naked in the chill morning, blotched all over with chafe-marks, steaming like a pudding from the oven. He gasped with shock when they doused him with icy water, fresh from the stream. Younger tossed him a cloth and he rubbed himself dry, Rurgen brought fresh clothes and he dressed while they scrubbed his armour to its usual workmanlike dull sheen.
The sun was creeping over the ragged horizon, and through the gap in the trees Gorst could see the troopers of the King’s Own First Regiment wriggling from their tents, breath smoking in the chilly dawn. Buckling on their own armour, poking hopefully at the embers of dead fires, preparing for the morning’s march. One group had been drawn yawning up to see one of their fellows whipped for some infringement, the lash leaving faint red lines across his stripped back, its sharp crack reaching Gorst’s ear a moment later followed by the soldier’s whimper.
Gorst’s battle steels had been made by Calvez, greatest swordsmith of Styria. Gifts from the king, for saving his life at the Battle of Adua. Rurgen drew the long steel from the scabbard and displayed both sides, immaculately polished metal flashing with the dawn. Gorst nodded. His servant showed him the short steel next, edges coldly glittering. Gorst nodded, took the harness and buckled it on. Then he rested one hand on Younger’s shoulder, one on Rurgen’s, gave them a gentle squeeze and smiled.
Rurgen spoke softly, respecting the silence. ‘General Jalenhorm asked that you join him at the head of the column, sir, as soon as the division begins to march.’
Younger squinted up into the brightening sky. ‘Only six miles from Osrung, sir. Do you think there’ll be a battle today?’
‘I hope not.’
Ambition
‘Fin?’
‘Mmmm?’
He propped himself up on his elbow, grinning down at her. ‘I love you.’
‘Mmmm.’
A pause. She had long ago stopped expecting love to fall upon her like a bolt of lightning. Some people are prone to love of that kind. Others are harder-headed.
‘Fin?’
‘Mmmm?’
‘Really. I love you.’
She did love him, even if she somehow found it hard to say the words. Something very close to love. He looked magnificent in a uniform and even better without one, sometimes surprised her by making her laugh, and there was definite fire when they kissed. He was honourable, generous, diligent, respectful, good-smelling … no towering intellect, true, but probably that was just as well. There is rarely room for two of those in one marriage.
‘Good boy,’ she murmured, patting him on his cheek. She had great affection for him, and only occasionally a little contempt, which was better than she could say for most men. They were well matched. Optimist and pessimist, idealist and pragmatist, dreamer and cynic. Not to mention his noble blood and her burning ambition.
He gave a disappointed sigh. ‘I swear every man in the whole damn army loves you.’
‘Your commanding officer, Lord Governor Meed?’
‘Well … no, probably not him, but I expect even he’d warm to you if you stopped making such a bloody fool of him.’
‘If I stopped he’d only do it to himself.’
‘Probably, but men have a higher tolerance for that.’
‘There’s only one officer whose opinion I give a damn about, anyway.’
He smiled as he traced her ribs with a fingertip. ‘Really?’
‘Captain Hardrick.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I think it’s those very, very tight cavalry trousers of his. I like to drop things so he’ll pick them up for me. Ooops.’ She touched her finger to her lip, fluttering her lashes. ‘Curse my clumsiness, I’ve let fall my fan again! You couldn’t just reach for it, could you, Captain? You’ve almost got it. Only bend a little lower, Captain. Only bend … a little …
‘Shameless. I don’t think Hardrick would suit you at all, though. The man’s dull as a plank. You’d be bored in minutes.’
Finree puffed out her cheeks. ‘You’re probably right. A good arse only goes so far. Something most men never realise. Maybe …’ She thought through her acquaintance for the most ridiculous lover, smiled as she lighted on the perfect candidate. ‘Bremer dan Gorst, then? Can’t really say he’s got the looks … or the wit … or the standing, but I’ve a feeling there’s a deep well of emotion beneath that lumpen exterior. The voice would take some getting used to, of course, if one could coax out more than two words together, but if you like the strong and silent type, I’d say he scores stupendously high on both counts… What?’ Hal wasn’t smiling any more. ‘I’m joking. I’ve known him for years. He’s harmless.’
‘Harmless? Have you ever seen him fight?’
‘I’ve seen him fence.’
‘Not quite the same.’
There was something in the way he was holding back that made her want to know more. ‘Have you seen him fight?’
‘Yes.’ ‘And?’
‘And … I’m glad he’s on our side.’
She brushed the tip of his nose with a finger. ‘Oh, my poor baby. Are you scared of him?’
He rolled away from her, onto his back. ‘A little. Everyone should be at least a little scared of Bremer dan Gorst.’ That surprised her. She hadn’t thought Hal was afraid of anything. They lay there, for a moment, the canvas above them flapping gently with the wind outside.
Now she felt guilty. She did love Hal. She had marked down all the points the day he proposed. Considered all the pros and cons and categorically proved it to herself. He was a good man. One of the best. Excellent teeth. Honest, brave, loyal to a fault. But those things are not always enough. That was why he needed someone more practical to steer him through the rapids. That was why he needed her.
‘Hal.’
‘Yes?’
She rolled towards him, pressing herself against his warm side, and whispered in his ear. ‘I love you.’
She had to admit to enjoying the power she had over him. That was all it took to make him beam with happiness. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered, and he kissed her, and she kissed him back, tangling her fingers in his hair. What is love anyway, but finding someone who suits you? Someone who makes up for your shortcomings?
Someone you can work with. Work on.
Aliz dan Brint was pretty enough, clever enough and well-born enough not to constitute an embarrassment, but neither pretty enough, clever enough nor well-born enough to pose any threat. A comparatively narrow band in which Finree felt it was safe to cultivate a friend without danger of being overshadowed. She had never liked being overshadowed.
‘I find it something of a difficult adjustment,’ murmured Aliz, glancing at the column of marching soldiers beside them from beneath her blonde lashes. ‘Being surrounded by men takes some getting used to…’
‘I wouldn’t know. The army has always been my home. My mother died when I was very young, and my father raised me.’
‘I’m … I’m sorry.’
‘Why? My father misses her, I think, but how can I? I never knew her.’
An awkward silence, hardly surprising since, Finree realised, that had been the conversational equivalent of
