“I have to get back to the Fourth Division. I need a healer.”
“Too far to travel tonight. We’ll get you patched up. Samu’s as good as any healer in the army. What’s your name?”
“Major Bertrek,” he said.
“Glad to meet you, Major Bertrek. I’m Sergeant Konrad of the Ninth Scouting Squad.”
“You’ll be wielding a pike when I’m through with you.”
I couldn’t help laughing. Not because I doubted Major Bertrek’s ability to punish me, but because the worst punishment he could imagine was something I’d already done for two years.
I brought Bertrek to our camp and, while Samu extracted the arrow, explained to my squad what had happened. I did my best to be respectful in my account, but the men couldn’t help snickering at Bertrek’s expense, which only served to infuriate him further.
The next morning, we broke camp and went with Bertrek down to a plain just west of the pass, where the Fourth Division was camped. Bertrek threatened various recriminations the entire way, and the men of the squad amused themselves by pretending to argue amongst them who would lead the squad when I’d been sent back to the pikemen. They seemed certain I’d be spared any severe discipline, but I wasn’t so sure. I could certainly defend my actions in terms of proper protocol, but in the army, rank has a logic of its own.
After Major Bertrek briefed Janos with his version of events, he was dismissed and I was brought into the general’s tent. It was well-appointed but by no means luxurious; the thing that caught my attention was a bookshelf filled with dozens of volumes, the titles of a few of which were familiar to me from my second-hand studies with Beata. I was surprised by the general’s size; he was barely over five feet tall, with a closely cropped crown of thick white hair. He was compactly built, with ruddy skin, fine features and small, intelligent eyes.
“My own scouts ran across the remains of a bandit camp just over the pass,” the general said. “Was that your work?”
“Yes, sir. We came upon them three nights ago. They’d taken three Barbarok women captive. We killed the bandits and released the two women who were still alive. The third had bled to death. We buried her and left the bandits for the wolves.”
The general nodded. “It’s how I knew there were Scouts in the area. The Barbaroki would not have been so kind.”
“Then you did send Major Bertrek to seek us out,” I said. “I thought he was a Barbarok spy.”
“I should hope so. Were you the outfit that sent word of the ambush at the bridge at Tsarnosz?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Colonel Avram sends his regards. You spared him from a slaughter.”
“That is good to hear, sir. It often seems that little use is made of our intelligence.” The insult had slipped out before I realized what I was saying, but the general took it with a good-natured smirk.
“Where have your travels taken you of late?”
“We trekked some forty leagues south of the pass, on the Barbarok side.”
“Any sign of the enemy?”
“No, sir.”
“I thought as much. They’ll be heading north this time of year, probing the passes north of Tabor Nev. I’ll send word to General Vasch in the First. Can you read?” He had seen me looking at his books.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Keleti?”
“I can speak it better than I can read it.”
“But you can read it? And write it?”
“With some effort, yes, sir.”
“Take a letter,” he said.
“Sir?”
“You’ve crippled my adjutant, and I urgently need a letter dictated. Unless you know of someone else in the vicinity who can write in Keleti, I need you to transcribe a letter.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, taking a seat at the little writing desk next to the library. I located a sheet of paper, uncovered the inkwell, and dipped a pen into it. The contents of the letter are of no consequence; it was regarding some private business he had regarding an estate he possessed in the hills southeast of Nagyvaros. When he finished dictating, he asked to see the letter. I blotted it and handed it to him.
The general frowned. “This is not verbatim,” he said.
“With respect, sir, I fixed some of the grammar.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“This letter is to a banker in Savros, sir? A man with whom you are on formal terms?”
“It is.”
“With your indulgence, sir: in a formal context, the Savros dialect uses the third person pronoun in place of the second person, which is commonly used in the southern towns. Use of the second person as dictated risks giving offense through assumed familiarity. It is no great trouble to change it back, as you see I’ve left a bit of space after the pronouns to fill in the missing letters. I thought it better to leave them off, as I didn’t wish to interrupt you, and it is easier to fill in than to blot out.”
The general stared at me. I could not, at that moment, identify the emotion behind those sharp eyes. “Where did you learn all this?”
Supposing he meant only the nuances of Keleti grammar, I said, “I’ve made a point of practicing Keleti whenever possible since I entered the service, sir, as it’s a prerequisite of being an officer. In my travels I’ve noticed subtle differences between the dialects of different regions, such as the one I mentioned.”
The general clearly was not satisfied with this answer, and I was obliged to explain to him how I had learned to read and write and have such an affinity for languages in the first place, which entailed telling him about Beata and my ambitions.
“You do not intend to make a career of the military, then?”
“No, sir. I hope only to advance as quickly as possible to attain such a rank and such wealth as necessary to wed Beata.”
“Were you trying to kill my adjutant?”
“No, sir. Only to wing him.”
“You could have killed him if you had wished to?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seem quite certain of yourself.”
“Yes, sir. Rodric the Archer is in my squad, and he gave me his bow rather than suffer the embarrassment of being bested.” This was, of course, something of a misstatement of the situation, but I felt it important to demonstrate to the general that I had quite intentionally opted not to kill Bertrek for fear that he actually be an officer. I knew Rodric wouldn’t mind the lie; in fact, I planned to rib him about it later.
“What other languages do you speak?”
“Only Eszeki and Yavesk fluently, sir. A little Prendish.”
“Can you fight close quarters, with a dagger or rapier?”
“Passably, sir.”
“Are you afraid to die?”
“I don’t think about it much, sir, although I suppose that’s the prerogative of young men. I’m no coward. I fear only one thing: that I will not be reunited with my Beata.”
“Then to you, death and life in the army are the same thing.”
“Yes, sir. In the event that I prove indispensable to the army or die in its service, I will be unable to fulfill my part of the bargain, and Beata will be free to wed another.”
“What if you both prove indispensable and die?”
“Then I suppose the army will shudder to a halt, sir.”
At this, the general could not restrain a guffaw.
“How would you like to be my new adjutant?” he asked.
Thinking he was continuing the jest, I replied, “Then I should be certain to learn the latest password, sir.”
“You will have to learn much more than that.”
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m at a loss. You do not really intend to replace your adjutant?”
“Why not?”
“He seems a competent man, and I’m just a Scout.”
“The Scouts are an odd bunch, and I’m not entirely certain I approve of your Corps on the whole, but I will say this much for it: it reveals the temper of men. Are all the men in your squad as
dedicated as you?”
“In their way, sir, yes. Perhaps more so, as they don’t have the distractions I have.”
“A goal can be a distraction or it can be a point of focus. Take Bertrek, who thinks of nothing but the glory of being an officer. I had thought Bertrek competent, but a man who can’t be bothered to prepare for a meeting with his allies is no better than one who joins a battle unarmed. And now that he can neither transcribe nor lift a rapier, he’s got three black marks against his name.”
“It’s a superficial wound. He will heal.”
“He will heal, and he will learn some humility, and perhaps he will regain a position as an adjutant some day. In the meantime, you will serve as mine. You’d receive a promotion and a pay increase.”
“I would be honored, sir, but my squad….”
“Surely you’ve led your men well enough that they can get by without you?”
“Yes, sir. That is, they’re more than competent, although I’m sure that has little to do with my leadership. They are all good men.”
“Then you’ll start tomorrow.”
“Does it have to be so soon, sir?”
“You understand, Konrad, that there is a fine line between nerve and insubordination?”
“Yes, sir. It’s only that I have a commitment that makes it impossible for me to start tomorrow.”
“Your only commitments are to the janissaries.”
“Yes, sir. This commitment was made in part for the good of the janissaries.” And so I was obliged to tell him of the agreement I’d entered into with Rodric. In three days, a year and a half would have passed since our fateful contest. The general acquiesced, and I returned to my squad and gave them the news. It might have been better for them had I left right then, without warning, as the next three days were among the gloomiest we’d experienced since the formation of our squad. Neither plague nor the elements nor the spear of the Barbaroki had managed to diminish our number, but our squad’s integrity had been compromised by ambition. I assured them I cared not for rank or prestige; it was only for the fair Beata that I would depart from men I had come to regard as brothers.
I gave the bow back to Rodric with an admonition to maintain his sobriety for the sake of the squad; as my lieutenant, he would now be in charge, at least until our superiors saw fit to replenish our number. He swore not to touch wine while we were parted, but I saw in his eyes the intense sadness of a man who lies because he would rather bear a burden alone than disappoint a friend. I suppose I hoped that a year and a half was enough time for him to begin to miss the feel of a bow in his hands, but he accepted the gift with grim resignation. I told myself that brothers though we were, there comes a time when a man must stand on his own, and the terms of our agreement had been satisfied. He wished me well in my new position and expressed his hope that the increase in salary and status would help me win the hand of Beata.
Chapter Six
I will not dwell on the two years I spent as General Janos’s adjutant. Although the general was not reluctant to personally lead his troops into battle, I saw little combat during that time, as this was the beginning of an extended lull in hostilities with the Barbaroki. The northern attack Janos anticipated never came about; it seemed the Barbarok army, having suffered a series of defeats (due in no small part to the successes of the Scouting Corps), was experiencing a crisis of leadership.
The general had chosen for his camp a location on the plain that was within three days’ march of all the Eastern Provinces south of the Kozepes and north of Keskeny Pass, and the threat of the mobilization of the Fourth proved such a deterrent that in two years we never moved at all. Thus I spent my days poring over maps and charts, reviewing intelligence reports, briefing the general, managing his appointments, writing letters on his behalf, and reading his books. I practiced riding and fighting with a rapier, and conversed with visitors to the camp in Eszaki and Prendish.
I do not expect to ever meet another man like General Janos. He was brilliant, well-read, fair-minded and decisive. I have spoken a bit of the way I had been able to inspire men to comply with my will without them being fully aware of it, which at the time seemed to me rather clever. I realized, after studying the general for a few months, that in some ways that sort of leadership is a hallmark of cowardice. It’s all well and good to push men toward a certain course of action, but true leadership means taking responsibility when things go wrong. If men don’t know whom to look to in a crisis, your clever plan will fall apart the moment it encounters someone else’s plan. General Janos could send you to your death and somehow you’d still think he was more vested in the outcome of the order than you were.
As I never drank or gossiped and proved to be a loyal and trustworthy assistant in all respects, the general quickly took me into his confidence. I became intimately familiar with his business dealings, which were complex and myriad, and his personal relations, which were simple and few. He had never married and had no offspring. Perhaps as a result of this, I became something like a surrogate son to him, although I understood that my predecessor had never enjoyed anything like this status.
Nearly two years after I became his adjutant, a plague swept through the camp and the general fell ill. The plague killed one in ten even of the younger men who contracted it, and the general, though in excellent health for his age, was neither young nor as strong as he had once been. Six days into his illness, it became clear that he would soon succumb. I had hardly left his side during this time, and at last he weakly signaled for me to take a letter. Being privy to all his affairs, I knew the general had no will; up until that moment he had been content to allow his estate to lapse into the ownership of the regional suzerain, as the law dictated. He now murmured into my ear a brief but all-encompassing document, which bequeathed all his possessions to me. When he was finished, he motioned toward the document. I blotted it and handed it to him. Satisfied, he pointed toward the door of his tent and held up two fingers, indicating that I was to locate two witnesses to sign the will, so that there would be no question as to his intent.
For five years I had saved every erme I had earned, spending little on food and nothing on wine, gambling or whores (those three mainstays of a soldier’s entertainment) and even with my pay increase my savings fell short of what I would need to purchase a farm capable of sustaining Beata and myself. The general had been born into some wealth, and his fortunes had only increased during his military career. With the creation of this will, the general had secured for me a future more prosperous than I could have hoped imagine.
I got up from his side, walked to the desk, took the cover off the lamp that burned there, and set fire to the paper. General Janos watched in horror as the document was consumed, and then affixed his eyes on me, silently accusing me of betrayal. Those eyes pierced my heart like knives, but I allowed no emotion to show on my face. I held his gaze as long as I could bear it, to be certain he knew that I was aware of the gravity of what I had done, and then turned and walked out of the tent. I never saw him again.
You see, I had learned something about General Janos: he could abide anything but the subversion of his own will. Although he’d been resigned to his death, he would now be obliged out of sheer spite to continue living. I informed the general’s lieutenant that I had been released from my position as adjutant, and as the general was in no condition to be questioned on the matter, I was immediately reassigned. Three days later I heard that the general had improved enough to be moved to a hospital in Troya, where it was thought the warmer climate would facilitate his recovery. He either would not or could not request to see me before departing.
The months following the general’s departure were among the most miserable I had experienced since joining the army. By a twist of fate, Major Bertrek had a few weeks prior been appointed as quartermaster for the Fourth, and he was in need of a clerk. Literacy is uncommon among infantrymen, and the job of clerk to the quartermaster was not one that was coveted by ambitious officers. So
when I, a lowly captain despite my proximity to the general, became available, the post was given to me. I am certain Bertrek relished my apparent fall from the general’s graces and looked to my appointment as an opportunity to seek revenge upon me for derailing his own career. He delighted in giving me orders that were nearly impossible to fulfil and then, when I managed to procure forty pounds of Ryannean tea or sixty yards of Troyan silk, pretended that he had requested no such thing and censured me for wasting the army’s resources on frivolities. I bore this stupidity with stoic aplomb, which drove him into a fury. I knew he wouldn’t dare take any official disciplinary action against me for fear of his game being exposed, so while my military career had stalled, he could do nothing to hurt me in earnest. I continued to save my ermes, hoping that the lull in hostilities would persist long enough for me to seek an honorable discharge.
Some five months after the general’s departure, I received a letter from him, written in his own hand. He informed me that he had recovered from his illness but, finding that he lacked the energy to return to his former duties, had retired to his estate near Almos, some ten leagues to the southeast of Nagyvaros. The estate, he said, held great promise but was in rough shape due to mismanagement by the previous owners; he asked if I would be willing to stay in one of the little cottages on the property and manage the estate for a small salary. The cottage, the letter said, was scarcely big enough for two, but there was no reason it couldn’t be expanded if Beata and I intended to have a family. He made no mention of our final meeting.
I was, as you can imagine, nearly overwhelmed with joy and gratitude at the idea. The possibility of not only marrying Beata, but of living near the man whom I had grown to think of as a second father (and whom I had never expected to see again!) was almost too much for me to take in. The general had even had the foresight to include a letter requesting an honorable discharge for me, which I might show to my commanding officer. I did this the very same day, not bothering to hide my glee from Major Bertrek, who turned stark white as he read the letter. Regardless of his grudge against me, no officer would dare gainsay a request from a legendary general such as Janos. I penned a letter to Rodric, informing him of my plan. Two days later, I left the camp with my discharge papers in my pocket.
The Brand of the Warlock Page 5
