“Who is this now?” The stranger walked right up to Milford and, scowling, stood with his hands on his hips.
“This here is Sergeant Milford, sir,” Gill answered, and the sergeant looked confused.
The stranger inspected him and shook his head. “Sergeant, where in Maribor’s name is your sword?”
“In my tent, but—”
“You don’t think it necessary to wear your sword when an enemy army stands less than a mile away and could attack at any minute?”
“I was sleeping, sir!”
“Look up, sergeant!” the man said.
The sergeant tilted his head up, wincing as rain hit his face.
“As you can see, it’s nearly morning.”
“Ah—yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Now get dressed and get a new picket on Gill’s post at once, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir!”
“Gill!”
“Yes, sir!” Gill jumped.
“Let’s get moving. I’m late as it is.”
“Yes, sir!” Gill set off following once more, offering the sergeant a flummoxed shrug as he passed.
The main body camped on what everyone called Bingham Hill, apparently after farmer Bingham, who grew barley and rye in the fields below. Gill heard there had been quite the hullabaloo when Commander Gaunt had informed Bingham the army would be using his farm and Gaunt would take his house for a headquarters. The pastoral home with a thatched roof and wooden beams found itself surrounded by a sea of congested camps. Flowers that had once lined the walkway had been crushed beneath a hundred boots. The barn housed the officers and the stable provided storage and was also used as a dispensary and tavern for those with rank. There were tents everywhere and a hundred campfires burned rings into the ground.
“Inform Commander Parker I’m here,” the stranger told one of the guards on the porch.
“And who are you?”
“Marshal Lord Blackwater.”
The sentry hesitated only a moment, then disappeared inside. He reemerged quickly and held the door open.
“Thank you, Gill. That will be all,” the stranger said as he stepped inside.
“You’re Commander Parker?” Hadrian asked the portly man before him, who was sloppily dressed in a short black vest and dirty white britches. An upturned nose sat in the middle of his soft face, which rested on a large wobbly neck.
He was seated before a rough wooden table littered with candles, maps, dispatches, and a steaming plate of eggs and ham. He stood up, pulling a napkin from his neck, and wiped his mouth. “I am, and you are Marshal Blackwater? I wasn’t informed of—”
“Marshal Lord Blackwater,” he said, correcting the man with a friendly smile, and handed over his letter of reference.
Parker took the letter, roughly unfolding it, and began reading.
Wavy wooden beams edged and divided the pale yellowing walls. Along these hung pots, sacks, cooking tools, and what Hadrian guessed to be Commander Parker’s sword and cloak. Baskets, pails, and jugs huddled in corners, stacked out of the way on the floor, which listed downhill toward the fireplace.
After reading the letter, Parker returned to his seat and tucked his napkin back into his collar. “You’re not really a lord, are you?”
Hadrian hesitated briefly. “Well, technically I am, at least for the moment.”
“What are you when you’re not a lord?”
“I suppose you could call me a mercenary. I’ve done a lot of things over the years.”
“Why would the Princess of Melengar send a mercenary to me?”
“Because I can win this battle for you.”
“What makes you think I can’t win it?”
“The fact that you’re still in this farmhouse instead of the city. You’re very likely a good manager and quartermaster, and I’m certain a wonderful bookkeeper, but war is more than numbers in ledgers. With Gaunt gone, you might be a bit unsure of what to do next. That’s where I can help you. As it happens, I have a great deal of combat experience.”
“So you know about Gaunt’s disappearance.”
Hadrian did not like the tone in his voice. There was something there, something coy and threatening. Aggression was still his best approach. “This army has been camped here for days, and you’ve not launched a single foray at the enemy.”
“It’s raining,” Parker replied. “The field is a muddy mess.”
“Exactly,” Hadrian said. “That’s why you should be attacking. The rain will give you the upper hand. Call in your captains and I can explain how we can turn the weather to our advantage, but we must act quickly—”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” There was that tone again, this time more ominous. “I have a better idea. How about you explain to me why Arista Essendon would betray Degan?”