“If they did, they wouldn’t be soldiers. I say let them enjoy themselves while they can. We might be fighting those Fatrastans soon.”
Vlora’s stomach clenched, and she instinctively glanced south toward the Dynize camp. Hammer and anvil. The arrival of the Fatrastans had only delayed the inevitable. How much more time did she have to plan until the enemy decided to strike? How long could this standoff last? Hours? Days? Weeks? And when it finally happened, which army would turn on her first? “We could turn them against each other,” she murmured.
“Eh?”
“The Dynize and Fatrastans. If they didn’t both want my head, they’d focus entirely on each other. They’d barely even notice us.”
“We could fake your death,” Olem suggested.
“I’ve never been good at such crass deception,” Vlora said with a grimace. “Besides, it’s too obvious. We need something more subtle.”
“Distract them and slip away?”
Vlora caught sight of a figure walking up the slope toward them, and she thought she recognized the shadowy form. “Perhaps,” she said slowly. The figure stopped some twenty yards away.
“General? Colonel?” a voice called.
“Up here,” Vlora responded.
Olem squinted into the night. “Is that Gustar? I haven’t seen him since the battle.”
Vlora waited to answer until Gustar had reached them, snapping off a shadowy salute. “Ma’am, sir. Major Gustar reporting in.”
“Gustar,” Vlora explained to Olem, “was one of just a handful of officers who wasn’t wounded the other day.”
“Pure luck, ma’am,” Gustar interjected.
She continued. “Right after the battle, I sent him and a squad of dragoons as far north as they could go in twenty-four hours. I’m glad you made it back in one piece, Major. What can you tell us of the road to the north?”
Gustar removed his hat, dragging a sleeve across his brow. “The short version, or the long version?”
“The short, for now.”
“Very good. I can tell you that the Second Field Army came down the Hadshaw from the Ironhook Mountains via keelboats. They stripped everything on their way—supplies, conscripts, local militias. From what we could discover, every town for a hundred miles in that direction pooled everything they had into the Second Army.”
“Leaving them defenseless,” Olem said flatly.
“Yes, sir.”
“If only I were the pillaging type,” Vlora murmured. “Go on.”
“Supposedly there are two more armies on their way down from Thorn Point and Brannon Bay, but with the seas compromised, they could take weeks to arrive. No one knows anything about the armies recalled from the frontier to the northwest.”
“They’ll come down the Tristan River,” Vlora said. “I’m not worried about them. Just what’s north of us.”
“That’s it,” Gustar said. “If we head northeast, we’re not going to run into anything. There’s no word of the Dynize landing this far north, and everything Lindet has between us and New Adopest is contained in that army across the river.”
“Excellent,” Vlora said. “You and your men help yourself to a double ration and hit your bunks. You deserve to sleep in tomorrow.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Another salute, and the major headed back down the hill.
Vlora waited until he was out of earshot, and said, “Gustar fought in two battles and didn’t blink an eye when I ordered him to ride for forty-eight hours straight. The man deserves a promotion.”
“Agreed,” Olem said. The tip of his cigarette flared. “Were you going to tell me about this scouting mission?”
“I …” Vlora wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t told Olem. “It didn’t seem important at the time, and we’ve been more than a little busy the last two days. I sent Gustar on a whim. I didn’t expect the path from here to New Adopest to actually be clear.”
“So we are going to try and slip away, then beeline it to the coast and head for home?”
“It’s not elegant,” Vlora admitted. “But yes, that’s my backup plan. It may be our best bet of getting out of Fatrasta alive.”
“If we can give two major armies the slip.”
“Exactly.” Vlora scowled at the sea of campfires across the river. “Did you ever tell me who’s in command over there?”
“A woman named Zine Holm.”
“Never heard of her.”
“She’s a Starlish noblewoman. Fought in the Fatrastan War for Independence as a soldier of fortune, and has been commanding armies against the Palo since.”
“Competent?”
“As far as I know, though I think this is the biggest army she’s ever commanded.”
Vlora considered this for several quiet minutes, working through the various plans in her head and trying to create something coherent enough to actually work. “Get me a meeting with her. Also with the Dynize general, whoever the pit that is.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. No, wait. Tonight. As soon as possible. Tell them it’s urgent, and we’ll meet at a neutral location.”
She could practically hear Olem grimace. “I’ll try, but …”
“Make it happen.” She tugged on the shoulders of his jacket, feeling a real chill for the first time tonight. “I’m going to try to sleep for a couple hours. Wake me up as soon as you’ve set up those meetings.”
Three hours later, Vlora rode north along the Hadshaw River Highway with Olem and a dozen handpicked bodyguards. She half listened to a corporal droning on about supplies and yesterday’s casualties, sniffing a few granules of powder at a time just to stay awake. Across the river, most of the Fatrastan fires were out and the night was all but silent. Occasionally her sorcery-enhanced senses spotted sentries along either ridge of the river valley—Fatrastan on the west side, and hers on the east.
They reached a crossroads and small keelboat landing, where a party of equal size awaited them on the dusty shore. Torches flickered in the light breeze, casting shadows on sunflower-yellow uniforms.
“Did you hear back from the Dynize?” Vlora asked quietly as they dismounted. She kept her eyes on a forty-something-year-old woman in the center of the waiting group, uniform decked out with medals and the black epaulets of a Fatrastan general.
“I did,” Olem responded. “The Dynize general refuses to see you. He’s convinced it’s a trap, and that you hope to get him alone for an assassination.”
“He’s smarter than his colleague we met a couple days ago,” Vlora said. “Which is unfortunate. I need to size him up. For now I’ll have to satisfy myself with Holm.” She handed her reins to one of her bodyguards and crossed the distance between her and the Fatrastans without preamble.
“General Holm.” Vlora held out her hand. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”
“General Flint.” Holm took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. She was a stocky woman, broad at the chest with hands as big as a grenadier’s. She had smile lines at the corners of her mouth and friendly eyes that Vlora was more likely to see in a tavern owner. “I’m a big admirer. This is an odd time to meet, but I’m a night owl anyway and I figured you had something important to say.”
Vlora tried to gauge the Fatrastan general, but found herself lacking. Holm didn’t seem like the hard-bitten type forged on the frontier, nor the soldier of fortune Olem described. “To be honest, I thought we should meet as soon as possible, and this is the first time I’ve been able to pull myself away from my duties.”
“I see.” Holm clicked her tongue as if mildly annoyed. “Well, we’re here now. I’d like to congratulate you on your victory the other day. My scouts arrived just at the tail end, but I’m told it was rather something—holding the line against a superior force until your cavalry could hit them from behind. Exactly what I’d expect from Lady Flint.”
“I’m flattered, General. But I either win or die. I prefer to do the former.”