by Stina Leicht
FOUR
“Sir?” Jarvi asked in a hushed voice. “Sir, are you awake?”
Nels blinked dry, stinging eyes and sat up. “I am.” He wasn’t entirely certain that was the truth, but it was a near-enough approximation. The area at the foot of the bridge was very dark. Shivering, he sensed more than saw Jarvi’s presence and knew that if he could see, his breath would be forming little clouds. Thank Hasta and Viktor for the dry clothes.
“I heard something,” Jarvi whispered, and then pointed down to the tree-lined road to the south.
The last vestiges of sleep left Nels with a jolt. “What did you hear, exactly?” He glanced around in search of Viktor. The korva was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean anything.
“Movement,” Jarvi said. “Could be a deer. Could be a scout. For all I know, it’s the whole cursed Acrasian army.”
“Viktor?” Nels asked.
“Came back a quarter hour ago and then took off down that direction,” Jarvi said.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“He said to let you sleep,” Jarvi said. “Said he’d go for one last look and then be right back.”
Nels swallowed. The bad feeling grew worse. “And Kauranen? Was he able to make her listen?” To his relief, he saw the shadow-Jarvi nod.
“Said she’d took it well enough, all things considered. Oh, he said that you owe him twenty-five falcons.”
“What for this time?”
“He had to bribe Kauranen’s corporal. Kauranen was asleep.”
“Viktor can wait in line behind my tailor,” Nels said, feeling slightly better. We’ll be okay. Kauranen is smart. She’ll think of a way out of this, he thought, and then paused. Hasta, please let her think of a way out of this.
Something in the brush at the side of the road let out a grunt.
“Do you think that’s Lieutenant Reini?” Jarvi asked.
Nels rolled up his blanket and stuffed it in his ryggsack as quietly as possible. “If it is, then the Acrasians tied an entire string of corpses to his ankles.”
Jarvi half crawled to the farthest set of fuses leading to the second bridge. Nels followed suit, taking up a position at the first bridge. Jarvi had charged the powder, fuses, and matches with magic. Nels could sense it in the hemp braid in his hand. He told himself it was impossible for him to ruin it. All he had to do was wade in and light the thing.
A shadow moved close. Nels started, dropping the slow match.
“The Acrasians are on their way,” Viktor said, plucking the match from the air before it hit the ground.
Nels whispered a curse. “Damn you, Reini.” He could easily imagine Viktor’s crooked smile. “How much time do we have, do you think?”
“Oh, about as long as it takes for them to discover their scouts aren’t coming back,” Viktor said. “An hour. Maybe two. Acrasians aren’t the smartest—”
If the Acrasians are so stupid, why are we the ones in the trap? “Isn’t that tipping our hand?” Nels asked.
“Not really. They know the brigade is here,” Viktor said. “But I think we still have the advantage as far as the bridges are concerned.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“It has been rather a long night, I must say. Is Jarvi ready?”
“In position,” Nels whispered. “Were you able to get the word to the company?”
Viktor said, “Things go bad, the others will meet us at the crossroads two miles outside of Herraskariano. Then we’ll head for Jalokivi together. I didn’t tell Pesola, of course.”
“No?” Nels attempted to keep the question casual.
“Swive him,” Viktor said. “Told Westola everything, though. Not sure she’ll wait for the lines to break. That woman can move fast when she sets her mind to it.”
Nels thought, Good. With Ilta gone, we’ll have need of a healer. “And the army families?”
“Most started packing before I finished speaking. A few plan to take their chances in Merta. City is empty for the most part.” Viktor shrugged. “They’ll have plenty of safe places to hide should the need arise.”
“Assuming the Acrasians don’t burn it down around them,” Nels said. If what Petron said was true, Nels had a hunch the Acrasians would do anything to possess Merta’s silver mines. Briefly, he wondered if those in charge had taken that into consideration before evacuating.
Viktor said, “And here I thought a bit of sleep would improve your outlook.”
“Take this, will you?” Nels gave Viktor the lit match. “I’m going to talk with Jarvi one last time.”
“Let me do it.”
“Why?”
Viktor gazed down at Nels’s boots. “Do you have to ask? Besides, I’m faster and—” He tilted his head as if listening. “Your friends the Acrasians are early.”
FIVE
The morning sun advanced on the horizon as night retreated to a murky gray. Nels could now see what they faced. Every detail of the Acrasian army seemed engineered for intimidation. The troops crowded the Virens Road in precise formations, their gray uniforms only a shade lighter than the early morning sky. The shape of the officers’ helmets reminded Nels of ax blades. The army moved with a lethal perfection he’d witnessed only in the most elite units. Rows of gray uniforms stretched as far as he could see. Drummers tapped the rims of their instruments, marking a precise beat. The sharp edges of bayonets raked the sky as the troops marched. Thousands of boots tramped the road in unison and echoed like thunder throughout the valley.
Nels fought both admiration and a visceral need to flee.
Viktor whispered, “Great Mother.”
Nels said, “Magic isn’t everything.”
“Bite your tongue.”
“How’s Jarvi?”
“Ready. Said to remember to light the fuse and then run.”
“Wouldn’t do much good to do it the other way around.”
“He meant get out of there as fast as you can. Don’t play around in the water down there. The quick fuses are short-timed,” Viktor said.
Nels nodded. He didn’t bother removing his boots and coat but left his ryggsack, watch, and saber with Viktor. Keeping his back to the bridge, Nels quickly made his way to the water’s edge. The scent of burning hemp and sulfur mixed with river mold as he took a deep breath and eased into the icy river. Unable to see, he felt for the abrupt drop-off with the soles of his boots as he went. At the ledge, he said a quick prayer to Hasta and took several deep breaths before launching himself toward the bridge support one-handed. He kept his right hand above his head in order to save the slow match from the water. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance, and his head briefly dropped beneath the river’s surface. Panic squeezed his chest for three heartbeats. Then his forward momentum got him to his destination. His left palm slapped cold, slick stone. Gulping for air, he saw he’d managed the journey without soaking the match. He hugged stone and mortar one-handed and anchored himself on the first arch support as best he could in the strong current. He was up to his neck in the water. His teeth once again began to clatter. Squeezing his eyes shut against the cold, he felt the thundering vibration of hundreds of footfalls in the freezing stone against his cheek. The army’s passing rumbled in his ears, briefly making him forget his clenching balls.
It was then that he noticed the early morning shadows under the bridge had retreated, taking with them most of the available cover. He stretched to see over his shoulder. The Acrasians marched over the smaller bridge to the east. It occurred to him that all anyone had to do was look down at the waterline, and they would spy him at once. The burning end of the slow match trembled in the darkness. He attempted to steady his hand. His grip on the support slipped, and he almost slid from his precarious underwater perch and lost the match. His heart raced, and his breath came in ragged gasps as his chances of drowning began to rival his chances of being shot. Once again stable, he risked turning his head to face the riverbank and Viktor. Now Nels’s left cheek rested against the slimy suppor
t. While he waited for Viktor’s signal, Nels tried not to think of how many Acrasian troops were crossing—how many would form ranks between them and what remained of the Eledorean army.
Please, Hasta. Don’t let them see us.
At last, Viktor signaled that it was time and then waved to Jarvi. Concentrating on not inconveniently drowning, Nels almost missed it. He pulled himself out of the water a few inches, stretched his arm up high, and applied the slow match to the fuse until it caught. Pausing to assure himself it would stay lit, he then abandoned the slow match to the water and dove for shore. The instant his boots touched muddy riverbank, he shot up the beach. Then he grabbed his things from Viktor and headed up the incline at a dead run—or the nearest approximation possible in waterlogged boots. Seemingly unaware, the Acrasians formed ranks. Nels and Viktor crested the top of the riverbank. An Acrasian shouted a loud warning. Shots peppered the ground at their feet.
Both bridges exploded.
Nels squeezed his eyes shut against the glare. The blast hurled him face first onto the grass. The sound of the explosion was all at once huge and then just as suddenly gone. He felt the low rumble deep inside his chest and in the earth beneath him. Chunks of debris landed everywhere. An eerie silence blanketed a world of searing heat. Someone grabbed his arm. Rolling onto his side, he saw it was Viktor. A heavy weight on Nels’s legs shifted. He looked and saw it was the burned, armless body of an Acrasian soldier. He kicked himself free. Turning back to Viktor, he put out a hand, and Viktor tugged him to his feet. Suddenly, something thumped Nels in the left side—hard, knocking him to the ground. Lying on his cheek, he watched chunks of grass hop like insects. He blinked. That’s gunfire. Move! Scrambling to his feet, he fought fuzzy-headedness and pain. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Both bridges were smoking ruins. Only a stub of the center support remained, and the spot where he’d lit the fuse was entirely gone. Singed bodies of horses and men choked the bloodstained water littered with burning equipment parts. The earth shuddered with the impact of cannon balls, signaling the arrival of the Eledorean forces.
We did it, Nels thought as he ran.
On the opposite bank, order overcame chaos. The first Acrasian line fired and then dropped to their knees, reloading while the second line emptied their guns. A vast cloud of smoke rolled over the battle like a cresting wave. Soldiers fell dead or wounded. Nels tasted sulfur-laced smoke. Shouting at Viktor, Nels noted how strange and distant his voice sounded to his own ears. Viktor didn’t seem to hear him. At the edges of his vision, Nels spied the Eledorean charge. He got the feeling something was wrong, but didn’t have time to think about it.
Where is Jarvi?
As if summoned, Jarvi appeared, and with the wave of an arm, a cloud of smoke descended upon them. Nels kept a close eye on both Viktor and Jarvi in the haze. It would be easy to lose his sense of direction as they fled through the confusion. The plan was to keep to the eastern edge of the battle, away from the artillery, and then pray they wouldn’t be mistaken for the enemy by their own troops.
Sound slowly drifted back into its proper place, and cannon blasts matched up with flashes of light in the smoke. Nels sensed rather than saw motion to his left and turned. Three Acrasians ran at them with bayonets. Although he knew he would be too late, his hand went to his saber anyway. Viktor whirled, firing his pistol. One of the Acrasians dropped dead. The other two slammed into Nels and Jarvi. Nels twisted away from the bayonet blade. At the same time, he drove his saber into the second Acrasian’s neck and shoulder. A musket went off nearby. The bayonet sliced the front of Nels’s coat, and he felt a hot line scored across his solar plexus. He heard Jarvi let out a pain-laced grunt in the haze. Warm blood fountained from severed arteries. Nels lost track of time as, all at once, he felt the Acrasian’s life ebb away. He’d forgotten to prepare himself. Tensing, he anticipated what would come next.
Private Cole Harrison, an orphan from Novus Salernum. He joined the army to feed his sisters. He was sixteen—
“Answer me, damn it!” Viktor asked, “Nels?”
“Only nobles have gens,” Nels said, half-drowned in the dead private’s last thoughts. “Their ranks are filled with the poor.” He didn’t know why that came as a shock. Eledore wasn’t that different in that sense. The feeling of watching himself from a distance sapped urgency from the battle. “Magic. No quarter. They’re killing us because they’re terrified.”
“You’re hurt! How bad?” Viktor asked.
“You don’t understand. They’re afraid.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Viktor said. “Did you get hit in the head?”
The hand Nels used to check his side came away covered in blood. He looked down and the distant feeling vanished. “Oh, shit.” He paused. “Jarvi? Where’s Jarvi?”
“We can’t stop here,” Viktor said, checking the wound. He swept hair from his forehead. “Bayonet missed, by the look of it. It’s only a scratch.”
He touched his face. He’s lying. The pain was definitely getting worse, but Nels didn’t have time for it. “Jarvi!” The smoke was clearing. He didn’t take it for a good sign.
“Here, sir!”
Nels went to the sound of Jarvi’s voice. Jarvi lay on the ground a few feet to the right. From the look of him, he’d been shot but not badly. Nels helped him up. “Viktor, Jarvi has been hit.”
They each got a shoulder under Jarvi’s arms, and together they continued east. Jarvi’s control over the smoke was fading and so was their cover. Nels caught Viktor’s eye.
“It’s okay. There’s not much farther to go,” Viktor said.
Jarvi said, “Too hard to focus.”
“You’ll be fine,” Nels said. “We’ll get you to Westola. She’ll patch you up.”
“They’ll see us,” Jarvi said. Blood covered half of his face from a slash over his right eyebrow.
Nels said, “Just concentrate on walking. We’re on our side of the fight now.”
With that, they pushed north. It wasn’t long before the trees thinned, and a blood-freezing scream pulled Nels’s attention to the left. He had time to register the black-and-blue uniform of the attacker before a saber blade carved a swathe of bark from a tree three inches from his ear. Jarvi dove for the tree trunk as Nels released him.
“We’re from the Seventh too, damn you! We’re friends!” Viktor shoved at the private rather than stabbing him.
The private roared and charged at Jarvi. Jarvi managed to dodge his clumsy thrust. That’s when Nels spotted the private’s wide, blank eyes.
“He’s been compelled. Jarvi,” Nels said. “Look out. Viktor—” The private isn’t going to stop. He can’t.
The private executed yet another graceless attack. Jarvi sidestepped and then hit the private on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. Nels heard a loud crack. The private went down like a marionette with severed strings.
Jarvi fell to his knees next to the collapsed private. Viktor picked up the private’s wrist and checked for a pulse.
“Is he all right?” Nels asked.
Viktor shook his head.
“I killed him,” Jarvi said. “He wouldn’t listen! I didn’t hit him that hard. I—”
Nels leaned against a tree to catch his breath. The cut along his belly stung. His side was throbbing in dull agony. He risked a downward glance and touched the wound. His left side and the lower half of his shirt and coat were dark with blood. Both hung open via a horizontal rent. He found he’d been cut but not disemboweled. I’m alive. He felt dizzy and light-headed. Don’t pass out yet. We’re not out of danger. Rough bark scraped his palms. Guns. Reload your guns.
“He wouldn’t stop. I didn’t mean to—”
“He was compelled,” Nels said, and began the routine of checking and loading. “Magic. There wasn’t anything you could do.”
“Why?” Jarvi asked.
Nels remembered his earlier sense of wrongness and had an evil thought. Please. I don’t want to be right this time.
Oh, Mother. Oh, Hasta. “Someone decided to prevent desertion.” The back of his throat was slick. The sick feeling in his guts wouldn’t go away.
“Like an animal? It’s against the Articles of War. Who would do such a thing?” Viktor asked. “Sit, Jarvi. Let me get a bandage on you.”
What if it’s not merely a squad? What if it’s the whole brigade? Nels swallowed the questions. Please, not my company. Finished with reloading, he concentrated on keeping watch for another attack while Viktor tended Jarvi.
“Why not withdraw?” Viktor asked. “Or regroup? Commanding someone to fight to the death? It makes no sense!”
It would be easy. The colonel compels his officers—specifically those with the ability to do the same. They in turn command others. There were enough with command magic among the officers to spread the order like a disease. You only think it’s Pesola because you want him to be guilty. But Nels knew Kauranen would never do such a thing, nor would Lindström. You don’t know that is what has happened. You don’t—
An explosion to the west shook the earth. It was followed by three more.
“What was that?” Viktor asked.
“Artillery. Not ours,” Jarvi said between clenched teeth. “Acrasian.”
“How do you know?” Viktor asked, tying off the last bandage.
“By the sound. Swiving hells, it’s coming from the west,” Jarvi said, a sick look on his face. “That other brigade you warned Kauranen about? I think they’re here.”
With Jarvi patched, Nels and Viktor got him back on his feet, and then headed farther north into the woods. They kept out of sight along the edge of the road until they ran out of cover. Looking west, Nels spied a column of smoke. The manor house was in flames. Neat formations of Acrasians had cut through the Eledorean ranks as if nothing were in their path. Still, the Eledoreans fought. The Acrasians were paying a terrible price, but it wasn’t enough to halt the tide. Finally, some of the Eledorean forces broke ranks and ran. The Seventh in their Eledorean blue uniforms were drowning in a sea of gray.
