When Forces Rise

by Meagan Hurst

  A muscle twitched in Midestol’s jaw. “Alright, I am going to regret this, but fine. What am I doing wrong?”

  Hiding a smile, Z shifted in her saddle again, the creature’s damned awful gait making her sore already. “Your supply trains for one. They aren’t manned well enough. You also probably have them set out last and reach your destination last—that wastes time. Send them out early in the morning so the army is behind them for a couple of miles and during your breaks send them and a detachment of guards ahead while your men rest.”

  “And when do they rest?”

  “The men sit in wagons all day, Midestol—they can probably manage everything from there. At night they can walk around and stretch their muscles.”

  “And the creatures that pull the wagons?”

  “You didn’t bring enough, but that’s your problem.” Z glanced at the large creatures that were even stranger than the one Midestol had put her on. “I don’t think they’re up for a faster pace. They have incredibly bad confirmation—don’t you ever take things like that into consideration when you’re experimenting? No wonder most of your creatures don’t work out.”

  “Creating something isn’t as easy as it looks, Zimliya.”

  “Distorting something you mean. You don’t create anything; you take what’s already in existence and screw with it to make it worse.”

  Midestol glanced at her and she backed down. She needed information and she was getting too close to angering him. “Back to the army’s mobility?” he demanded in a tone that warned her not to continue criticizing him.

  “It would be better if I could see it in action, then I can tell you what’s wrong with it.”

  Her grandfather watched her keenly before nodding. “Since you are going to be riding with me, you might as well be useful. Are your allies aware you’re with me?”

  “I am sure the Dragon will tell them when he returns.”

  “Ah, I had forgotten Nivaradros will be fighting alongside the many races he has harmed in the past. You aren’t worried about their reception of him?”

  “Since he’s leading the army? Not really.”

  She had a second’s pleasure; Midestol paled and stared at her as though he was certain she hadn’t been speaking to him correctly. “You gave Nivaradros your army? To lead? And everyone was okay with this?”

  “Well if they weren’t they made sure not to speak about their uneasiness of following the lead of a temperamental and violent Dragon. I have a feeling most of them are convinced it will be fine because Nivaradros will have all sorts of targets he can turn into piles of ash.”

  “I will believe that when I see it. He is the Warlord after all. I am not at all pleased to have him involved in the war, but as he seems to be rather possessive when it comes to you, and I can’t blame him, given your power. I suppose I should have suspected he would be on the field.”

  Z’s smile was ice. “Don’t worry, Grandfather—he’s leaving your death up to me.”

  Chapter 26

  “Really? Really? This is how he sets up camp? Are you kidding me?!” Z was certain her voice changed an octave as she watched Midestol’s men begin what appeared to be a very challenging ordeal.

  If chaos could be put into words or a picture Z was certain this would be the foremost of both. That and the foremost definition for the word disaster. If Midestol didn’t think his men needed help on the simple process of setting up a camp for the night he was clearly blind, stupid, or just plain arrogant. His men tripped over each other in a frenzied attempt to get to their tasks first. Which was mistake number one; never add speed until the task is perfected at a slower pace.

  Everyone was also fending for themselves—to hell with each other—which meant fights broke out and supplies were damaged or broken. Z watched for about fifteen minutes before stalking angrily over to Midestol’s tent and pushing past the guards who made the mistake of trying to detain her. She was well aware Midestol had possibly dragged a slave in for his amusement, but she didn’t care.

  And she need not have worried; the Midestol was alone and studying plans as she barged in. His guards hurried in after her, but Midestol waved them away without looking up from his papers.

  “Come in, Zimliya, and do take a seat.” The sarcasm in his voice was strong, but there seemed to be little heat behind it. “What brings you to seek me out already?”

  “I can name about a hundred and fifty reasons as to why your army moves so damn slowly when it comes to setting up camp and breaking it.”

  His papers weren’t as interesting as her words; Midestol lost at least one to the fire in his tent as he pushed them out of his way. “Do tell.”

  “You’re lacking organization. No one is really sure what they are supposed to be doing so they run into each other, try and do the same tasks, and then end up stalling because everyone is attempting to finish an already finished chore. Your men only look out for themselves and thwarting their neighbor is within the lines of acceptability if they are to get that perfect spot to set up their quarters.”

  “Power is important no matter where you are,” Midestol said with a frown.

  “Except it wastes time. If you want to make a statement of power then assign spots—draw up a basic outline of how to position your troops and make them conform to it. Also they can’t work for themselves here, Midestol. Assign duties to each group as a whole—have one group in charge of setting up the tents for example. Another group can help tend to the mounts. It’s chaos currently, and if I wanted to attack your army I would strike during your set up. I haven’t seen your break down process yet, but I presume it is just as bad.”

  He was watching her with the strangest light in his eyes. “Then fix it, Zimliya. Since I didn’t invite you to join my forces, you might as well make yourself useful. Prove to me your way is better.”

  “I’m female; your warriors won’t follow my commands.”

  “I will inform them that they are to do just that.” Midestol stood before nodding at a second cot that had been placed in his oversized tent. “You will sleep—if you truly sleep—in here with me. I don’t want you wandering around my army unsupervised at night.”

  “As long as you’re not raping anyone, fine,” Z retorted.

  Both brows rose before he inclined his head. “Agreed. Would you like to kill her yourself?”

  “I’ll pass. Let the girl go, Midestol.”

  “I’m afraid your only choices, Zimliya, are to kill her or to leave her alive, but in my grasp. When I kill you I fully intend to have at least one slave to enjoy on the way home.” He headed for the flap of his tent and gestured that she was to come as well.

  Letting the subject go, she followed him out of the tent and into the mass chaos what was still ensuing. Trying not to snap orders at everyone, Z exhaled as another fight broke out among Midestol’s forces. Midestol hissed and both men involved were suddenly lacking hands to grip the item they had been quarreling over.

  “Enough!” he boomed as he strolled into the thick of the disaster. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he gestured that she was to approach him and Z slowly obeyed.

  She wasn’t keen on walking into the center of his warriors who were already in a pretty rotten mood, but she had agreed to help Midestol get his army moving faster and she intended to keep that promise. Plus, she could see her presence no longer upset him as much as it had; she was once again his granddaughter. Which meant she was both on display yet allowed a fair amount of freedom. If one thing had come of revealing her lineage to Midestol—and several had come of it—it was the fact that whenever she was with him, she was treated far better than she had been in the past. Before, she had rarely been allowed to stroll around what he claimed as his. Now he barely blinked and seemed to enjoy showing her things. She knew he also liked to pick her brain at times.

  Reaching his side, she inclined her head politely to Midestol, as his men once again either glared at her or allowed their eyes to roam. Ignoring it was the best policy. Z glan
ced around the armed warriors in forged disinterest. Most of these she could tell had already seen battle; their injuries told her who had been involved in the attack on Arentria. Her people had fought back as best they could before the kingdom had been destroyed. She hoped Midestol lost some of his men to infections or worse.

  “Zimliya is a guest of mine,” he warned those around him. “Spread the word. She is not to be harmed. She is here to fight me, of course, but not today and she is to be harmed by no one save me.” A cruel smile touched his lips. “Besides, none of you could harm her. But, according to her, we are not as…organized with the setting up of camp as she thinks we should be. You will listen to her orders or I will remove you from existence. Understood?”

  The silence was cold but worried, and Midestol’s warriors instantly tried to repress their feelings—cruel or creepy—towards her. Her grandfather paused beside her on the way to his tent and spoke in a tone low enough that even her immortal hearing found it soft.

  “If they give you any problems—kill them. Do not hesitate or play nice. If it’s not painful their bad behavior will continue.”

  He left her in charge of his men who seemed to be trying to remember if Midestol had said they could kill her or not. Short term memory loss was never a good thing. Glancing idly at her sword, Z offered those closest to her a dark smile. She could see that it propelled several of them further into ill-humor. Women didn’t fight here, and the men who knew her hated seeing her in their midst while those who didn’t know her were trying to figure what made her special.

  “Alrighty,” she called out. “We’re going to do this my way, and as your Lord has given me permission to slaughter any who disobey, I’d listen closely. I don’t have the patience for forgetfulness.”

  It took hours to get everyone on target. Hours because she had to fight with Midestol’s forces and explain what she wanted over and over again slowly. Midestol ended up coming to her aid after she summoned another fireball and threw it into a small faction that was determined to fight her to their death. She helped them achieve that. Sensing Midestol’s approach, she spun to face him and crossed her arms as he arrived at her side.

  “Your men are absolute morons,” she told him. “If Tenia had been this stupid I would have destroyed the kingdom long before I did. We haven’t really gotten anywhere, and it further demonstrates to me just how much of a problem you have. It also hampers me because these idiots can’t get anything accomplished, which is preventing me from discovering if I need to tweak something to suit them specifically. I can’t do that until I can see where we are.”

  “As you say,” Midestol replied. His eyes found the charred remains of his men, and Z saw a cruel smile touch his features. He was pleased. Pleased that she had murdered more of his troops. Feeling slightly sick, Z kept her eyes on his face and ignored everything else. “What appears to be the problem?”

  She snorted. “They won’t listen. They seem to either be dumb as rocks or just too ingrained in their own little set of rules that my femaleness is just too much for them to handle. If you want me to make them behave I will, but you’ll lose half your army.”

  “That wouldn’t be any fun—although we would still outnumber yours,” Midestol seemed bored as he eyed his men. They knew that expression well, and those closest to him began to back up. “Zimliya, tell me what you want done one more time; I am sure they will listen carefully.”

  With the threat of Midestol at her side, Z did explain things one final time. This time, when she finished, everyone scurried to their duties and Z saw the chaos vanish immediately; much to the surprise of Midestol’s men. Once they saw her orders actually worked, they increased their efforts and it only took an hour longer to get the entire camp set up. Midestol was watching the proceedings with unfeigned interest and she could see approval in his eyes when he at last turned his attention to her.

  “Very well done,” he complimented her. “I see what you mean. Shall we?” he added as he offered her his arm. She accepted it without hesitation and allowed him to lead her back to his tent. He wasn’t ready to harm her and Z thought that this was possibly the safest she had ever felt in his presence.

  Ducking through the flap, Z found her cot had been well made up. It was still chilly at night here, but the majority of the snow had melted to make things more passable. She didn’t have her pack, but she wasn’t opposed to sleeping in her clothing. Sleep also wasn’t required, but time spent with Nivaradros had taught her how to sleep. Slipping under the blankets, she glanced over at Midestol and found his gaze was on her.

  “Yes?” she drawled.

  “Your aid today was appreciated. Thank you for riding with me.”

  Suspicious, she inclined her head. “You’re welcome.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. The very awkward, short conversation. Midestol headed to bed right after her words and she could hear him slip into sleep minutes later. At least he had the seasoned warrior sleep down. Closing her own eyes, she drifted off—hoping her army was ready to move when Nivaradros returned to them.

  Reaching out to her Dragon through the Ranger amulet, she felt his relief at her contact and smiled. Rather than speaking, she offered him a sight of what she had been privy to during her time with Midestol and steadied herself for his mental touch when he agreed. Her fear was unfounded. She barely felt his touch. It was more like a brush of wind and she felt his reactions to what he saw more powerfully than she felt his presence in her mind.

  Thank you. I am glad to see he is treating you well enough. The army is on the move—we left when I returned. They already know how to break and set up camp and I am certain we will move faster than Midestol’s forces. Not to mention the fact that as a smaller army, we can move faster.

  The knowledge of the differences in size worried her, but she ignored it. How angry is everyone that I am not there?

  They are not angry with you. They know you, Z. If you needed to be here you would be. You are needed elsewhere and they accept that.

  And the Mithane?

  Bids me to tell you he cares deeply for you and that you are not allowed to feel sorry for him or blame yourself for his demise. He is, the Dragon added in a strange tone, proud of you. I assured him I would inform you of that last part because he seems to think it is the most important. You will have to tell me why when we meet up again.

  Nivaradros’s tone told her they would meet again, and she found his words comforting in light of the way the day had gone. Smiling, she spoke with him for an hour more before she forced herself to sleep. Her last thought was of the Mithane, and she struggled to remind herself to accept the losses she had to.

  She awoke as Midestol left the tent before dawn. Rising as soon as he was out of the tent, Z straightened her clothing and grabbed Kyi’rinn. Heading out, she found the chaos of breaking camp was slightly better than the chaos of the night before, but Midestol seemed to be waiting for her to work her magic. Nodding once to him, she assumed the reins of command for a brief time and got his army organized into a more efficient method.

  She was willing to admit—as she watched them improve—that his system had probably been fine with a smaller army. His men had always been solid enough in the past. With an army of this size, however, every single mistake was magnified and only the most efficient methods would work.

  Their tent was packed for them and Z was again offered a mount. She accepted it politely and moved into her ‘official’ position on Midestol’s right. “Well?” she inquired as the army began to move.

  “Very well done,” her grandfather remarked. “I see why war is your thing. If you survive this, what will you do when it is over and unlikely to rise again?”

  Laughing, Z glanced over his army in a seemingly absent manner—taking count of the creatures he had with him and taking note of their design. “The immortals consider war an art. I am unlikely to be bored.”

  “I doubt a group of them would attack you.”

  “True, but I am s
ure someone will request aid.”

  Midestol regarded her with a curious expression. “You do realize, my dear, that you will only get one war then?”

  “I was born to war, but I am not of it. I will be fine, Midestol. Worst case scenario is that I only have to anger the Dragon to start a war.”

  Midestol chuckled and shook his head as he watched her. For an instant, Z saw the father he had likely been to her mother. “You are such an incredible power. It is a shame…” he didn’t finish and instead urged his mount to a faster gait.

  It didn’t matter, Z heard what he hadn’t said. Urging her own magic awful mount faster, she kept pace with him but didn’t speak. They rode in silence for the rest of the day except when Midestol occasionally shouted orders to his men. She felt his attention on her and knew his mind was running over the plans he had put in place to kill her. Which was fine; her mind was running over her plans to kill him. It was odd something so wrong could be so right. At least one of them would die in this war. Z remembered her promise to Nivaradros, and she intended to fight to keep it. Midestol, however, wanted to rule the world; they would have to see whose will was stronger.

  When they stopped for the night, Z had been in contact with her army and knew she could not stay with Midestol much longer. Nivaradros had control—full control—and he had assured her there were no problems. Shalion hadn’t returned, which meant Nivaradros was down a Shade, but Aysherino and Vryrnis were with him, and the Dragon had been quick to assure her the two Shades were very helpful. Which was good, since Z hadn’t had a chance to speak with them in some time.

  Dismounting from her creature, Z made her way over to Midestol as he started to give orders on where he wanted his tent to be set up.

  “You won’t need it,” Z warned. “Or at least you won’t need it here.”