Wrath of Empire

Chapter 63

Vlora rode past a field of the dead and dying, listening as their moans seemed to keep tempo with the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves. Another reckless charge by Dynize dragoons, meant to do nothing more than slow down her column. At a glance, there were no more than a hundred of them – not even close to enough to do any real damage. Their horses had already been either put down or taken, and the Adran dead buried beneath simple stone cairns beside the road. The Dynize – wounded and dead alike – lay where they fell and remained ignored as the Riflejack rear guard marched past them.

She wondered if anyone had bothered to tell her about this attack. Perhaps. She was exhausted from days of forced march, barely able to sleep even when she did have the time. These attacks had come so frequently that they hardly warranted her attention anymore. They came at night, in the rain, even out in the open as the Dynize general sent his cavalry along every goat path and mining trail he could find to try to flank the Riflejacks – to try to trip them up and force the column to slow, even for fifteen minutes at a time.

She wanted to dismiss the attacks as a waste of the enemy’s resources, but the truth was they were working. Despite the larger, more cumbersome army, the Dynize infantry remained just three hours behind the Riflejacks. Vlora felt like she could barely breathe.

Up ahead, her column snaked down through the foothills and onto a relatively flat plain, where the vanguard had pulled off to the side for a few moments’ rest, allowing another company to take the lead of the column. She searched for Olem and was unable to find him.

The sound of galloping hooves made her turn to find Taniel and Norrine coming up the road from the west, covered in the dust stirred up by Vlora’s infantry. Norrine wore a tired but satisfied smile, and Taniel held his rifle across the saddle horn. He pulled in next to Vlora and tapped on the side of his head. “That’s all of them.”

“All of who?” she asked.

“As far as we can tell, we’ve popped every Privileged and bone-eye in the Dynize Army. We’ve also killed half their senior officers.”

“And yet still they come hard on our heels.” Vlora had meant to say that in her head, but it came out without her even realizing she was speaking.

Norrine nodded. “They are … persistent.”

Vlora looked back toward the dead and dying Dynize dragoons from the last ambush, unable to get rid of the weight of dread sitting in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve done well,” she told Norrine. “Go find some chow.”

Norrine headed up the column, leaving Vlora and Taniel alone by the side of the road. “I don’t like the look on your face,” Taniel said.

“I don’t like the fact that we can’t gain even an hour on these bastards. They won’t slow down, even with their officers and sorcerers dead.” She gestured to the dead dragoons. “They’re throwing lives in front of us with as little regard as if they were tossing caltrops in a road.”

“The zeal scares you?”

“It terrifies me. I have a little voice in the back of my head whispering every few minutes that we’re all going to die on this blasted continent.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to calm herself. “I’m not thrilled with the idea of dying, but there are worse fates. Dying, hunted like a dog … it feels like our campaign through northern Kez during the war all over again. Except this time I’m the one responsible for all these lives.” She looked Taniel in the eye. “I don’t want all these men to die here, Taniel.”

Taniel’s expression was grim. “You’re doing the best you can.”

She wondered at his plans. He wasn’t an Adran, not anymore. He was stronger, faster, and sturdier than any normal human – even any powder mage – and when the Dynize finally trapped the Riflejacks and slaughtered them to the last man, Taniel would no doubt carve his way out and disappear into the hills, heading across the continent to reunite with Ka-poel. Vlora briefly considered grabbing Olem and attempting to run for it.

But who would she be if she abandoned the soldiers who so willingly sacrificed themselves for her?

Another thought crept up and touched the back of her mind. She flirted with it for a moment before shoving it to one side, where it waited, insistently, for her to consider it again. “I’ve got to talk with Olem,” she told Taniel. She turned and followed Norrine up the column, riding past the dust-coated soldiers, down out of the foothills, and onto the wide field where the column ground to a halt for a brief rest.

Beyond the field was something that her maps called Ishtari’s Crease. It was a great upthrusting of rock, as severe as a church’s steeple, that ran north-to-south for about thirty miles. It varied between forty and eighty feet tall, and was occasionally broken by natural fissures or modern clefts blasted out for roadways. Beyond the Crease the land fell steeply down into an old-growth forest, beyond which one could just make out the distant plains that needed to be crossed before reaching the ocean.

Those plains had haunted her thoughts for days like a waking nightmare. Flat and open, with few defensible positions, the larger Dynize field army would be able to slow and surround the Riflejacks, cutting them to ribbons without the need of either tactical or sorcerous advantages. To outrun them, the Riflejacks needed at least a day’s lead on their enemy. They had mere hours.

Vlora found Olem in a deep conference with the company’s quartermasters. He spotted Vlora and broke off, coming to her side, where he gave her a tight smile. “We’ve sent the capstone on ahead while the column rests. Our scouts are telling us that we won’t have to worry about being flanked by Dynize cavalry for a while – there isn’t another place to cross the Crease for miles, so they’ll either have to come straight up behind us, or wait until we’re completely through.”

There was a hint of suggestion in his words. It didn’t take a military genius to see that the Crease was a tactician’s wet dream. The road passed through a rocky divide less than twenty yards across, easily defended by a few hundred men, let alone a few thousand.

Quietly, so as not to be overheard, she said, “We’re going to die whether we fight them here or out on the plains.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Olem answered.

“I’d rather not die at all.”

“We can attempt to negotiate.”

Vlora scoffed. “And give them time to catch up with us and maneuver? You remember the negotiation before Windy River.”

“Things might have changed. We can try to give them the capstone.”

“Somehow, I’m not sure that will be enough.” Vlora eyed the Crease. In another situation, she might have found it beautiful, in a rugged way. The cracked, broken rock was periodically flushed with green where a group of shrubs or trees had managed to eke out its existence. It wasn’t, she decided, a terrible monument to make one’s gravestone. “If we attempt a last stand here, how long will it take for the Dynize to find another crossing and come around behind us?”

“A day and a half for their cavalry. Two and a half for infantry.” Olem paused. “There’s the option of leaving a few hundred men to defend the pass. It would easily buy the rest of the army time to get a head start on the plains.”

Vlora shot Olem a glare. “You think I should ask for suicidal volunteers?”

“I’m confident we could get enough volunteers to hold the pass.” There was a glint in Olem’s eye that Vlora didn’t like.

“And I suppose you’d volunteer to lead them?” Olem clenched his jaw, but did not answer. Vlora knew him well enough to see that as a yes. “Out of the question.” She paused. “How long do we plan on resting here?”

“No more than a half hour, then we’ll send the vanguard through the Crease.”

“Make it fifteen minutes. We need to talk again in ten, just over that ridge over there.” She pointed to where the road passed through the Crease. “In private.”

“I’ll be there.”

Vlora took her leave and headed along the column, her eyes searching the faces of her soldiers as they rested on the side of the road, jackets unbuttoned and packs thrown to the ground. The looks of exhaustion as she rode past them made her heart cry out with every salute and respectful “General Flint” that followed her.

The problem, she found, was that Olem was a far more popular person with the soldiers than she was. They respected her, for certain, but they loved Olem. And that made what she had to do next especially difficult. It took her a few minutes to discover a pair of faces up near the vanguard, and she dismounted and walked over to the two men lying a little off on their own from the main column. One was smaller, with a narrow face and thoughtful eyes, while the second was well over six feet tall and had the languid manner of a mastiff lying in the sun.

The two friends were former boxers who’d joined up with her during the Kez Civil War. She’d used them for dirty side jobs on more than one occasion. “Boys,” she said, standing above them.

The big one, Pugh, squinted at Vlora from under his hat and then leapt to his feet with a snapped salute, kicking his companion, Dez, sharply in the ribs as he did so. “Ma’am!”

Vlora waited until they were both standing. “At ease, soldiers. I need a favor.”

“Anything for you, ma’am,” Dez responded.

“Anything?”

“You set up Pugh’s mama with that good job in Adopest and you made sure my little brother didn’t fall in with the gangs. That’s worth a lot, ma’am.”

Vlora gave them a tired smile. “First, I want you to answer a question with complete honesty. I will not hold any answer you give me against you in any way.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Pugh said.

“If I and Colonel Olem were both standing in front of you and gave you conflicting orders, whose would you obey?”

The eyes of both men widened. Pugh swallowed hard. “Ma’am?”

“Honest answers.”

“I …” Dez said, “I suppose it would be yours, ma’am.”

“You suppose.”

“It would be, ma’am,” he said firmly. Pugh echoed the sentiment.

“Good. Get some rope and meet me up on that ridge. Right there behind that boulder.”

Vlora leaned against the boulder and watched as Olem, Dez, and Pugh together walked up the road toward her. She wondered whether this was a mistake, and forced herself to dismiss the notion. Sometimes, a thing had to be done to preserve lives. She wiped a few tears from the corners of her eyes and forced a gentle smile onto her face as the men reached her.

Olem was already concerned. She could see it in his eyes, though he didn’t want to show it in front of the other two. “What’s going on?” he asked her.

She jerked her head to the side, indicating the three men follow her behind the boulder, out of the sight of eyes of the army below them. Once they were secluded, she said, “Pugh, I would appreciate it if you would disarm and restrain Colonel Olem.”

“What …” Olem managed, before Pugh slipped behind him and wrapped Olem in a bear hug that pinned Olem’s arms to his chest. Dez jumped forward and took Olem’s pistol, sword, and knife, before returning to Vlora’s side. Despite their compliance, both men looked more than a little startled by the order, and clearly expected an explanation. “What’s going on?” Olem asked through clenched teeth, his eyes full of anger and hurt.

Vlora took a shaky breath. “This is what’s going on: In five minutes, Colonel Heracich is going to give the order to move out. He’ll remain in command for the next two days, while Pugh and Dez quietly trundle you along with instructions not to let you out of their sight or allow you to speak with anyone. At the end of those two days, you will be released, and Heracich will relinquish command of the Riflejacks to you.”

Olem began to struggle. “What the pit do you mean by all of this?”

“I mean …” Vlora heard her voice crack and turned away, unable to face Olem while she spoke. “I’m going to stay and defend the Crease,” she said.

“What, on your own?”

“Yes, on my own.” She glanced over to find Olem’s eyes wide with shock. Pugh’s mouth hung open. “It should give the Riflejacks time to get a lead on their pursuers.”

Olem suddenly jerked backward, slamming his head into Pugh’s chin. The big soldier reeled back, releasing him for long enough that Olem leapt for the road, clearly intent on heading back to the army to forestall this order. Dez tackled his legs, and he and Pugh dragged him kicking and struggling back behind the rock. Together they began to bind Olem. Dez stuffed a rag into his mouth.

Vlora squatted next to Olem as he was restrained, unable to help the tears that ran down her face as he glared at her. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m not going to let anyone else die for my ambitions – for my mistakes. Not the Riflejacks, and certainly not you. I know you’re going to be angry. Please don’t take it out on Pugh and Dez, or Heracich. They’re only following my orders.” She wanted to say a thousand things, but her stomach clenched so badly she thought she might vomit if she continued to speak. “I love you, Olem.” She leaned forward, kissing him on the forehead, then stepped away.

“Keep him quiet until the army has made it twenty or thirty miles,” she told Pugh and Dez. “And definitely don’t say anything to my mages. If they ask questions, refer them to Heracich.” She nodded at them, forcing a smile. “Thanks, boys. I hope I’ll be alive to pay you back.”

Olem was bound at their feet, his face red and streaked with tears. The two soldiers straightened and snapped salutes. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, ma’am,” Pugh said.

“So do I,” Vlora answered.

“It’s been an honor to serve under you,” Dez said. “I know every man in the brigade would say the same. We’ll never forget you.”

“I appreciate it. Now, get him out of here before I lose my nerve.”