their mistakes and voicing suggestions for improvement. Only Umbra remained silent, keeping to the rear where she listened and watched.
“We won’t do it all in a day,” Max said, ignoring Umbra’s implacable stare and rising to dismiss the rest. “Tomorrow we’ll match the soldiers with their new training partners based on your rankings. The simulation will emphasize using Zenuvian arrows on the proper targets. If we’re all very nice, perhaps Lucia won’t send another rakshasa.”
“I make no promises,” she replied, eliciting a general laugh.
“All right,” said Max. “See that your troops are fed and get a good night’s rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”
They filed out, but Max’s friends remained. They sat on three of the many cushions piled about the tent. Lucia retrieved Kettlemouth, who had been lounging in his little cage covered by a silk kerchief. She let him climb out, and he settled sleepily on her lap.
“That was quite a simulation,” said Max, pouring himself lukewarm coffee. “Next time, warn me if there’s going to be anything like a rakshasa.”
Lucia gave an indifferent shrug. “You said you didn’t want to know.”
“Did the arrows work properly?” asked Cynthia. “I was concentrating on the illusion.” It was Cynthia who had devised the spell that allowed the soldiers’ ordinary weapons to shoot the tracer bolts of light, an ingenious mixture of enchanted phosphoroil that was dabbed on the front of each bow before the simulations. Other battalions had already borrowed the recipe and incorporated it into their own training.
“They were perfect,” said Max.
“We’re going to need more Zenuvian arrows,” said Sarah pointedly. “Three per archer just aren’t enough.”
“I take it that’s my cue,” muttered Tweedy grumpily. Giving Max a halfhearted salute, he hopped out of the tent.
“We’re also going to need more Mystics,” Sarah added, looking puzzled at the hare’s sudden departure. “I know we’ll have these two, but we have a mile of trench to cover. Sarah and Lucia won’t even be within hailing distance of one another.”
“Mystics are in high demand these days,” said Max. “We’re lucky we have these two.”
“You should ask David to enlist with us,” said Lucia.
Max laughed. “Don’t you think every battalion would love to have David Menlo?”
“I’m sure they would,” said Sarah. “But we have Cynthia. If
Cynthia’s broad, pale face flushed red as a tomato. “I—I have asked,” she confessed. “He’s busy studying that creepy-crawly thing. And besides, the Director’s asked him to be our navy.”
“How is David going to be our navy?” asked Sarah.
“By destroying every Enemy ship that approaches these shores,” said Cynthia proudly. “And don’t you think he can’t. My David can do anything.”
“
“Yes,” said Cynthia, steadfastly ignoring Lucia’s giggles. “He wrote me a poem that told me how he felt. He’s absolutely wonderful and we’re now a steady item.”
“A steady item,” repeated Max, blinking.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “Don’t look so astonished.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Scratch that—I am. Not that he’s with you, of course, but I … I didn’t know David wrote poetry!”
“He doesn’t, but the smee helped,” explained Cynthia. “I don’t mind. David said that smee was very helpful at getting him to sort through and acknowledge his special feelings.”
Max’s mouth fell open.
“That’s a winning look,” she remarked. “And if you …” Cynthia trailed off, her attention drifting to the tent’s opening where Julie Teller was poised, looking awkward and hesitant. Julie was dressed for travel, wearing a gray overcoat and a white cap that showed her auburn hair to great advantage.
“I was wondering if you had a moment,” she said, looking at Max.
He nodded, ignoring his friends as their eyebrows lifted in unison. Easing up from their cushions, they slipped discreetly out of the tent. Only Lucia paused at the exit.
“Should we send for the smee?” she inquired innocently.
Max glared at her.
Even when they had gone, Julie hovered at the tent’s entrance, gazing about at the maps and diagrams, battered shields, and muddy pelts strewn upon the floor.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked.
“I—I shouldn’t,” she stuttered. “People will gossip. Maybe we could take a walk instead?”
Grabbing a lantern, he followed her outside into the crisp night, pulling his cloak about him and inhaling the wood smoke that drifted across the campus. The Euclidean Fields were smooth once again, the trenches having been leveled so that the whole field looked like an enormous slab of damp clay that gleamed beneath the moon. The bonfires were still burning, however, and many of the Trench Rats still lingered by them, roasting sausages, gambling, or singing along as one of them played a fife.
Staring at the scene, Julie shook her head with mild disbelief. “So much has changed,” she said wistfully. “I watched you play soccer here on All Hallow’s Eve when you were just a First Year. You beat the Second Years almost single-handedly. Do you remember?”
Max smiled and nodded.
“And now I hardly recognize this place,” she said, gazing about. “It’s all been swallowed up by mud and blood and everything else. No one plays soccer anymore.”
“Did you come here to talk about soccer?” prodded Max.
Shaking her head, she took the lantern from his hand and made for a path that wound along the woods. Max fell into step beside her.
“I—I came to say that I’m sorry,” she said. “I want to apologize for my behavior when I last saw you. I said some awful things … inexcusable things.”
“Please don’t worry about that,” said Max gently. “I deserved it, and I know you didn’t really mean them.”
“I appreciate that,” she murmured. “I also wanted to say goodbye.”
“Where are you going?”
“Glenharrow,” she answered. “Tonight. Thomas and his family are coming with us. It’s too dangerous for us to remain here with my little brother. And my parents aren’t soldiers, Max. They’re too frightened to stay, and they need me to protect them.”
“I understand,” said Max. “Glenharrow sounds like a good choice. Nigel sent his family there this morning.”
“At least I’ll know someone,” she sighed. “How are things with your troops? Everyone’s talking about Max McDaniels and his Trench Rats.”
“They’re coming along,” he said. “A work in progress.”
“I was proud when I’d heard you signed up with them.” Her voice choked with emotion. “Those people have had a hard go of it. They need someone like you, something bright on their side.”
She stopped and gazed up at the stars, shining far above.
“When I was six, my grandmother told me a tale about a maiden who was courted by both the Aurora and the Polestar and had to choose between them,” she recalled softly. “The Polestar was constant; every evening she could find him in the night sky, twinkling at her from the very same spot. Plain, but predictable. But the Aurora was simply
“And did she choose wisely?” asked Max.
“Of course not,” said Julie. “While the Aurora was beautiful and glamorous, he was inconstant. Unlike the Polestar, the Aurora never stayed for long—he was wont to disappear and the maiden could never be certain if and when he would return. Eventually she withered away from loneliness, forever staring into the heavens and hoping the Aurora would return.”
With a teary smile, Julie took his hand.
“I’ll never forget the day I fell in love with you,” she said. “It was during that very soccer match. You were like
