The Autumn Republic

It was twenty minutes before he’d finished rubbing down his horse. He made his camp a little ways from the rest of the men and built a small fire using dry branches, igniting it with a flash of powder. He held his hands to the flames, trying to work the ache from his fingers, regretting the three days straight of clutching his reins.

The pressure still pushed on the inside of his rib cage, like some kind of wild animal clawing to be free. His own exhaustion was but a shadow in the back of his mind and he had doubts that he would get any sleep until Ka-poel was free.

“Norrine and Doll made a quick sweep,” Gavril said, emerging silently from the darkness of the forest and dropping down beside Taniel. “No one lying in wait down the road. It’s safe to make a fire.” He glanced wryly at the flames over which Taniel still held his hands.

Taniel’s throat was suddenly dry. Pit, what would Tamas say about this? Taniel was supposed to be in command. He should have seen to the scouts, checked with the sentries, then told the men whether they could make their own fires. “Thanks,” he croaked.

“Don’t mention it.” Gavril shifted around until he was comfortable, his back up against a tree trunk, and produced a flask from his vest pocket. “Drink?”

“No.”

Gavril took a sip. “You eaten yet today?”

“Of course.” Taniel couldn’t recall. The last dozen hours seemed like a distant memory, a barely remembered dream.

Gavril produced a paper-wrapped parcel and tossed it into Taniel’s lap. Marching rations, by the look of it.

“I’m fine,” Taniel said, handing it back.

“Eat, you stubborn bastard. By Adom, who the pit you think you are? Your father?”

Taniel bit back a reply and unwrapped the dried beef and biscuits. He was halfway through the meal when he realized that the big Watchmaster had elicited exactly the response he wanted with the comment about Tamas. Taniel sniffed and tried to pretend he hadn’t just been manipulated. “You don’t know anything about my father.”

Gavril made a choking sound and rolled onto his side, coughing. “Oh pit, I just snorted Fatrastan rum up my nose.”

“What was that about?” Taniel demanded. He had a vague memory of someone mentioning that Gavril had served with Tamas, but though that conversation may have happened just months ago, it felt like years.

“I said I accidentally snorted rum.”

“No, I mean when I said, ‘You don’t know anything about my father.’ ”

“Nothing, nothing. Some other time.”

Gavril fell silent and Taniel chewed on the road rations, swallowing mechanically, the hard biscuits having no flavor. Gavril was watching him eat. The effect was rather unnerving, especially from such a bear of a man. “Did you want some?” Taniel asked.

“Ate hours ago,” Gavril said, taking another sip at his flask. His gaze shifted to the small fire.

Taniel finished the meal and fumbled about for his canteen. Gavril offered his flask again and Taniel took it. The rum burned the back of his throat, leaving a slightly sweet aftertaste. “Where’d you get that scar?”

Gavril’s eyebrows rose for a moment, then he looked down to his uncovered wrist. A pink line stretched across his broad forearm and ended on the back of his hand. He shook the sleeve of his jacket down to cover it. “You’re too hard on your old man,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a tough old bastard, but he has tried to be a good father.”

“That’s really none of your damn business.” Taniel felt the color rise in his cheeks.

Gavril held up his hands in peace. “Sorry, sorry. Just making an observation.”

They sat in silence for several minutes while Taniel let his anger cool. The pleasant feeling of a full belly made his eyelids droop and he reached for the hope that maybe he would actually get some rest.

“You were on campaign with him?” Taniel asked. “In Kez? Caught behind the lines?”

“Aye,” Gavril said.

“Was it bad?”

Gavril was silent for several moments. Taniel watched the side of his face, realizing only now that Gavril weighed at least two stone less than he had all those months ago on South Pike. There was a new scar on his right cheek, faded in a way that spoke of healing sorcery, and the hint of healed bruises around both eyes.

“It was,” Gavril finally answered. “Killing the horses for food. Being dogged by Kez cuirassiers. Gathering up powder and food from the men so we could ration it back out wisely. I had to shoot a man because it was found he had stolen two weeks’ worth of rations.”

It sounded like stories Taniel had heard from his father about the Gurlish campaigns. Except those were decades ago, half a world away. This had just happened in the very heart of the Nine. “Tamas put you in command?”

Gavril shrugged his big shoulders. “Sure. He needed someone like me. You see the worst of humanity up on the Mountainwatch. Convicts and debtors, thieves and fools. Pit, you remember. Not Adro’s finest, by a long stretch. If I could keep that lot in line, I could keep Tamas’s infantry going with one hand and manage the scouts and cavalry with the other.”