The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (78 page)

She had an idea who those volunteers might be.

And it would have to be done soon.

There was a storm coming. The northern sky was a layer cake of puffy rust orange, livid blue, and a dozen shades of gray, flickering with silent lightning. The torrents were still a few hours away, but they would eventually wash the land and make fighting that much more difficult. At the moment, the cavalry could easily move through the plains, and the archers would have no trouble nocking their bows. But once the spring rains poured over them, things would become trickier. She had no desire to trample and slip up muddy slopes, going against the sharp, lowered spears of the entrenched nomads.

Her hair rippled. For now, the wind was a soft, quiet breeze, but it smelled like chaos. The midday lighting was too
dark and yet too bright for her liking, with an eerie shadowless illumination that made everything surreal in its muted detail.

“We get this done, then we go home?” she spat.

“With some luck, wenches will be waiting for us in the brothels of Somar,” Finley mused. “Sorry.”

Mali softened her feigned reproving look. She would not mind a brothel now either, if only because they had soft beds and fresh fruit, and you could get your flesh massaged for an extra coin. She was tired of her filthy uniform, of sleeping on the ground, of jostling her kidneys in a saddle every day.

The charm of killing that had gripped her in her youth was mostly gone.

She could almost understand the appeal of normal family life. Almost.

Colonel Alan did not say anything. He did not speak much. He was a handsome, taciturn officer, with a bald head and a mean moustache that dropped below his jawline. His black eyes were fixed on the hills, evaluating the target. Like the rest of them, he had spent the last months of his life on the road, eating cold meals, meandering from one village to another, witnessing the destruction and death left by the fleeing nomads.

“I will go,” Mali said. What else was there?

“It is a very bold way of seeking promotion. First that mad charge, now this?” Finley was looking at her with admiration. She was familiar with that look. When you beat men at their own game, they turned docile like puppies.

Alan seemed less impressed. “I’ll take my men,” he counteroffered.

Tricky
, Mali thought. There was no official leader to their joint party. When they had been sent north, no one had expected their separate armies to merge one day, so far north,
so isolated from the rest, without any clear instructions. The only way they could succeed in this battle was to cooperate and agree. Which meant one of them would have to relent. Step down.

Do I still want to lead the army like I used to?
she asked herself.
Yes, I do. But did the wisdom of my years teach me anything?
She had no answer for that.

“We can do it together,” she said.

Alan looked her up and down. He did not seem too fond of the Third Independent, it seemed. Mali wished she knew more about Velten’s army, about his staff. But most of them had just been kids or junior officers when she had deserted. Her knowledge of current army politics and intrigue was minimal. In her better times, she would manipulate, coerce, and fuck whoever was needed to get her goals achieved. Now, she was wondering if all this was worth the effort.

Did she really want to send her girls to their death yet again?

Yes, I do. I’m an army officer. That’s what we do
.

Her face turned hard. She did not relish any rivalry, not here, not now. But she would not let someone like Alan best her just because he had a mean moustache.

“You will take the left flank. I will take the right one.”

“I have more troops. My men are more experienced,” Alan said.

Mali grinned. “Finley, remind me, whose name it was they sang of in the Battle of Shit?”

Finley shrugged. “Colonel Mali.”

The bald colonel grunted. “So you butchered a few boys with runny bowels.”

Mali did not let her cheerful mien slip. “We’ll make it a competition. The first one to hold the Namsue chieftain’s head
in their hands wins. If you do it, I’m gonna shave my head. If I do it, you will cut off that silly moustache.”

Alan licked his lips. “Fine.”

Mali turned serious. “Now, let’s form a plan.”

With the northern sky boiling and churning and changing colors, they outlined the fine details of their attack. It was going to be a very straightforward charge. Alan would lead his entire division into the western foothills. Mali would attack from the right, leading her women and several regiments detached from Finley’s body. This would be her biggest command since coming back to the army. She feared the lack of cohesion between the troops, but that could not be helped now.

Finley would push straight north with the remaining bulk. They all hoped the enemy would be too distracted, and the terrain would force them to split their units into smaller detachments. Perhaps the layout of the ground could be used as an advantage. While it hid the disposition of the Namsue army, it would also allow Mali to sneak through the gullies and try to surprise the enemy. She just had to make sure the initial assault went well, and after that, they would play hide-and-seek with the nomads.

She hated the plan. It was the worst idea she had ever conceived.

But there was nothing else that sounded wise in this remote place.

The Eracian troops did not need much time preparing. Since arriving at the Emorok Hills, every moment was spent honing the blades, cleaning the muck from the leather and armor, getting ready for the last battle. Her soldiers burned to fight again.

They moved out. The cavalry rode farther out, scouting. The lightning rippled and forked, striking the distant ground.
She thought she could see dust veiling the horizon, but maybe it was rain.

The enemy was spread on the nearby hills like ants. She thought she could see Eracian bowmen dip their arrows into flames, and soon the slopes were dotted with little sparks. The black stain wriggled and moved to cover additional ridges, reacting to the Eracian advance. Mali liked that. The enemy was breaking up its tight formation.

The ground started to incline. You would miss it at first, but soon her troops were struggling uphill, through gorse that scratched their boots and snagged their trousers. Women yelped and winced as the thorns pierced their clothes and skin.

Mali was leading her force down a wide gulch and around the front wrinkle of the Emorok Hills. There was a village at the end of it, and above it, climbing up another stretch of slopes, was a mess of scaffolding. The Namsue were arranged on the lip of the glen, waiting.

“We push north. We ignore the enemy on our left flank,” she ordered, and her words were carried down the line. The formation veered right, away from the nomads. She could hear a roar of displeasure from the enemy. They were hoping to hail flaming arrows onto the Eracians, but now, their foe was doing the same thing they had practiced in the past months—disengaging from a direct battle. She hoped it was as maddening for them as it had been for her.

Still, the enemy let loose a thick volley, and it rained on her left flank. There was a deluge of shrieks as the men and women reacted, spreading out, raising their shields, picking up their pace in order to get away from the bows.

Mali grimaced. The enemy had drawn first blood. Two dozen corpses left in the thicket belonged to her troops.

Up on the slopes, she could see the Namsue marching hard, heading to intercept. But they had to follow the same terrain as their opponent, and they did not know exactly where the Eracian body was heading. That was Mali’s only consolation as she saw them break like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. The defenders were losing their advantage. With superior numbers, the Eracians ought to prevail.

Only she was not celebrating the victory just yet.

They clashed with the enemy soon thereafter. A tide of nomads spilled over the hilltops and gushed toward them in a wild, loud rush. Instead of being the ones to attack a waiting opponent, the Eracians found themselves gritting their teeth and presenting their spears upslope. The Namsue bowled into them with terrible momentum, crushing the first lines.

Then, it started to rain.

The sky opened and began weeping thick, fat tears. The day turned even darker, and the dazzling flashes were suddenly overhead and around, turning the world a brilliant black and white. Thunder began to rumble; then the sound grew to a staggering crash that shook the earth.

Mali raised her sword for an overhead chop and sliced into a wall of rain, heavy and cold. She was drenched in seconds, exhausted in minutes. The Namsue attack faltered, and soon, everyone was slipping, falling on their knees and faces.

The cloud split again, and an arc of eye-hurting purple whipped the ground not far from where they stood. Everyone was blinded for an instant, seeing a reverse image of their last sight burning inside their eyelids. Mali suddenly realized she did not want to be wearing armor right now.

The nomads fought fiercely, wildly, and they had the height advantage, but the Eracians presented a wide front, spread across several ridges and low vales, and the enemy had to
choose which groups to fight and which ones to let pass. Soon, her countrymen—and women—had the upper ground, chasing the foe downhill, or they were busy sneaking, encircling them. She hoped Alan was doing just as well, if a little worse. She did not fancy shaving her head.

Her girls won another hillock. Alexa was bulling forward, determined, fierce. The tribesmen were retreating. Meagan was closing in from the other side, her horses trying to maintain a decent pace in the worsening weather. It was hard to see what was happening farther away; the world was misted and blurred.

Mali paused to rest. The air was so wet it was hard to breathe.

Gordon stumbled up to her, leaning on his sword, panting. “I am getting too old for this kind of thing,” he rasped.

“What should I say?” she retorted.

He straightened up, wheezing. “You shouldn’t be at the front like this.”

Mali tried to shrug, but her shoulders were rigid with pain. “I don’t have much choice.”

Gordon balled some phlegm and spat it out; a thread hung to his lip. “Once we win this—”

“No.” She cut him off. “Not now,” she added more softly. “Later.”

“Try to stay back,” he pleaded and ran to join his skirmishers, skidding on the wet grass.

And she went back to killing the enemy. She found no joy, only some relief that, today, the fighting would be over. Maybe then she could let herself ponder on some other things in life.

Officers should try to avoid getting themselves mauled to death, she knew. But out here, in the Emorok Hills, all the logic of military training and doctrine simply failed her. She was so far away from anything she knew. Her only anchor of
sanity was Alexa, who kept reminding her who she was and what she was doing here. Not to escape the reality of her life. To defend her realm. That was it.

It was hard to judge the time of day, because there was no sign of the sun under those clouds, and the murk remained uniform. But she guessed it was late afternoon. The rain slackened and became a soft drizzle. The growls and roars of thunder passed south, leaving behind a drenched world.

The fighting was indeed coming to an end. The Namsue seemed to have been defeated. The survivors were being herded into a valley adjacent to a warren of mine shafts. Alan was pushing from northeast, having encircled the enemy. Her own girls were holding the higher ground on the slopes, trying to lob arrows with sodden bows. Finley’s men were cresting the hills to the south, completing the maneuver.

“Do you think they will surrender, sir?” Nolene asked.

Mali looked at her new major. “I do not know.” And if they did, so what? They would leave no survivors. She wondered who would claim the victory now, Alan or she? A bloody tie? Was the Namsue chieftain still alive? Or maybe lying low somewhere? It would be very easy to miss a man pretending to be dead among so many corpses strewn in the brush.

Major Theresa was on the next hill, signaling. There were no more nomads left behind. The battle was almost over.

“Anyone in those tunnels?” Nolene inquired, pointing.

Mali squinted at the mines. They looked abandoned. The ground nearby was undisturbed by the passage of feet. It was unlikely the enemy was hiding inside. Still…

“Sergeant Angelica!” she bellowed as best she could.

“Sir!” the woman reported. The sergeant had one eye missing and had not bothered with a patch.

“Get your girls to inspect those shafts. Don’t go too deeply inside. If you see anything wrong, don’t pursue. We’ll collapse the rocks on the openings if needed.”

Captain Gordon was watching her, she noticed, standing some distance off. They would get to talk later. And fuck. Oh, after this, they would properly fuck for a whole day.

Colonel Alan was eager to keep his moustache, it seemed. Unlike Finley and her own battalion, he was pushing forward. He intended to finish the nomads quickly. Mali sighed. Pride called that she did the same with her own forces.

“Let’s get this done with,” she hissed and led downhill.

Soon, it was finished. A cheer exploded through the Eracian ranks. They had won. They had defeated the Namsue to the last. There was a huge leg of empty roads waiting for them on their return trip toward Somar, but they would accomplish the journey in about one-third of the time now that they did not need to hunt the nomads anymore. And they would visit the Barrin estate for supplies and reinforcements.

Then Mali realized all her news of the world was outdated by many weeks.

She did not really know what was happening in the realm.

Units were already setting camp amid a cluster of mining sheds. Finley had appropriated the two least rickety buildings for the officers. It was not much, but they would not have to sleep in the open. Soldiers were busy trying to scavenge the battlefield, taking weapons and trinkets from the dead. Several men were trying to find lost gems in the excavated mounds of earth.