Blades Of Illusion: Crown Service #2 (19 page)

In addition to the supreme mage’s presence, the commander of the soldiers in the imperial forces was also in charge of the spies, the torturers, and basically anything that didn’t fall under the purview of the mercenaries and mages, which was a
lot
. The commander’s purview also included overall provisions and supplies, which was why the minute she’d gotten off the ship, she’d been accosted by an incendiary man who worked for the soldiers and not the mercenaries.

And not to forget the mercenaries
, she thought to herself.
That’s a whole other kettle of fish to deal with.

She knew—and she figured all the other mercenaries knew—that Kansid wouldn’t be happy giving up his command over all mercenary forces, especially to a Corcoran guard leader who Sara knew from experience he would despise within an hour of their meeting.

That is, if the commander has any sense
.

But she wasn’t on the side of Kansid. She couldn’t be. He was in charge of this deployment of the Red Lion Guard. He might have had nothing to do with the attack on her family or the search for the missing pages in her father’s journal, but there’s no way she could know that without meeting the man and questioning him. And even then, it depended on whether or not she believed him...and whether he believed her. She had to admit—it was an insane story.

Hello, my name is Sara Fairchild. I’m the daughter of disgraced commander Vincent Fairchild. I snuck my way into the Mercenaries’ Guild to get into the archives and steal my father’s dossier, in the process setting off a series of events that got my mother killed and has me on the run for my life. Straight into a war.

She had to admit it was a bit far-fetched, even for her. Who ran away from killers straight into the front lines of a civil war, for heaven’s sake?

The official in front of her cleared his throat loudly and said, “I said, dear girl, what is it that I can do for you?”

Sara blinked as if awaking from a dream. She hadn’t even heard that request.

“Can you solve all my problems and avenge my family?” she said half-kidding while thinking of the latrine assignment that started tomorrow. It felt like the gods were laughing at her. She hadn’t even stepped foot inside camp and she was already stepping on toes. Loudly.

“What was that?” The polite administrative mercenary asked.

Sara snapped out of her reverie and said, “Oh...nothing.”

She paused uncomfortably and looked at him.

He stared back at her.

“Well, I was told to report here for further orders.”

He raised a polite eyebrow. “As to?”

“My station and boarding at camp. I’m First Division, Mercenary, Corcoran Guard,” she hurried to explain.

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fairchild, but stationing and provisions is with the gentlemen you just left. Unfortunately, you’ll have to get back in line.”

Sara’s eyes widened in horror. She didn’t have to turn back around to know the line stretched back up onboard the airship and was as slow as molasses running on a hot summer’s day. She
couldn’t
get back in line.

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded.

“No, I don’t think I do,” said the man with a puzzled expression on his. “Why are you really here?”

“I told you, for my position assignment and lodging,” Sara said hurriedly. Anything to keep him from turning her away and back to the mile-long line.

He shifted his glasses on his face and hummed. “Yes, that is clear. But why are you serving on the front lines?”

Sara stiffened. “I have the experience and training to do what is necessary for my empire—“

“That wasn’t what I meant at all Miss Fairchild,” he said chidingly. “I’m sure you have the training and wherewithal to withstand dozens of attacks and hold your own.” She eased back as he continued, “If not the exact experience that all of the surrounding soldiers
do
have.”

His tone was too knowing for her to bluster her way through it. Besides, Sara couldn’t fault him there. All the training in the world hadn’t prepared her for that first Kade attack. Oh, she had survived it. But dirty guerrilla warfare wasn’t exactly something you went over in Campaigns and Tactics 101 at the arena for junior officer’s training.

“How’d you know?” she asked him.

He raised silver eyebrows in question, knowing exactly what she meant but refusing to voice an answer until she asked properly. She felt a smile spread across her lips; he reminded her of her old tutor. He had been a stickler for manners, even worse than her mother.

Sara rephrased her question, “How did you know that I’ve never been to war?” Then she paused and lowered her voice to an uncomfortable whisper. “And how do you know I won’t falter when so many others have before me?”

“Because, dear,” the man said kindly, “you have the spirit of a determined young woman. With the skill I can see written into your very muscles, it would make an enemy hard-pressed to overcome you...at any time.”

Sara rocked back on her heels. “Are you saying you’re a sage?” she asked abruptly.

“No, dear, nothing so mystical,” he said with a gentle laugh.

Sara narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe him, not for a second. She thought about forcing the matter and opening her inner eyesight to see exactly what it was that he was hiding.
But that’s the trouble
, she thought glumly.
Hiding is not exactly what he’s doing. And whatever he is, he isn’t a threat to me. I can tell that just by looking at him.

And whatever Sara may have felt about the manner, she didn’t feel that she needed to invade his privacy any more than she wanted her own invaded.

She shifted on her feet and suggested, “How about a truce, eh? I really would just like to go.”

He blinked and settled back. “Have it as you will, Mercenary Fairchild. How may I be of service?”

“I was reassigned from my original division to First. All I need to know is where I go from here,” Sara said quickly.

“This was confirmed by...?” he prompted.

“Captain Alena, of the Mounted First Division.”

He nodded and dug through more papers.

“Thank you,” said Sara, “If you could do this for me, it would be first time all day that something has happened exactly as planned.”

He muttered something non-committal.

Sara decided to press her luck, “I could also use a bath...and I need to see a friend.”

He sighed and said, “Your supply pack will be over in provisions, and here’s your tent assignment in the fourth ward.” He looked down and read the paper. “You’ll be bunking with one...Sarea Starsin. Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem,” Sara said. She practically snatched it away from him, she reached so quickly.

“Well, off you go,” he said, not unkindly.

“Thank you,” said Sara in relief as she walked away.

“And Miss Fairchild?” he called out, with humor in his voice.

She turned around and looked at him silently.

“The baths are just off to the east of the provisions tent. They’ll give you towels and fresh linens there.”

She let a true laugh bubble from her lips.

“As polite as a piper, you are,” she said with a teasing tone.

He let a smile grace his lips. “I do try.”

T
aking his advice, she set off to the provisions tent, collected a knapsack with extra clothes, and raced—not walked—to the nearest hot baths for the troops. She could have acted unimpressed at the open-sunken pool with steaming hot water rising from the ground and the profusion of attendants stationed every few feet to help out a soldier who beckoned with clean towels and fierce scrubbings. It wasn’t just one thing that caught her eye, it was everything. The area was filled with the deep, refreshing mists of hot mineral water from natural springs as numerous attendants went back and forth every few feet.

The arenas back in Sandrin had all of those accommodations, and more. But, truth be told, Sara would have praised the gods just for a tub of clean water and some soap at the moment. To see the array of facilities available to her now, after so many weeks traipsing through the swamp, felt like a gift from the gods. A gift she wouldn’t shirk with false pride.

Sara elected to bathe for the first time in one of the smaller, shallower pools. Here she could scrape a week’s worth of grime off her back and not worry that the filth would pollute the waters of the larger pool, where half a dozen other warriors now lounged. She didn’t hesitate to strip herself of her filthy boots, her skin-tight leather pants, and the shirt that clung to her back. All went into a pile at her feet. She had thought about stopping by her tent and leaving her swords there, but she didn’t trust anyone but herself with them. If they were stolen while she was cleaning herself, she would never live it down. She lugged them all to the pools and left the largest weapons at the gate, at the behest of the attendants who had sternly pointed to a sign that read ‘no weapons allowed’, with diagrams of crossbows, swords, maces, knives, throwing stars, garrotes, and half a dozen other things that she hadn’t bothered recognizing. When Sara had given up her weapons, it had felt like going naked into an unknown scenario. It
was
like going naked into unknown scenario, but she could either keep her knives or keep her filth. And she, for one, would not be able to stand another minute covered in grime.

She could have found a stream to bathe in and bought some soap from an encampment dispensary somewhere, but even while the thought flowed through her mind, she saw steam rising into the open air above the attendant’s head. With a gasp in wonder, she promptly stripped herself of all weapons perceived and imaginary, even when the man demanded the brass rings strung through her braided hair. Sara made no effort to protest that the rings were useless with just the empty circular holes embedded in them. They needed the corresponding spikes to be effective, but those were buried in the knapsack she’d been forced to give over upon boarding the airship.

She just gave them what they wanted, gratefully took her token of entrance, and walked into the steam-filled area with a reverent sigh. She stood naked and immodest in front of her small pool of water with a silly grin on her face, unable to stop trembling at the feeling of joy from being clean again. She didn’t bother thinking about her nude body, completely unadorned except for the gold necklace that hung to her breastbone. She’d stripped off her breastband and underwear the minute she’d taken off her outer clothes, after all. They were as filthy as the rest of her clothes, and soaking wet, to boot, without the water-resistant protections of her outer clothes. She was a battle mage, after all, not a weather mage; her outer clothes might have remained dry, but that hadn’t stopped droplets of rain from seeping between her clothes and her skin to make their way down her exhausted body to the layers below.

In short, everything she had been wearing was absolutely disgusting, and Sara eyed the pile distastefully as she stepped toward the pool.

“It all needs to be burned in the hottest kiln possible,” Sara said wearily.

As if summoned by her words, an attendant appeared magically by her side. The young woman was fully clothed in a flowing dress, with the collar of an indentured servant encircling her neck—silver entwined with brass. Sara frowned at seeing it. She didn’t like the collar, nor the similar wide bracelet around the woman’s forearm that carried the mark of her master—in this case the imperial garrison. The bracelet also told of her position in life. In a glance, Sara read the etchings marked on the girl’s bracelet and saw that she had two more years in an indentured servant’s contract of five, that she was from the Western Islands, and that she had been given her five-year sentence for theft.

Sara gritted her teeth in anger.
Five years of servitude for theft? What did she steal? The crown jewels?

The woman startled and Sara realized she might have uttered the last part aloud.

“No, miss,” the girl stammered. “May I take your garments?”

“What did you steal?” Sara demanded.

She realized too late how that would sound, as if she were worried that the girl would steal her filthy rags.

To her surprise, the indentured servant didn’t flinch or lower her head. Instead, she raised up her face with fierce eyes. “I stole crops.”

Sara blinked as sweat and dirt began to drift down her filthy body to form a vile mix of swamp mud at her feet. The steam was working its magic.

“Crops?” she echoed lazily, wondering what in the world the girl meant.

“Crops,” the girl said defiantly. “My family’s crops. They were claimed by the crown.”

“Because?”

The girl fidgeted. “We were behind on our debts. But if they’d just given my da one more season, we could have harvested it, sold the lot, and paid them off.”

“And they didn’t wait?” Sara asked.

“No,” the girl said bitterly. “The greedy nobles demanded the whole lot in compensation for defaulting on our debt. Those crops were worth six times what we owed them. The nobles were going to bring in some families of sharecroppers, pay them pennies, then sell all the product and makes themselves richer than before! All at my family’s expense.”

“And you, what? Uprooted an entire farm of carrots one night and sold them?” Sara said sarcastically.

“Saffron,” said the affronted girl. “And no, I didn’t sell it.”

Sara tilted her head. “Then what?”

The girl smiled. “I burned them.”

Sara sucked in a surprised breath. Even she hadn’t expected that. Saffron was a spice derived from the crocus powder, beloved in wealthy households for its unique heat and flavor. What’s more, it was worth more than its weight in gold to the right buyer.

“I’m surprised they didn’t burn you alive for that,” Sara said. “In Sandrin, they cut off a finger for the theft of a little bread.”

The girl gave her a bitter smile. “I guess I’m lucky, then. They would do the same where I come from, but the nobles wanted to see me suffer for years. At least, that’s what they said. So instead of cutting my throat, they sent me here, and they whipped my brothers and sisters bloody for my transgressions.”