The Autumn Republic

“You made me a colonel. Colonels, traditionally, aren’t bodyguards or aides-de-camp.”

Was this so important that Olem had to bring it up right this instant? Most men don’t usually go from sergeant to colonel in the space of eight months, either, but Tamas had promoted Olem nonetheless because it fit his needs. “True,” he said.

“I don’t think I deserve to be a colonel, sir. I’d like you to demote me.”

Tamas stared at Olem. “This? Again?”

“Yes sir. I don’t have my own command. Keeping me a colonel but also your bodyguard and aide doesn’t make sense. I don’t mind the demotion at all.”

“You don’t mind…? Damn it, Olem. You’re going to mind what I tell you to mind. You want a command? You have one now.”

“Sir?”

“The Seventh is yours.”

Olem’s cigarette fell out of his mouth. “But sir! You were going to give the Seventh to Colonel-I mean General-Arbor.”

“General Arbor has the First and the Third. They’ve been humiliated by Ket and Hilanska’s treason and he’s going to whip them into shape. You will combine the best men from the Seventh and the Ninth to form the new Seventh, which will be called the Marshal’s Own Riflejack Brigade.”

Olem sat up straight.

Tamas continued. “You don’t have a lot of command experience, but you know people. I’ll leave it to you to choose your officers. Choose them well, because you’re still going to spend most of your time with me.”

“Are you certain, sir?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll need a new bodyguard.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Uh, sir?”

Tamas leaned over to Olem and slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re still my bodyguard, and the whole damn Seventh will be too. There’s no one else I trust to watch my back.”

For once, Olem had no snappy comeback. “Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”

“Don’t be honored. Just do your job. Now, let’s go meet with the senior staff. We have an offensive to plan.”

Tamas met his senior officers in his command tent in the center of the camp.

Roughly twenty-five men and women had crammed inside the tent: generals and colonels from most of the brigades. More than half of the faces among them were new officers, recently promoted, and Tamas knew he still had almost a dozen promotions to make before the end of the day. The Wings of Adom brigadiers were conspicuously absent. Lady Winceslav had been true to her word and withdrawn all but a token force from the front lines.

Because of the lack of the mercenaries and the inexperience of his new officers, Tamas knew this conference couldn’t wait. The officers-and their men-needed to know where they stood.

Tamas entered through a slit at the back of the tent, hiding his limp and the pain in his side as he quietly took his place at the head of the gathering. Olem was already waiting. He’d spread a few papers on Tamas’s desk: casualty figures, regiment strengths, the names of new senior officers. Tamas had gone over all of that hours ago, but it would be good to have something to reference.

He stood behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back, and let his eyes rest at the entrance of the tent.

The seconds ticked by, then turned into minutes. Someone toward the back of the group cleared their throat, and Tamas listened to the shouts of a quartermaster rise over the general din of the camp.

Five minutes passed before one of the new generals raised his hand, false teeth clenched in his fist.

“Yes?” Tamas asked.

General Arbor lowered his hand. “We waiting for someone, sir?”

“We are,” Tamas said. “Olem, would you see if our guest has arrived?”

Olem ducked out through the back. Several more minutes passed and Tamas could sense his officers begin to get restless. What was this about, he imagined them wondering. Why did he have them waiting here, standing at attention like common infantrymen, when they had work to do?

Tamas decided to let them stew. It shouldn’t be longer than a few more minutes now.

Tamas wondered if his Riflejacks had managed to catch up with Taniel yet. It was an unexpected surprise that the Seventh and Ninth had arrived in the middle of the night, but a welcome one. He needed his best veterans more than ever now, and…

The sound of galloping horses cut off his thought. Shouts accompanied the sound-of surprise, but not alarm-from among the soldiers outside. Tamas could sense his senior officers getting nervous at the sound, and was glad to see some of them mimic his stony composure.

Every head in the room turned as the tent flap was swept aside. Olem stepped inside and announced, “His Lordship, King Sulem the Ninth, of Deliv.”

A murmur among the officers quickly faded into silence as the Deliv king swept into the command tent. He held his plumed bicorne under one arm and wore a Kelly-green officer’s dress uniform, the chest of which was caked in decorations. He was a handsome man with gray hair curled near the scalp, a strong jaw, and white teeth that seemed to shine in contrast with his ebony skin.