The Autumn Republic

“Thanks, mother,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving the heavy lifting to my officers. If I do one thing well, it’s pick good men. If I don’t do fine, at least they will.”

“You should give yourself more credit.”

“Should I?” Olem put the rolled cigarette to his lips, then checked the carbine holstered to his saddle.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t.”

Nila jerked back. What was that supposed to mean? “Now wait a moment.”

He held up a hand. “Ancient history,” he said. “Forget I said a word.”

She scowled at him while he called over one of his officers and gave the order to stake camp. When the man had ridden away, Olem ashed his cigarette.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Nila said.

“Oh?”

“I had my reasons,” she continued. Jakob had needed her protection. She hadn’t trusted Tamas at that time, and then she had been carried away by Lord Vetas and caught up in Bo’s battles. She wanted to tell him all of that, but she hardly knew where to begin. “I really did like you.”

“Well, that’s a nice consolation prize.”

“Don’t be such a dense ass.” Nila’s voice rose. “I wanted to be with you, but I said no because I knew I had to protect Jakob.” Her jaw snapped shut, and she blinked at him for several moments, not able to believe she had just said that.

“Oh,” Olem said, both eyebrows now raised, his head cocked back in surprise.

Nila brushed some dirt from her uniform. “It’s just… I’m sorry. Part of me wishes I had said yes, but as you said-ancient history.”

Olem remained silent for several minutes, watching his men dismount and set up a picket line for the horses, readying the area for a campsite. When the silence was approaching the point of madness for Nila, he finally crushed his cigarette on his saddle horn and flicked the butt into the long grass. “I’ll have one of the boys find you some good stones that we can warm in the fire. It’ll help the ass-ache.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hot stones, wrapped in the leather. You put them between your legs and all the fiddly bits downstairs won’t hurt as much in the morning.”

Nila decided she’d liked Olem more when he was being bashful back in Adopest. This seemed entirely too… forward. “Thank you.”

Olem merely nodded a reply. His eyes were on something on the horizon.

“What is it?” she asked.

Olem removed the looking glass from his saddlebag and held it to his eye. Nila squinted to the west and thought, beneath the glare of the half-set sun, that she could see a rider. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and Olem lowered his looking glass.

“Pack it up, boys!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Kez to the west!”

The speed of it all made Nila’s head swim. Within five minutes the whole regiment was back in the saddle, the thunder of their hooves ringing in Nila’s ears and the adrenaline of the chase drowning out the pain from a day’s worth of riding.

Olem ordered out dozens of scouts and formed his men with the bulk of the cuirassiers in the middle and the dragoons on the wings as they crested the hill in the waning light of dusk.

Nila could see the distant speck of the Kez rider galloping across the plains.

“Is there anything you can do?” Olem asked.

“What? I mean, no, what could I do? He’s too far for Privileged sorcery, even if I was confident I could hit him at all.”

He gave a stiff nod and ordered his men to advance, all while eyeing the scouts fanning out across the plains ahead of them. She could see the indecision in his eyes-was this an opportunity or a trap?

They proceeded on the trail of the Kez rider. Nila watched as the dragoons on their right flank swept up and over a hill to the north, out of sight, and their left flank proceeded along a matching arc a quarter of a mile out past a distant wheat field. She felt cold, apprehensive of the disappearance of those five hundred cavalry. What if it was a trap? Would they return in time?

The sun had nearly set by the time the cuirassiers crested a short hillock to look down suddenly into a steep valley cut into the hills. Less than a mile distant, Nila could see the flickering of campfires and groups of picketed horses.

“We’ve found the enemy camp!” a breathless scout told Olem.

“I can see that.” Olem gazed through his looking glass, a look of consternation on his face.

“Could it be a trap?” Nila asked.

“They’re scrambling like a kicked anthill down there,” Olem said. “It could be a trap… but we may have gotten lucky. Form up!” he bellowed. “Three lines, flanking formation!”

The cuirassiers split into three equal wedges. One of them took the north side of the valley while the second went straight down the middle. Nila’s wedge, with Olem at the head, rode along the southern lip. As they drew closer, Nila could see the Kez begin to ride out in waves from the camp-it was no desperate flight, but an organized withdrawal.

“Faster, damn it!” Olem yelled. He had his head cocked to the wind, and Nila could hear the distant call of bugles from the north and south. “We’re in the clear, we’ve got these bastards!”