Blood of Empire

Chapter 10

The Adran Army marched down the coast for four days and swung around onto the Cape of New Adopest, where they descended from the hilly northland and onto a vast river delta that had long been stripped of its old forests. Cotton and tobacco plantations stretched to the horizon, broken only by the intertwining branches of the New Ad River.

Vlora sat on her horse, watching from a knoll beside an abandoned plantation house as her army marched over the first of a dozen bridges that stood between her and New Adopest. The distance wasn’t far – another twelve miles or so – but she fully expected it to be a hard-fought twelve miles, with burned bridges and a dug-in enemy waiting for them at the end.

Soldiers saluted her position as they passed, and Vlora returned the gesture a handful of times before it became too tiring to lift her arm and she fell to answering with a nod.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

The question brought her out of her foggy thoughts, and she turned to find that Norrine had ridden up beside her. She blinked sweat out of her eyes. “When did you get here? Where’s Davd?”

“Just relieved him, ma’am,” Norrine responded, pointing to where Davd was riding down to join the army on the road. “Do you want me to get him?”

“No,” Vlora answered, hearing the response come too quickly from her lips. “No, that’s okay. I just…” She hesitated for a few moments, before continuing in a quiet voice, “There are gaps in my memory from the Crease.”

“Perfectly normal, ma’am. You almost died.”

Vlora opened her mouth, frustrated at not being able to voice her frustration. “I know, I know. I’m just worried that the gaps are widening. That they’re happening to me still. Do you understand? I keep looking around for Olem, even though you and Davd and Bo have told me a dozen times that he’s on an errand.”

Norrine looked down at her rifle, which was slung across her saddle horn, then looked on toward the horizon without answering. Perhaps there was no answer. Vlora gestured dismissively. “Sorry, it’s not your problem.”

“It is my problem, ma’am,” Norrine responded slowly. “You’re my commanding officer. But I’m not great on advice. Better at shooting and fighting.”

“Me too, Norrine.”

“They say time heals all wounds. You probably just need time.”

“I don’t have any.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Vlora was relieved when she spotted Bo and Nila making their way from the column up toward her position. They approached, turning their horses to fall in on her opposite side from Norrine. Bo scratched his head, jerking his chin toward the horizon in the direction of New Adopest. “Does something feel off about this?”

It took a moment for Vlora to retool her thoughts and focus on the strategies she’d need to employ for the next few days. She’d felt a vague unease since this morning, but she’d just chalked it up to the fear she felt over gaps in her memory. She swept her gaze across the horizon, finding nothing worrisome, and turned to Bo. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I’m not, either,” Bo said. “You’re the trained strategist. I just feel like…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

It was Nila who spoke up. “Why is that bridge still there?”

The question set off a spark in Vlora’s mind, and that feeling of unease grew stronger. Bo was right. Something was wrong. She met Nila’s eyes. “They have to know we’re coming.”

“Absolutely,” Nila answered. “We have an entire field army. They should have known we were coming weeks ago and made preparations. And even if somehow they missed us, our fleet will have already engaged theirs. They know we’re here. They know about our approach.”

“I don’t follow,” Bo said.

Vlora snorted. For as brilliant as Bo was, he could be daft as pit at times. “There’s a Dynize field army between us and New Adopest, correct?”

“Yes.”

“If you knew that an enemy was on the way to relieve the city, wouldn’t you have burned all the bridges between you and them?”

Bo opened his mouth in a silent “ah-ha.”

“We’re not far,” Vlora continued. “We’ll be approaching their rear by the end of the day. So why aren’t they trying to slow us down? Where is their delaying action?”

“Maybe their general is an idiot?” Bo suggested.

“Maybe.” Vlora looked to the south, where the main trunk of the New Ad River slashed the Cape in two horizontally on the map. It was a wide, deep river and their destination was on the north bank – so she’d kept her army on the same side. But now something about its positioning bothered her. “Could this be a trap?”

“In what way?” Nila asked.

Vlora shook her head. “Perhaps they’re trying to lead us out onto the Cape and then bottle us out here with a bigger army?”

“That’s a terrible trap,” Bo pointed out. “We have an enormous fleet right off the coast. All we’d have to do is embark and land somewhere north or south of the Cape.”

“It would slow us down by a week or two,” Vlora reasoned. “Enough time for them to get reinforcements.”

“Are we reading too much into this?” Nila asked. “It could very well just be enemy complacence, or stupidity, or…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Put it to your generals. Or leave a brigade or two back here.”

The temptation to divide her forces was strong, but Vlora fought against it. Splitting the army now, with several field armies still south of them on the mainland, could just play into the enemy’s hands. This excursion to New Adopest was supposed to be a brief one, meant to isolate and break a portion of the enemy’s strength. “We stay as one.” She raised her hand, signaling for one of the half-dozen messengers awaiting her word down by the road. A boy in a loose-fitting uniform, probably no more than fifteen, rode up the hill and snapped a salute.

“Orders for General Sabastenien,” Vlora said. “I want him to send his cavalry across the New Ad, where they’ll shadow our movement, scout the south side of the river, and report back at regular intervals. Dismissed.” The messenger was off before she’d finished the last word, and she watched the boy go with a frown. “I do feel like I’m missing something,” she said.

“You have scouts ahead of the vanguard?” Nila asked.

“Of course.” Vlora stewed in her uncertainty. “If they haven’t burned any of the bridges, we’ll be within scouting range of the enemy siege by nightfall. We’ll find out what’s waiting for us then.”

The enemy, as it turned out, had only burned one bridge. It was the bridge between one of the smaller tributaries of the New Ad and the Dynize camp. The river was shallow enough to ford but deep enough to slow their crossing if the enemy decided to make a contest of it. And based on their defenses, they would make it a contest.

The Dynize army had formed a half-moon series of fortifications around the distant city of New Adopest with ditches, gun emplacements, and watchtowers. But they’d also done the same thing on the other side, facing outward, effectively turning their besieging army into a town capable of withstanding siege itself. The closest of the earthworks was placed just fifty yards beyond the river. Vlora could see, through her looking glass, the morion-helmed soldiers manning those earthworks and gun crews checking over the artillery that would face her were she to attempt a direct assault.

“They definitely knew we were coming,” Vlora said to no one in particular. She was surrounded by most of her general staff, all on horseback, and all examining the enemy and the city beyond them through their looking glasses.

“We can brush those aside with sorcery,” someone suggested. Vlora didn’t bother lowering her looking glass to see who.

“No, we can’t,” Nila shot back. “They have at least eight Privileged over there. I’m strong, but with just me and Bo we’ll have our hands full handling that many at once.”

“Davd?” Vlora asked.

Her powder mage hesitated for a moment before answering. “Those Privileged are hanging really damn far back. Almost to the front they have with New Adopest. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that they’ve learned not to get cocky around powder mages.”

“So they have strong positioning, and they’re being smart,” Vlora said. “That’s unfortunate.” She fought a spike of frustration. All of this would be so much easier with her own sorcery – she wouldn’t have to ask for reports on the enemy Privileged or use a looking glass to see the earthworks.

“It’s nothing we can’t take,” General Frylo said. He was an older man, a veteran of the army that Tamas built before the Adran-Kez War, and newly arrived with Bo and Nila. “But we’ll lose a lot of men doing it unless we can come up with something clever.”

Vlora swept her looking glass across the enemy fortifications, through the middle of their camp, and then to the buildings of New Adopest barely visible through the afternoon haze. There wasn’t a lot of high ground out here, so visibility was no more than a few miles, and even that was sketchy. The enemy could be doing practically anything behind those fortifications and she’d be none the wiser. She swung her looking glass to the river, where a few hundred Dynize cavalry were fording the river toward a token force holding south of the city.

“General Sabastenien, do we have word back from those scouts we sent across the river?”

Sabastenien shook his head. He was not much older than Vlora, in his mid-to-late thirties. He’d been a brigadier with the Wings of Adom mercenary company during the Adran-Kez War and then recruited to the regular army by Tamas. “They ran into resistance the moment they crossed. Dynize cavalry are screening us, keeping us from getting a foothold over there.”

“How many did you send?”

“Two hundred dragoons, with orders not to engage.”

“Send four hundred. I want to know what’s going on to our south, and I want to know by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Vlora considered the order, wondering if she should send more. The enemy might be contesting their scouts for some vital reason, or just to foul Vlora’s intelligence. She needed to know either way. But at what cost? “Make it five hundred,” she corrected. “And give their commanding officer discretion on whether to engage.”

“Of course, ma’am. Right away.”

Vlora turned her looking glass back on the enemy camp and listened for the distant report of cannon fire. If the Dynize had been shelling New Adopest before she arrived, they had stopped now. Perhaps they thought their guns would be better turned in her direction? They wouldn’t be wrong, of course.

“Do you see that?” someone asked.

“What?” Vlora asked, lowering her looking glass for a moment and sweeping the horizon.

“There.” It was Sabastenien speaking. “One o’clock. From their camp.”

Vlora followed his instructions and used her looking glass to find a pair of Dynize riders coming over the earthworks. They forded the tributary and began the long trek toward the Adran lines, waving a white flag. Neither soldier wore a breastplate nor any decoration.

“Deserters or messengers?” Bo asked.

“Messengers, by the white flags,” Nila responded.

Vlora could hear a very pregnant question in the air. The entire general staff had an air of expectation, and she could practically feel Bo wanting to ask if she was going to give the orders to shoot them. The terrible urge in her stomach certainly wanted her to. But these weren’t the soldiers that had almost killed her. She had to remain in control of herself. She lowered her looking glass and took her reins in one hand, then headed at a slow pace out to meet them. “Bo, Davd,” she called over her shoulder. “With me.”

She drew up a few hundred yards in front of her own lines and waited for the messengers to reach her. One was a middle-aged man with short-cut hair, thoughtful eyes, and a clean-shaven face. The other was an older woman – very old, looking just on the edge of frail. Her hair was dyed as black as Vlora’s and she had deep smile lines on her cheeks. It was the man who spoke, in broken Adran. “We’re looking for General Flint.”

“You’ve found General Flint,” Vlora replied. “What do you want?”

“We’re here on behalf of General Etepali of the Spider Brigades of the Emperor’s Immortal Army.”

“On what errand?”

“To seek an audience with General Flint.”

Vlora examined the two, unable to keep her lip from curling. They were too sharp-eyed, too clean and well-mannered to be common soldiers and yet they weren’t wearing anything that marked them as officers. She wondered if word from Lower Blackguard had spread ahead of her. She remembered meeting with the Dynize general just before the Battle of Windy River. Her head had been nothing but a trophy to him. Arrogant prick.

“Why should I agree to meet with your general?”

“Mutual respect,” the old woman said, spreading her hands wide.

“I’ve yet to meet any of your officers who looked at me as any more than a rabid dog waiting to be put down.”

The pair of messengers exchanged a glance, something passing between them. The man replied, “Mistakes were made.”

“I’ve splattered your mistakes across the hills of Fatrasta.”

“A good reason to talk to you rather than fight you, no?” the old woman asked. Her Adran was much better than the man’s. More refined and practiced. An interpreter, maybe? Or someone more important?

“A good reason for you to talk to me,” Vlora shot back. “Not the other way around.” Beside her, Bo cleared his throat. “What is your advice, Magus Borbador?” Vlora asked sharply, with far more acid in her tone than she’d intended.

“Never hurts to talk,” Bo said quietly.

“Doesn’t it? It hurts right now, and I have Dynize blades and bullets to thank for that.”

The messengers exchanged another glance. The woman nudged her horse forward a few steps. “A gift,” she said, tossing a bundle to Vlora.

Vlora fumbled the small package but managed to avoid the embarrassment of dropping it. It was a bit of cloth wrapped in twine. She managed to unbind it, and a small piece of metal dropped into her hand. It was a silver powder keg. No, not any silver powder keg. Hers, with initials carved into the back. It still had her blood in the grooves. “How did you get this?” she demanded.

“A dragoon,” the woman explained. “He cut it off your uniform just before your friends arrived from Adro. He played dead to avoid the slaughter, and then fled. He stumbled into our camp two days ago.”

“And why give it back?”

“It’s our custom,” the woman said, using two fingers to frame the small stud in her ear that looked an awful lot like a human tooth, “to take trophies from the dead. We do not take them from the living. General Etepali believed you should have it back.”

“Did he?”

“She,” the man corrected.

Vlora felt the urge to send the silver powder keg back, along with the heads of the two messengers. The thought had barely entered her mind when she shook it off. What kind of response was that? To what end? Was that really the woman she was becoming? “I’ll meet your general,” she snapped. “In my camp. Eight o’clock.”

“Do you give your word as an Adran officer that she will be unharmed?” the old woman asked.

Davd urged his horse up in a few quick bounds, bringing it abreast of the messenger’s mounts. “Don’t question my Lady Flint,” he growled.

The old woman seemed unperturbed. “Your Lady Flint has murdered numerous Dynize officers. My general hopes to keep her own life intact, at least until the actual fighting begins.”

“Stand down, Davd,” Vlora ordered. The last thing she wanted to do was speak with a Dynize officer. It would come to nothing, of course. The Dynize would not give up their prize of the godstones and Vlora would not give up trying to take them. But a small bit of honor managed to wriggle past the ugliness that had made a home inside her. Tamas himself had pinned this powder keg to her breast. Having it again, even without the sorcery that it represented, was no small thing. “I give my word. I’ll talk to her. But once the fighting starts…” She shrugged.

“Understood.” The messengers bowed and turned around, trotting back toward the Dynize earthworks.

Vlora returned to the general staff. Deep in thought, she barely heard someone asking her what had happened, and waved off any other questions. “Set up camp,” she ordered. “I want our own earthworks dug by morning in case of a counterattack. Make sure we secure the coast and have a line of communication with our fleet. Someone find out why Olem hasn’t returned yet. Oh, and set up the general-staff tent. I’m having a guest tonight.”