refuse that you could get stuffed. She made them herself.”

Idrian rubbed the calfskin between his fingers and noted that the distant laughter had disappeared. The symptoms of his madness always did in moments like these. He slid one onto his hand. It fit like … well, like a glove. “Skip my dinner tonight, Braileer, and go get out your fiddle. The Ironhorns could use some fun before a battle.”

“Yes, sir!”

Idrian watched Braileer hurry back down the hill and turned to find Tadeas watching him. Idrian said, “Decades in this business of killing, and the people can still surprise you.”

“That’s why you do it,” Tadeas responded.

Idrian looked down at the calfskin gloves. “I do it because I sold my soul to the Foreign Legion to get out of the Marnish highlands. I keep doing it because the Foreign Legion funded Kastora’s work on my eye,” he answered, touching the eye gently.

“Bah. That might be why you got started, but I still don’t believe you’re going to walk once you hand in your debt marker. You’ve got just a few weeks left, right?”

“Nineteen days,” Idrian replied. “And you bet your ass I’m going to walk.” He could feel the freedom as if it were inches away, just beyond his touch. “I’m going to take my marching bonus and I’m going to move out to the provinces where the land is cheap and the wine is cheaper and I’m going to stare at a vineyard until I grow old and die.” That was the plan, anyway. His failing godglass eye certainly complicated things.

“You going to work that vineyard?” Tadeas asked.

Idrian scratched at his cheek. “I seem to remember you offering to fund the labor if I buy the land.”

“I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”

“Don’t want to retire?” Idrian asked.

“Nah, I’m just cheap. Maybe I’ll ask my nephew for a loan. I know the kind of bullshit grifting he was up to out in the provinces and he’s rich as piss.” Tadeas seemed to notice for the first time that Idrian had taken his chair. He let out a sigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Still sore from that run into the palace,” Idrian admitted.

“I still can’t believe you escaped by climbing up the chimney.”

“Me neither. I don’t think I’ve ever used most of those muscles before.” Idrian leaned forward to rub his shins. “I should have stopped for a massage while I was in Ossa.”

“You delivered the package?”

“Breenen had me leave it in Demir’s office. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Breenen is a good egg. He’ll make sure it’s safe. Did you run into the Hyacinth master-at-arms? She’s very good-looking.”

“You’ve told me about her. Kirkovik’s granddaughter, right?” Idrian shook his head. “Far too young for me.” He narrowed his eyes at Tadeas’s considering look. “Or you.”

“How dare you?” Tadeas replied. “Younger women find me a fantastic companion.”

“Yeah, right up until your monthly wages run out. When’s the last time you saw someone your own age?”

“The last time Adriana tried to make a match for me,” Tadeas said wistfully. “I think that was … six years ago? She was a Plagni. Voice like a drill sergeant, legs as big around as tree trunks.” His eyes wandered to the clouds above them and he added softly, just loud enough for Idrian to hear, “I’m going to miss Adri trying to get me married.”

Idrian shook his head. Tadeas had been married three times during the course of their friendship, and every one of those marriages had ended badly. He’d known plenty of women himself, but never a marriage. Career soldiers weren’t meant for it. Their lives were too dangerous, their workplace too distant. The only constant relationship in Tadeas’s life during all that time – outside of the military – was Adriana. How would he deal with that now that she was gone?

It was a question for another day. Tadeas was like Idrian, in that he always left his grieving until the end of a campaign. Unhealthy, perhaps, but necessary. Otherwise it would get in the way of him being a good commanding officer.

“Maybe Demir will take over that torch,” Idrian suggested. “Start looking to pair you with a good woman.”

“Hah! Maybe he will. He’s the patriarch now. I’ll have to keep my eyes peeled. Adriana always tried to bully me into a marriage. Demir will be tricky about it, mark my words. I’ll go to a party and wake up married to a Vorcien.” He sighed and turned to Idrian. “Forgot to tell you something,” he said, pulling a sour face.

Idrian raised an eyebrow. That was Tadeas’s “bad news” expression.

Tadeas went on, “One of General Stavri’s staff swung by right after we arrived this afternoon. He asked some very pointed questions about what we were shooting at last night, and where you were at the time. Seems one of our spies heard that you were spotted stealing from the ducal palace.”

Idrian stiffened. “Did they say what I stole?”

“Nobody knows,” Tadeas said with the shake of his head. “Seems that fire you started destroyed a pretty significant swath of the palace, including a lot of the art hidden in the undercroft.”

“Oh.” Idrian scowled. He felt bad about that, he really did. What was that overseer’s name, back at his old job at the Ossan Museum? He couldn’t recall, but he could only imagine the fury if she ever found out what he’d done. How many millions’ worth of art had he ruined in a single night? “I didn’t mean to. Well, I did mean to set the fire. I was in a tight spot. I didn’t mean to destroy the art.”

“Eh. They’ll make new art.” Tadeas shrugged. “The fact is, General Stavri knew something was up and at the moment is pretty convinced that you were playing common thief with the duke’s art collection. The staff member that came by implied that he wants a cut.”

Idrian scoffed. Of course he wanted a cut. Glassdamned corrupt Ossans. “A cut of nothing.”

“I don’t think they’ll buy that.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That we have no idea what he’s talking about and we didn’t shoot at anything and Idrian Sepulki was in fact visiting his father using a two-day pass that I gave him myself. Mika helped me forge the paperwork, and I briefed your new armorer on what to say and do if anyone asked him any questions.”

“I hate my father. He is the last person in all of Ossa I would visit on a two-day pass.”

“Stavri doesn’t need to know that. Regardless, maybe we should have Demir supply a bribe for the good general just to get him off our backs.”

Idrian considered this for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t want Demir’s name mentioned. If any of that leads back to him, people with more clout than Stavri might start asking questions. Let’s stick with your story and deny everything.”

“You sure?” Tadeas gave him a look, clearly wanting to know just why a piece of cinderite would cause so much interest.

“I’m sure,” Idrian answered. “No need to involve Demir unless absolutely necessary.”

“As you say it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you covering for me.”

“No problem. Oh, and Mika says you owe her a bottle of twenty-year Fletchling.”

Idrian sat up and looked toward where he could see Mika overseeing the placement of her mines. “For what?”

“My silence to Stavri is free. Hers isn’t.”

“Damned snitch. Next time you see your nephew, tell him he owes me a twenty-year Fletchling. I won’t use his name, but I’m not gonna pay his debts either.”

“Fair.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of galloping hooves. Idrian got to his feet, his legs tightening up instantly, and tried to see where the sound was coming from. When he couldn’t he leaned over to rub at his shins again, and by the time he stood there was a messenger riding hard in their direction. The messenger approached the pavilion and snapped a salute from horseback.

“Major Grappo?” he asked.

“That’s me,” Tadeas replied.

“Word from General Stavri. Kerite’s Drakes are already on the move, and they’re headed straight toward us, along with Grent reinforcements from the city. You have forty-eight hours at best until contact, but the General wants the hilltop secured in twenty-four.”

“Just twenty-four hours?” Idrian exclaimed, his heart falling. That was not enough time to prepare for a battle.

“Correct. General Stavri has cut off all requests for extra help. What you have is what you get. Make it work!” The messenger shouted the last sentence over his shoulder, already riding down the hill toward the infantry battalion positioned just a few hundred yards below them.

Idrian watched him go before exchanging a worried look with Tadeas. “Can we be ready for her in time?” he asked.

“We’ll do the best we can. Valient! Double rations for dinner, and round up a shitload of torches. We’re working through the night!”

A litany of curses was the reply, from Valient, Mika, and several dozen engineers within earshot.

Idrian pressed on his godglass eye. He’d hoped to spend the next two days flat on his back, nose buried in a book, so that his body was in top shape to defend the Ironhorns. No such luck, he supposed. “Get me a shovel,” he told Tadeas, “and some good forgeglass. They’re gonna need help to finish these fortifications in time.”