The Autumn Republic

“Like pit we are,” Tamas said. “Olem… no, Vlora. Take a white flag across the valley. I want Ket here in person within the hour to give me an explanation as to what’s happening.”

“She won’t come,” the same colonel spoke up. “She refuses to see our messengers.”

“She’ll see me. Was that the Wings of Adom’s colors I saw above Ket’s camp?”

A female general whom Tamas only vaguely recognized gave him an uncertain nod.

“Then bring me Brigadier Abrax as well, or whoever is in charge. Dismissed, Captain.”

Vlora snapped a sharp salute and left the tent at a sprint.

“Wheel our artillery to face south,” Tamas ordered. “I want all of our cavalry on our eastern flank-and I do mean all of them. Split them into three groups and wait for my order. The Kez are preparing to advance. They’ll come on at about ten o’clock, or I’m a horse’s ass. Keep our men facing Ket’s troops, but make it damned clear that they are not to engage their fellow Adrans. If the Kez think we’re about to attack our own men, they are going to get a damned big surprise. Get to it!”

The tent burst into a flurry of motion.

“General Hilanska,” Tamas said, “what are you doing? Sneaking out the back? Get over here.”

Hilanska approached along the side of the tent, a wary eye on Tamas. “Sir?” he asked quietly.

“Come with me.” Tamas threw back the tent flap. “Move the command tent up the hillside about forty paces,” he said to the guards outside. “I want to be able to see everything going on in that valley.” He strode up the hill toward the spot he’d indicated, beckoning Hilanska along with him. His body ached from the ride, exhaustion tugged at his muscles, but the excitement of the battle made his fingers twitch.

When they reached the top, he turned to Hilanska, but his words caught in his mouth. “Are you all right?” he asked.

A sheen of sweat had appeared on Hilanska’s brow. His collar was already soaked, and he was picking nervously at the buttons of his jacket. Four provosts had trailed them up the hill and stood back at a respectful distance.

“Fine, sir,” Hilanska said, dabbing at his cheeks. “What was it you wanted?”

Tamas turned toward the Kez forces. There were at least two hundred and sixty thousand infantry out there, along with twenty thousand or so cavalry. It was a sight to behold, but he couldn’t let the grandeur of it impress him. He had work to do.

“Hilanska, I want you to put your best gun crews there and there,” he said, pointing. “I want them to rain down everything they have on… Hilanska, are you listening, I…” Tamas felt a sharp pain in his side. He scowled and rubbed at the spot. “Like I was saying, I want them to…”

Tamas felt himself shoved forward suddenly and heard a shout. He whirled, a curse on his lips.

Olem was shouting, his sword drawn, and was suddenly set upon by all four of the provosts who had followed them up the hill. Hilanska was behind the provosts, a dagger in his one hand.

“What the bloody pit is going on?” Tamas demanded. He reached for the butt of his pistol instinctively, but his fingers slipped on it. He held them up, blinking back a sudden dizziness. Their tips were red.

He’d been stabbed.

Hilanska had bloody well stabbed him.

The one-armed general turned and fled down the hill.

Tamas sat in the grass, his jacket stripped from him and his shirt soaked with blood, trying to make sense of what had happened.

A surgeon sat behind him with his hands under Tamas’s arms while another cut away his shirt and began to examine the stab wound between his ribs. Not ten paces away, the bodies of two Adran provosts were being carted away, while a third surgeon tended to a gash across Olem’s forehead.

Hilanska had betrayed him. That much was clear. But how deep did it go? How long had the betrayal been in the works? Had Hilanska let Budwiel’s walls fall, trapping Tamas behind enemy lines months ago? Hilanska had to be behind this schism with General Ket, working to ensure the annihilation of the entire Adran army.

“Olem!” Tamas had to know more. The most important question was, Did Hilanska have accomplices?

Olem appeared a moment later, pressing a fresh bandage against his forehead. “Sir?”

“Fine swordsmanship there,” Tamas said. Olem had held off all four provosts until help could arrive. “Did any of them survive?”

“Thank you, sir. Two of them survived. One will die by morning. The boys were rough on them when they saw that you were wounded.”

“Rough won’t even begin to cover it,” Tamas said. “Go find out what they know.”

“Shouldn’t I go after Hilanska, sir?”

Tamas hesitated. “I don’t know whom to trust,” he said quietly. “Get two squads together-see if you can find any of your Riflejacks-and send them after Hilanska. I want you to stay close.”

“Yes sir.”