The Autumn Republic

Nila frowned over toward Abrax. The brigadier had exited her tent and was standing just thirty paces off, staring balefully at the Kez army. Why hadn’t she just come over herself? “Of course.”

Nila joined Abrax in front of the command tent. “You wished to see me, ma’am?”

“Is it still a secret that you’re a Privileged?”

Nila blinked back at her. “I… well, I assume so. Bo said that I was still too green for my aura to show in the Else, so the enemy Knacked or Privileged shouldn’t know I’m here.”

“The enemy has no Privileged. Or,” Abrax corrected herself, “the ones they do have amount to very little. None of the mountain throwers of the royal cabal.” She turned to Nila suddenly. “Have you told anyone?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way. You’re to be our trump card.”

Nila couldn’t help but laugh at that. She stifled it as best she could, but it still leaked out as a giggle.

“Something funny, Privileged?”

Privileged. Being addressed as such sent a shiver down Nila’s spine, sobering her instantly. “It’s just that I’m only a trainee. I’ve barely learned to look into the Else, let alone command the elements. I won’t be any help at all in a fight.”

“You can’t do any sorcery?” Abrax sounded skeptical.

“I can light my hand on fire. But only when I get very startled or angry.”

Abrax turned away, looking slightly disgusted. “We have some Privileged, but they’re very weak. They won’t do much more damage than a well-placed field gun and they’re far more fragile. Borbador told me you were powerful. I’d hoped you’d be of some help.”

Bo had said that to Abrax? Why on earth? Nila was untrained, and Bo knew that better than anyone.

“I’m sorry,” Nila ventured.

“I didn’t realize you were that green. Stay back with the baggage. You’ll do nothing but get underfoot near the front. And whatever you do, don’t attempt any sorcery. You’ll likely kill everyone around you. It’s unfortunate your bloody master abandoned us. He might have tipped this in our favor.” Abrax strode away without another word, barking orders.

Nila stared after her, indignation warring with a sense of helplessness. Bo had abandoned her. She knew just enough to know that maybe, with a few months more training, she could have defended herself. But she couldn’t be of any use here. She was no better than the rest of the camp followers-part of the luggage. She was back to being with the laundresses and all the rest.

Abrax could go to the pit. If-when-the Kez broke the line, Nila would fight. She didn’t care if she took the whole baggage train with her.

The baggage and camp were about a quarter of a mile behind the front line. The area had been fortified with hastily dug entrenchments and was guarded by a brigade of Wings of Adom mercenaries stretched out-to Nila’s eye-over far too much ground.

The camp followers had been ordered to stay behind when the Wings had marched to General Ket’s aid, but even so there had to be several thousand people with the baggage, essential personnel such as wagoners, quartermasters, and the like.

“Shouldn’t you be near the front?”

Nila turned to find Inspector Adamat sitting on the ground nearby, looking older and wearier than he had just a few days before.

“Abrax sent me back here. I don’t have enough training to be useful.”

“Ah. I suppose that’s true enough.” He smiled as if to soften the comment. “I’m too old to be of any use.”

“I’ve seen infantrymen with ten years or more on you.”

“I haven’t held a rifle in line since drills at the academy. I’m more likely to stick my bayonet into the man beside me than I am to be of any use up there.”

Nila wondered if that were the case. She knew that Adamat had led the charge against Lord Vetas’s men. He was more than capable. Perhaps he’d used his age as a pretense to avoid the front. Nila wouldn’t have blamed him. Courage, Bo had told her, was overrated.

Adamat certainly didn’t look frightened. Just tired. He stared at his feet for a few moments, then raised his head. “They don’t have enough men back here to guard the rear.”

“I was told an entire brigade.”

“The Kez will flank us to the west while General Hilanska hits us from the northeast. I predict this position will be overrun by”-he glanced at his pocket watch-“one o’clock. If we’re lucky, we’ll be killed outright.” He fingered his cane as if he were wondering how much of a fight he had left in him.

“Lucky? I thought it would be preferable to be taken prisoner.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Of course.”

If we survive, he’ll be sent to a Kez workhouse. And I’ll be passed around the infantry until I’m sent to a workhouse as well. Unless an officer catches me first. Then I’ll be at his mercy, little more than a slave.

Was that preferable to being killed outright?