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?”