The Autumn Republic

Nila bent over and heaved, emptying the contents of her stomach in one long retch. She heaved once more when she realized she had just vomited all over a dead man’s legs. She felt Adamat’s hand on her shoulder and let him help her up.

“I can’t… I don’t even…”

“Stay quiet for now,” Adamat said. They started walking, and Nila had no sense of time or space until she looked up to realize they’d left the battlefield and even the Wings’ camp behind and were about a third of the way toward the Adran camp.

She dragged a sleeve across her face. “Where are we going?” she sniffed.

Adamat’s eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as he walked, and it was several moments before he responded. “To see Field Marshal Tamas.”

“We should go back and help.”

“You don’t need to see that right now,” he said sternly.

She wanted to fight him. To pull away and run back to the Wings’ camp to help with the dead and the wounded. She deserved to see and smell the results of her power. Was she a coward for not doing so?

“Why the field marshal?” Nila asked.

“Because I need to report to him, regardless of whether or not we win this battle.”

“You could have left me behind. I’m not a child. I could help.”

Adamat stopped and turned to her. She felt him grab her by the shoulders, and he waited until she finally looked up into his eyes. There was a sort of fatherly, stern caring there. It was painful. Couldn’t he see what she was capable of? Didn’t that terrify him?

It damn well terrified her.

“Nila, once there’s any sort of organization in the Wings’ camp, they’ll come looking for you. They’ll either want you to get to the front and fight for them or they’ll realize that you’re not in full command of your powers and they’ll try to control you. Either way, I couldn’t leave you alone back there.” Taking her by the arm, Adamat continued walking toward the Adran army.

Nila let herself be dragged along. She breathed in deep-the air was clearer here, between the armies, and the scent of sulfur was almost gone with a northerly wind. But that smell of charred flesh still hung in her nostrils, as if it had been painted on her upper lip.

Adamat produced papers from his jacket to show the Adran pickets, and they soon went around two companies of irregulars waiting for orders and climbed a steep hill to the command tent. Adamat showed his papers once more and asked to see Field Marshal Tamas. One of the guards ducked inside and returned a moment later, nodding them forward.

“Go on in, Inspector. Ma’am.”

Nila followed Adamat inside, only just realizing what she was doing. This was Field Marshal Tamas! She had been his personal laundress for months, and even been courted by his bodyguard. She had seriously considered murdering the field marshal. There was no way they could know that, could they? What if Olem was here? How would she explain her presence?

She scrambled for some excuse to remain outside, but was ushered in before she could voice any.

It was with some relief that she found the tent devoid of both Field Marshal Tamas and Captain Olem. There were a half-dozen messengers standing at attention along one wall, and a large table laid out with maps, papers, and notes. The biggest map was covered with hundreds of small military models of fifty different sizes and shapes. A young woman in an Adran-blue uniform with black hair and a powder keg pinned to her breast stood over the table-a powder mage and, from the stripes on her shoulder, a captain.

A messenger pushed past Nila and saluted the powder mage. “Two companies of Kez cavalry have broken around the Seventeenth and are pushing toward the Hundred and Second Artillery!”

The woman moved one of the models on the map and then scrambled through piles of notes on the table in front of her for several moments before finding one to her satisfaction. “Send the Seventy-Eighth Irregulars to shore up our eastern flank, and tell General Fylo to throw everything he has at the enemy’s left. Those cavalry were the only thing keeping us from taking command of that hill.”

The messenger was off like a shot. The woman shuffled several of the notes and then dropped into her seat with a shaky sigh. Her face was drawn and pale, and Nila thought she heard a few quiet curses.

“Captain Vlora, was it?” Adamat asked.

The powder mage gave a curt nod. “Inspector Adamat? The field marshal was hoping you’d turn up sometime today.”

“I’m here to report,” Adamat said. “Where is the field marshal?”

“He’s not here,” she responded rather crossly.

The prospect cheered Nila slightly, until she realized the implication. “Where is he?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Vlora peered at her. “You’re Bo’s apprentice? I take it we have you to thank for torching the Kez auxiliaries?”

“Yes.” Nila tried to force a smile, but it felt as limp and cold as a dead fish. She let it slide off.

Vlora was already looking back at Adamat. “The field marshal is gone. He’ll be back in a couple of days, if all goes well.”