She glanced over her shoulder at the man weaving through the crowd, and turned back to the bar with a sigh. Huzar exhaled in relief. Pretty as she was, the less attention he drew from anyone, the better.
The newcomer swept back his own cloak, made of a fine but sturdy cloth with the Demoran royal crest on the collar, and joined Huzar at the table, bringing with him the strong scent of horse sweat and dung. He sat at an angle so neither man’s view of the room was obstructed. Unlike Huzar, he’d spent most of the winter indoors, and his southern complexion had lost some of its copper undertones. The arms he leaned on the table were also scrawny compared to the muscles Huzar displayed.
“You are late,” Huzar said in Demoran. He hadn’t spoken his native tongue in over nine months; only a trace of his accent remained. He could even say Jovan as the Demorans pronounced it, Shovan.
“My work has increased with all these arrivals,” the stablehand said. “Fortunately also my pay. Riders tip well for extra care of their mounts.” He pushed a small bag of coins across the table.
Huzar pocketed the money with a grunt. As much as he moved around, he didn’t have time to find steady employment, meaning every man he checked in with had to give him a small portion of his wages. “What news, then? I have seen many soldiers arriving.”
The other man nodded. “I hear rumors.”
Huzar held up a finger as the barmaid returned with a full mug. The stablehand grinned up as she set it before him, but Huzar didn’t dare look at her. Once she left, Huzar lowered his hand and waited for the man to elaborate.
“They say the king will restablish the Norsari.”
Having delivered this incredible statement, the man took a smug drink, letting it sluice over the sides and down his chin. Huzar blinked as he tried to process the news. Demora’s elite fighting unit had been disbanded over twenty years ago, as a disarmament condition of the truce after Kimisara’s last major campaign to reclaim the region of Tasmet. A weak and foolish move on the part of the Demoran king, but he’d been young and eager to be seen as a peacemaker at the time. The events of last year undoubtedly nullified the terms of the treaty, however.
Huzar tapped the side of his mug but otherwise held himself still. “I would not consider the fuss in Tasmet worth such action. Maybe only another year with the forces they have will be sufficient.” He was also surprised the Kimisar were still raiding Tasmet after all these months, but after three years of famine and blight, there was likely little to return home to.
“It would seem the Demoran king expects more trouble.”
Huzar had no knowledge of what his own nation planned, but given the state of Kimisara when he left last year, he doubted it had recovered enough to attempt an invasion. Only the alliance with the D’Amiran family had made last spring possible. The agreement had been distasteful from the start, but he’d followed orders. When it became obvious the Demoran duke had no intention of keeping to the terms, however, Huzar had ordered his men to abandon Tegann and return home. Unfortunately, a company of Kimisar had been stranded in Demora, on the east side of the Catrix Mountains, and Huzar had made it his mission to find them.
Once he did, he realized there were too few men to fight their way back, but too many to keep together for long. He’d ordered them to disperse into the Demoran countryside, find work, and lie low until the time was right to either escape or make a stand. To further throw the Demorans off, Huzar had taken a team to the border to make it look as though the group had crossed into Casmun. Perhaps none of it had worked as well as he’d thought.
“Trouble? From where?”
“Casmun. There have been signs of an alliance between our people and theirs.”
Huzar snorted. The Kimisar and Casmuni had common roots, but they hated each other even more than Kimisara and Demora. More likely the Demoran king was misinterpreting the trail Huzar had left going south, believing it was Casmuni testing the border as the Kimisar were known to do in the west.
He stroked the stubble on his chin, wondering if this was a positive or negative development. That the Demorans were confused could be an advantage, but once there were Norsari, it was only a matter of time before he and his men were hunted down and wiped out.
A Norsari unit would take weeks to train, though. Huzar probably had enough time to gather the 150 or so Kimisar scattered east and south of the capital and make a plan to get home. Information would be his primary asset until then.
The captain turned his eyes back to the stablehand. “If there are to be Norsari, who will be the commander?”
“I have heard one name more than any other.” The man’s grin displayed two missing teeth. “And it is one you will recognize.”
A few minutes later, the stablehand left to return to his job at the palace. Huzar ordered a third pint and barely noticed when it was placed in front of him. He did indeed know the name. Few in the city did not. But Huzar had special reason to know it.
Captain Alexander Quinn.
He’d long ago discovered the name of the lead soldier who escorted the women to the capital city for last summer’s Concordium. In scraping together information in the past months, Huzar was able to paint a clear picture of what had happened at Tegann. D’Amiran had been outfoxed, and Quinn had taken over the entire fortress with only a handful of soldiers. It appeared the Demoran captain would’ve succeeded even if Huzar and his men had stayed, the plan and its execution had been that solid. Quinn had also personally killed the duke.
An enemy one could respect was far preferable to an ally without honor, and Huzar bore him no ill will. He only wished to go home. It now appeared he would have to go through Captain Quinn to get there.
4
FROM HER SEAT within the giant willow tree, Sage watched Alex pace the garden path, pausing often to look in the direction he expected her to come from. She’d arrived several minutes before him and loosely braided her bath-wet hair as she waited. Maybe it was cruel, but she wanted to watch him for a few minutes, remembering the way he moved, savoring his eagerness. It was only fair, really, since he must have been spying on her in the tilting yards for quite a while.
He flexed his left hand as he walked, probably out of habit more than necessity now. It had taken weeks to recover full movement from the wound Alex had taken in the forearm at Tegann. He’d even admitted in his letters that he feared there was some minor permanent nerve damage. Alex wouldn’t want to make her worry, though, and Sage was concerned it was worse than he said. She’d have to ask his best friend, Lieutenant Casseck, for his opinion.
Sage nervously traced the silver-threaded designs on her dress. The blue brocade gown had cap sleeves and a neckline lower than she usually preferred, making her feel exposed. It was much too formal for a walk in the gardens, but everyone said it suited her coloring and played up her better features. Sage had actually come to like skirts in the past year. Well, perhaps like was too strong a word. She’d come to a greater appreciation of pretty clothes, even if she felt like a duck wearing swan feathers.
As the edge of the sun dipped below the high walls, Alex went to sit on the bench, bouncing his knees impatiently. Sage decided she’d had enough and called his name.
He jumped up and turned to squint into the thick, drooping branches behind him. “Sage?”
“I’m in here.”
Vaulting over the bench, he parted the curtain of leaves with his hands and leaned in. When he saw her, he scowled. “How long have you been here?”
Sage hopped down from the low-hanging limb. “Long enough.”
“Oh, you are going to pay for that.” He swooped inside the shelter of the tree and lifted her off her feet. She shrieked and flailed as he lowered her gently to the ground, then pinned her arms down so he could kiss her neck. “Say you’re sorry,” he whispered, his breath in her ear hitting her like a lightning bolt she felt to her toes.
“I can’t.” She giggled. “That would be a lie.”