by B N Miles
“Just doing what’s right,” he said.
“Miuri tells me you also liberated a prisoner camp.” Sirrin tilted a head. “I’d like to hear more about it.”
“I’ll tell you what I can,” Cam said.
“Good. For now, let’s regroup. I have to get this rabble organized. Feel free to take what you need. We’ll make camp in the morning for a few hours, come find me then.”
Cam nodded. “I will.”
“Good.” Sirrin turned to one of the guards nearby. “Ormari, show them to the water cart and get them something to eat. And make sure their men are taken care of.”
The guard nodded. He was a dark-skinned man with a shaved head, leather armor, and a long sword at his hip.
“Come with me,” Ormari said.
Theus and Dagan walked off to check on the men while Miuri, Key, and Felin went with Cam. Ormari led them along the army’s line toward another cart laden with supplies and large water skins hanging off the back. He showed them how to turn the little spigot to get water then left them to their own devices.
Cam washed his face and hands then took several large gulping drinks. The girls followed suit.
“God, that feels good,” Key said, splashing the water on her face.
He grinned at her. “Second time I’ve heard you say that tonight.”
She splashed some water at him then let Miuri take a drink. Cam stood back and watched the girls talk and laugh as they drank and walked along behind the cart. They spoke in that nervous, jittery way people did after a major fight, the adrenaline still coursing through them, but he knew they were all tired and barely holding on. He felt his own exhaustion in every muscle in his body, but as he watched his girls smile and joke and share water, nothing else mattered in the world.
As Felin and Key fell into step beside each other, Miuri hung back. Cam put an arm over her shoulder and ignored looks from soldiers marching nearby.
“What do you think of him?” Miuri asked.
Cam glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the heavy infantry bringing up the rear of the column.
“Sirrin?” he asked.
“He acts modest,” she said. “And maybe he really is. But I don’t know.”
Cam grunted. “I don’t know him well enough yet. He seems… strange, though.”
“I know what you mean. I noticed that too.”
“Where’s he from?”
She shrugged. “I never asked, and he never said. I assume he’s from a village in this region, but I don’t really know.”
“Do you think we have to be worried about him?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “He’s outgoing and the soldiers like him, but he’s not a general and he doesn’t take naturally to leadership. I think your little Captain Brice hates his guts.”
Cam dropped his arm from Miuri’s shoulder. “She’s not my anything,” Cam said.
“Please. You saw how she was looking at you, right?”
“I think she was looking at you the same way.”
Miuri laughed and shook her head. “Not even close,” she said. “And besides, she’s pretty, right?”
Cam gave her a flat stare. “Miuri.”
“What?” She grinned at him and fluttered her eyelashes, the perfect image of innocence.
“We have enough to worry about right now,” he said. “And I’m not sure I need another… you know.”
“Another girlfriend?” Miuri leaned up against him, a big grin on her face. “Who says it would be for you?”
He sighed and looked up at the sprawl of stars in the sky.
“You’re going to drive me insane,” he said.
“Oh, darling shaman, the whole point of getting more girls is to make sure that never happens.” She reached up and touched his face, and her expression changed. “You did good tonight, Cam.”
He looked at her and took her hand in his. “Thanks,” he said, but shook his head and glanced down at the rock-strewn road. Shadows cast by lamps and torches made the dirt dance and flicker. “I feel like I keep making mistakes.”
“Of course,” she said. “You can’t get through this without making some.”
“But when I make bad decisions, people die.”
“That’s what happens when you’re a leader.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re not forcing anyone to follow you. They do what you ask because they want to, and they know you’re doing what’s right.”
Cam shook his head and looked up. Miuri smiled at him and leaned closer, her head tilted. He leaned down and kissed her gently, just a soft brushing of his lips against hers.
“I know you’re right,” he said. “But that doesn’t bring back the dead.”
She let out a breath and leaned against his shoulder. He dropped the conversation and kept walking, forcing himself not to yawn. Felin and Key doubled back and began chatting nervously about watch schedules and battle techniques, and Cam smiled as they laughed and poked fun at each other.
Even with his girls in a good mood, he couldn’t stop the dark thoughts from slipping into his mind.
His mistakes got people killed.
That refrain ran through his head, over and over.
But now, at least, he had the army. Now he had enough men to make a difference, and if he could keep his mistakes to a minimum, there might be real hope.
He took a sharp breath and tried to enjoy the girls as they bantered.
33
The army marched for most of the night.
Captain Brice kept her heavy infantry in armor as long as she could. The wolves harassed their rear, but never in large numbers. It felt as though they were prodding at the army, trying to find out if it was still strong, or if there were weak links they could exploit.
Cam kept close to the fighting but didn’t call on his magic. The wolves never came in numbers, and Brice’s armored division kept them at bay with relative ease. As they fought running, short skirmishes, he caught her staring at him a few times across the shield wall, and he wondered if maybe Miuri was right.
But he pushed the thought way as morning came and exhaustion hit him. The army made camp along a stream that wound its way down the mountains. They were moving along a wide, rough path that hugged the steeper slope to their right and the long descent down into the valley to the left. There were few trees around. The terrain was mostly marked by large boulders with gray and white mottled moss all along their sides and small gnarled bushes with twisted branches.
The army set to work digging ditches and building rough barricades, and after an hour of work, they were covered on the one side by the stream and on the other by three-foot trenches with long wooden spikes set into the ground. Cam had never seen men work so hard, so fast, or so efficiently before, but at least he knew they’d be protected if the wolves decided to come in force.
They set up camp toward the center of the group. Cookfires sprang up and men sat in groups, eating and talking in low voices. Cam saw men staring ahead with blank expressions, and he could almost taste their fear and exhaustion. Cam put up his own tent near a group of archers, and the girls climbed inside, happy to be out of the sun. He made sure that Key, Felin, and Miuri were resting before he slipped away to find Sirrin.
He spotted the command tent pitched next to the water. It was the largest tent in the camp, wide and circular with red and blue horizontal stripes. Guards stood out front, two men wearing leathers with swords at their hips. Cam approached and the men turned toward him, their eyes hard.
“I’d like to speak with Sirrin,” Cam said.
“He’s not taking visitors,” the guard on the left said, a stocky man with whiskers sprouting from his chin. “So piss off.”
Cam frowned a little. “I’m Camrus,” he said. “The shaman. Sirrin said to come find him. I wanted to—”
“He’s not seeing anyone,” the guard said again. “So why don’t you just—”
“It’s okay, Naff,” Sirrin called from inside the tent. “Just let him in.”
>
Cam gave the guard a look as he stepped aside. Cam slipped through the tent flap and into a soft gloom.
Several rugs were thrown on the ground, pale gray and brown with red and black geometric patterns. There was a pile of pillows and blankets in one corner, and a small wooden table with several rough wooden chairs set up around it. Maps were piled on the ground beside the table, still in their oilskin cases, and only a single lamp was lit. Sirrin sat at the table, his feet up on the top, with a black pipe in his mouth.
Smoke rolled from the pipe. He took a deep drag and closed his eyes as he blew a plume up into the air. Cam lingered near the entrance for a moment until Sirrin looked at him again. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, and he smiled.
“Sorry about Naff,” Sirrin said. “He takes my private time very seriously.”
Cam nodded. “I understand.” He sniffed at the air and didn’t recognize the smell coming from the pipe. There was some tobacco mixed in with whatever Sirrin was smoking, but the dominant scent was like cherry or apricot and bitter honey.
“Come, sit,” Sirrin said and took his feet down from the table.
Cam walked over and took a seat opposite. He leaned back in the chair and felt it creak under his weight.
“I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
Sirrin waved that off. “It’ll always be a bad time, but you’re the savior of the army, aren’t you? So I’d better see you when you come calling.”
Cam coughed and put his hands on the table. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The men are talking already. The armored division saw what you did back there, all that magic you used.” Sirrin leaned forward, his face plunged in shadow. He sucked on the pipe and his features were thrown into stark relief as the bowl glowed red. He held the smoke then blew it up into the air again.
“I did what I thought was necessary,” Cam said, keeping his tone even and careful. “I assume that… I assume you could do something similar?” He felt a little bit of hope blossom in his chest.
If he could fight alongside another shaman, together they’d be unstoppable.
Sirrin snorted. “Not even close,” he said.
Cam tensed and a crease formed between his eyes. “You’re a shaman though, right?”
Sirrin nodded and waved that off. “Of course,” he said. “But not all shamans are created equal. Here, look at this.” He held out his right hand, palm up, the pipe between his teeth. He frowned at his palm, stared at it for a long moment, until a small flame popped into existence. It was an inch long and wavered in a slow, undulating pattern. He grunted and closed his hand, extinguishing the flame.
“That’s the best I can do,” he said.
Cam cocked his head, unable to hide his surprise. “That’s all?” he asked. “I didn’t… I thought it was just…”
Sirrin gave him a strange look. “No, the amount of fire you called down was… I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“I had no idea,” Cam said.
“I’ve known other shamans,” Sirrin said. “In this very army, before the wolves attacked, we had one shaman that I thought was the most powerful man in the world. You called down more fire last night then he could’ve called in his entire life.”
“Where is he now?” Cam asked.
“Dead. Wolves ripped his throat out.”
Cam took a sharp breath and leaned back in the chair. He didn’t know what to say. Sirrin puffed on his pipe, took two long drags, and released the smoke up toward the roof of the tent.
Cam knew his father was a strong shaman, but he also thought every shaman could use that much power. He didn’t know that he could call more fire than the average shaman, let alone that he was particularly strong. It had just never occurred to him before, but then again, it made a little bit of sense.
If Human shamans could use as much power as Cam managed to call down, then the wolves would have had a much harder time attacking. Five shamans all calling as much fire as Cam could might be able to wipe out an entire army.
Since that hadn’t happened, then they must not have been able to do it.
Cam sat there in silence, trying to find something to say. Sirrin smiled at him and his expression seemed almost slow and lazy.
“I can tell you’re feeling a little awkward,” he said. “But don’t worry. Fire was never my thing. I always preferred ice.”
“Ice?” Cam asked. “I only know the one Urspell.”
Sirrin snorted. “That’s it?” he asked. “You only know how to make fire?”
“My father was a shaman,” he said. “Galerick the Great. He tried teaching me, but he died before I could really learn. That fire spell was the only thing that stuck.”
Sirrin took the pipe from between his teeth and leaned forward, his eyes suddenly focused and bright. “Galerick the Great is your father?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cam said and shifted in his seat. “You know him?”
“Know of him,” Sirrin said, waving a hand. “I heard stories about his adventures in the north. Fought as a mercenary, bedded ten thousand virgin Elves, that sort of thing.”
“I hadn’t heard the, uh, virgin story before.”
Sirrin laughed. “Sorry, kid.” He leaned back again and puffed his pipe. “Galerick the Great, huh. Very interesting. But I guess that makes a lot of sense. You seem to have a gift for touching the priori, and you sure as hell like to throw yourself into danger.”
Cam smiled at that. “I’m just trying to do what’s right.”
“Sure, I’m sure.” Sirrin laughed and shook his head. “You really don’t know any other spells?”
“I never had time to learn.”
“Well.” Sirrin sat up straight. “I’ll have to teach you, then.”
Cam blinked and crossed his arms. He didn’t like the way Sirrin was looking at him with a mixture of hunger and excitement.
“I want to learn,” Cam said. “And I’d be grateful if you taught me.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sirrin said, waving a hand again. “I’d be happy to teach you a thing or two. And then maybe you’ll remember that when we get back to the Mansion.”
Cam took a slow breath.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Sirrin laughed, puffed on his pipe, and let out some smoke. He leaned back, his eyes fluttering.
“I’ll be honest, Cam,” he said. “I’m not a fan of being in charge around here. I’m not really a fan of fighting at all. I know when I get back, old Remorn’s going to be up my ass about getting the army back out there, and it’s just not really for me, you know? So, what I want is, you talk to Remorn, get him to leave me the hell alone. I want some nice, comfortable job, maybe as one of those Wardens.”
Cam could barely believe what he was hearing. He shifted in his chair and shook his head. “You’re not joking, are you? You’d rather be a Warden than a general.”
Sirrin glared at Cam and held the pipe out, jabbing it at Cam like a dagger.
“Don’t you judge me,” he said. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. And hells, I’m not as powerful as you are. I’m not useful in a fight, but Remorn would be happy to throw me to the wolves anyway.”
Cam ran a hand through his hair. “He can’t force you to do anything,” he said. “You know that.”
“He can make my life very uncomfortable.” Sirrin drew the pipe back and sucked on it again. “Help me, Cam. Do this favor for me, and I’ll teach you what I know. Hells, might make a proper shaman out of you.”
Cam considered the thin, gaunt man staring at him through bleary, bloodshot eyes. He knew that Sirrin would be useful in a fight, even if he pretended like he wouldn’t be. And even if he really was as pathetic as he seemed to think, he’d still be helpful out on a campaign.
But if he didn’t want to serve, if he didn’t want to fight, Cam wouldn’t force him into it, and Remorn would be wrong to try.
“All right,” Cam said. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Good
. Very good.” Sirrin sighed, like he was relieved of some burden. “Oh, and Captain Brice, too. She’s going to be pissed.”
Cam flinched. “I don’t think I can do much good with her.”
“Nonsense. She likes you. Strong guys are her thing.”
“Do you know her well?” Cam asked, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.
Sirrin shook his head. “Not all that well. But I’m good at reading people, and that girl has a little bit of a thing for you.”
Cam grunted in response.
Sirrin laughed, drew on his pipe again, and folded in on himself. He released the smoke then chewed on the pipe stem. His eyes went glassy and he stared at the table for a long, silent moment, and Cam thought he might have forgotten that they were talking.
But then Sirrin looked up again.
“There’s a lot more to this army than just strength,” he said. His voice sounded distant, like he was barely in the room, and his eyes were unfocused. “Competing camps, competing egos. You’re going to find it’s not such a fun job, being in charge. I’m good at some parts and bad at others, and I think the parts I’m bad at are the real important ones. I’m tired, Cam, tired of all the horse shit and the death. I just want to be a regular man instead of a damned shaman.”
“Someone has to lead this army,” Cam said.
“You’re right about that. Especially right now.” Sirrin shook his head slowly. “It’s not my kind of job. But maybe the son of Galerick the Great…” He trailed off and slumped back against the chair. He pulled his feet up and hugged his knees against his chest.
Cam stared at him and Sirrin just sat there, not moving, eyes half closed, his breaths coming in slow and heavy.
“Sirrin?” Cam asked.
But the man didn’t reply. He nodded forward, nearly falling asleep, and woke with a start. The pipe dropped from Sirrin’s hand. Cam lunged and caught the pipe before it could drop onto the rug. Sirrin mumbled something and shifted himself, leaning his arms down on the table and resting his head.
Cam stood and held the pipe out toward the lamp light. He sniffed at the bowl and made a face. He didn’t know what Sirrin was smoking, but it wasn’t good.
