When she opened her eyes next, she was stiff as a board and the surgeon was laughing at her in the lamplight. “Some watcher,” he said. “If you were going to sleep, you should have found a pallet and stretched out.”
Paks yawned and tried to focus her eyes. “I didn’t know I was going to sleep. Sorry.” She looked at Jenits, but he slept peacefully.
“No sign of fever,” said the surgeon. “This time get comfortable before you go back to sleep.”
Paks pushed herself up, shaking her head. “I won’t sleep. What watch is it, anyway?”
“Don’t worry. Stammel came by to tell you he wouldn’t need you—”
“And found me asleep.” Paks blushed.
“Well,” said the surgeon, “he didn’t wake you, and told me to let you sleep till dawn. That’s another four hours.”
Paks yawned again. “It’s tempting—” The surgeon turned away. Three years’ experience told her to take sleep when she could find it—but now she was awake, and curiosity kept her so. With a last look at Jenits, she left the tent and headed for the area assigned to her cohort.
Kefer was snoring by the watchfire, but roused when she spoke to the sentry. He confirmed what the surgeon had said, and told her to get what sleep she could.
“We’ll march tomorrow, and if we catch them, we’ll fight.” Kefer yawned. “Clarts got many of ’em, but six hundred or so are loose.”
Paks held her hands to the fire; the night was cold after the surgeons’ tent. “Stammel said our losses weren’t bad—?”
“No—not in our cohort. Three returned veterans. One recruit. Dorrin’s was harder hit—but still not bad, considering. Go on, Paks, get some sleep.” He pointed to a nearby tent; Paks edged in, found an empty space, and slept until day.
Despite Kefer’s prediction, they did not march the next day; instead they dismantled the enemy camp. Several squads went to the battlefield, returning with salvageable weapons and armor. Others cleared the camp itself of supplies: bags of grain and beans, great jars of wine and barrels of ale. One tent held all the gear for a smith’s shop: anvils, hammers, tongs, bellows, and bars and disks of rough iron.
Most of this they carried into the storage cellars of the tower, each load tallied by a scribe from each company. Siger and Hofrin chose weapons to replace those damaged, and reserve supplies to take along. The enemy’s mules were distributed to each company too, along with the feed for them.
From the talk she heard while working, Paks gathered that Siniava’s army had come from the west. Before reaching this tower, they had taken those along the western border, and these were now garrisoned by Siniava’s troops. But a survivor had escaped to warn the commander of the north watch, the Count of Andressat’s son-in- law; when the enemy force arrived, it found the tower sealed and well defended. Clart scouts, riding ahead of the Halverics, had discovered the siege in progress, and the Halverics attacked the besiegers. Though heavily outnumbered, they had held the enemy close under the tower walls, where the Andressat archery could do its worst, until the rest of the Clarts and the Phelani arrived in force.
“They should have got out of here,” said a Halveric corporal as he and Paks dragged sacks of grain across the tower court. “Only they thought they could break us and get rid of us—the fools—and we kept ’em busy enough they didn’t think of anyone else.”
“You had a rough time, then,” said Paks.
“Oh—we fight close order, same as you. We just drew in and let ’em pound. We knew you was comin’. And we had some Clarts, to mess ’em about on the flanks.”
“It’s too bad they broke loose,” muttered a Halveric private. “After what they did last year—”
“Too many of ’em,” said the corporal. “We mauled ’em enough, they’ll be wary of us awhile. Besides, let ’em go tell their master they were beat again. Enough times running away like that, and they won’t be good for anything—nor the ones they tell the story to, neither.”
By that night, the enemy camp was dismantled. Everything else was piled and burned, a great fire that leapt into the dark and told everyone for miles around that the enemy’s camp was gone. Paks had a share marked to her in the account books. Her recruits were recruits no longer; they had all been promoted.
When they marched the next morning, Paks found herself moved up in the column; she was sorry about those whose death and injuries gave her the place, but she liked seeing ahead. All along the way she saw evidence of the enemy’s flight: broken weapons, blood-stained clothing and armor, and bodies. Not all had been killed by Clarts or Halverics, as the wounds showed.
By midafternoon they reached the next tower to the west. A black and yellow banner flew from its peak, and a hail of arrows met them when they ventured closer. Their assault failed, and the two companies camped around the walls. The Clarts had ridden afar ahead, to scout the tower beyond, and returned with the news that it too was held by an enemy force.
At dawn the next day, Paks saw about fifty black-clad fighters come over the wall, barely visible in the dim light. She yelled an alarm and darted forward; an arrow glanced off her helmet. The archers were awake in the tower. She threw up her shield and plunged on with the rest of the sentries, as the camp came awake behind her. For a few desperate minutes, the sentries were outnumbered and hard pressed.
Simultaneously, enemy troops tried a sally from the south entrance, where the Halverics were just taking their positions for an assault. In minutes a howling mass of fighters swayed back and forth in front of the gate. More and more of Siniava’s troops poured out, as Paks heard later from one of the Halveric soldiers.
“We had to give back; they had us outnumbered, but then your Duke brought two of your cohorts around, and it was stand and stick. That went on all morning, near enough. They couldn’t break out, and we couldn’t get in. Then they backed in a step at a time, and got that portcullis down—I’ll say this for Andressat: they know how to build a fort.”
Paks had been on the fringe of that battle, as one of the sentry ring on the other side. She met Barranyi in the cook tent.
“I’ll tell you what, Paks,” said Barra. “He’s no fool, their captain. They came near breaking through more than once, and if they pick the right time, they might yet.”
Paks mopped up the last of her beans with a crust of bread. “Not with the Halveric and the Duke. He won’t surprise them. What I wonder about is how many more there are—at the next tower, and the next. We can hold these—but more?”
“Andressat has troops somewhere—”
“What—sixty or so in the first tower, and maybe as many in the next one or two? And they won’t leave the towers unguarded.”
“No, more than that. I heard Dorrin say something to Val about it this morning. Troops on the way, she said, and could be here this afternoon or tomorrow.”
“I’ll believe that, Barra, when I see it. Did you hear whether the Honeycat was in there?” she cocked her head at the tower.
“No. They all say not. And I haven’t seen the banner his bodyguard carried last fall.”
“I hope we don’t waste too much time here, then. I wonder where that scum is.”
“And what troops he has. All we can do is hope the Clarts don’t miss anything.”
“If he’s clear off east—back toward Sorellin or those other cities—we could wander around here all season and never catch him.”
Barra shrugged. “That’s the Duke’s business. Not yours.” Paks stood up, and Barra eyed her. “Are you upset about anything in particular? More than Canna and Saben?”
“That, and—Barra, you know what he did to some of the prisoners last year—?” Barra nodded. “We found a set of tools in one of the tents. I just want to be sure we do kill him.”
“But his army’d still be—”
Paks shook her head. “No, I don’t think they’ll be the same, even if there’s much army left. I think it’s his doing.”
“Maybe.” Barra turned to greet Natzlin, coming from the serving line, and Paks waved and went back to her station.
The rest of that day the two forces did not change their positions. The Andressat troops arrived midmorning the next day. Paks thought they looked much more professional than the city militia she’d seen. They numbered just
