A half-hour later, Cole was saddling his horse – a big, stout-quartered runner, dappled deep-gray like old stone. She was his third, bright-tempered and loyal like a dog, and probably his favorite. After his second had been killed under him, he was more than pleased she had made it through.
He stroked around her soft ears as she followed him wherever he walked – silently promising her, just one more mission.
“Outside of Dair Garran, there's a house...” He settled the saddle over his mare's wide back, and patted away her snorting nerves. She had picked them up from him, and he muttered her soothing excuses between syllables. “...with a green roof and oak gables, edged on the sides with carved horses, not a mile to the west of town.”
Cole, Faer, and Guy had locked the door on Servan and left him. Ghent would take his sweet time getting to him, but there was no worry. He was fine, Cole had said – and they knew he wouldn’t let a prisoner die – but they hesitated to ask, and he had not elaborated. Whatever had happened was far beneath being any concern of Cole’s; he had a mission. And, true to form, he had refused being talked out of leading it himself. There wasn't anyone else they could trust it to.
Faer and Guy tried not to think of what would happen if Cole was killed. Guy's plan hadn't gone this far.
“Dair Garran,” Guy said. He was intermittently holding the bridle while Cole packed the horse. “That's on the edge of the forest just south of here, well in the north of the Comid territory. It's practically not in Comid territory. It's a totally unimportant little farming village just next to nowhere. I think I have cousins there. Blood and Death! We fought battles deeper in Comid territory than that.”
Perfect for hiding things. Too small to provide provisions or make a suitable stop for the army, off the highly trafficked paths created by the Relay, they would sooner bargain for than fight over Dair Garran, if its name came up at all.
“What if Servan was lying?” Faer was tasked with handing Cole his tack and provisions. “What if he just told you what you wanted to hear?”
Cole shook his head, jostling his pack to make sure it was well settled. His mare nickered, as if it were a personal insult to her ability to carry. He took the bridle from Guy and stroked her nose in apology.
“He wasn't. Had no reason to. But we do need to rescind all those reports.”
With a mock exasperated sigh, Faer grinned, “Put it down, pick it up, put it out, take it in, like a mother, my work is never done. And awfully repetitive.”
Grinning back, Cole said, “Wear different clothes – your lawyer's robes or something. People don't like to look lawyers in the face, lest they become familiar. You used my money before Ghent's, so that won't trace back to you, necessarily.”
“Yes, and I would like to keep my reputation for only minor dastardly doings, rather than capital offenses,” Faer said. “You know, you must be somewhat dastardly as a lawyer or your clients don't have faith you're sneaking and underhanded enough to help them.”
“Sneaking, perhaps, but you, Faer, haven't been underhanded a day in your life.” Cole grabbed Faer – who only flinched a little – took one of the ever-present writs Faer kept about him and made motion to borrow something to write with. Guy, abandoning the horse's bridle as he felt about in his pockets, handed him a soft crayon he kept for note-taking. With only minor griping, Faer lent his back as a desk and Cole wrote out a note, folding it shut and handing it to Guy.
“Put my seal to it.” He looked at Faer. “Just in case he was lying. That's my full agreement to Durante and Diarmaid's deal, and confession that you acted under duress. Who knows if they’ll believe it, but if I'm not back in time, you get that to them before they put Nika on trial. Make whatever excuses you have to in order to explain my absence. You understand?”
Guy solemnly tucked it into his coat, and they both nodded – and Cole, over his shoulder, gave Faer a crooked grin, as if to say, he knew he hardly need ask. Faer probably would have forged one, if he had to.
Faer looked away.
Checking one last time, Cole shifted his sword belt, but everything was ready. He turned, and heard Guy shuffle after him.
Cole put hand on Guy's chest, stopping him.
“Guy – go back to the Tower and dig in.”
He said it like an order, like all the orders he had been issuing, but Guy didn't hesitate this time. The air had stunk with expectation he would be asked to leave, and he wouldn’t have it. “Why?”
“It's best you're not even seen around me before I leave–”
“I followed you through half a war, and much stupider places besides. Cole, I'm not leaving you now.”
Feet spread and planted, Guy scowled. Not even Cole's mare pushing her nose into his elbow – reminding him that, though Cole was her master, it was Guy who sneaked her bits of sugar cone rescued by the cooks – could shake his posture.
“Lieutenant Guy,” Cole said, patiently. He smiled. “No more following.”
Silence struck both Guy and Faer like a blow to the chest.
“You're a General now, Guy,” Cole said, taking his hand away from Guy's chest. “You're responsible for all of Ainjir's active military. And I hope to keep you in that rank.”
“But... Cole,” Guy looked at him pleadingly. The uniform felt too big, the medals too heavy. The responsibilities were too great, and the title too long. As a ruse, as a game, he could do it, like children played at King-for-a-day, but nobody saw reason to swap a child's willow-branch crown with heavy gold.
This whole time, he realized, he had been waiting for Cole to take it back. It was cruel of Cole to say he wouldn't.
Even as it got harder and harder to see how Cole could, Guy had waited. Neither Guy nor Faer had quite committed the sin of having the thought, much less saying it, but it stood in the dim field of future of consequences, a giant lurking amongst stumbling stones.
“I'm through,” Cole said quietly.
“This wasn't part of my plan,” Guy said.
“I know,” Cole smiled at him. “Sometimes it goes that way. You must deal with what's in front of you. If I don't succeed...” he trailed, the consequences too shrouded for him to imagine. Nika was counting on him. He would not fail.
“I intend to succeed. And live. And if I am successful, and alive – this is it. I’ve set myself against both crown and sword, at the highest levels, to their faces, personally. As for your plan, everything we've done can be safely blamed on me, and that's more than enough on its own, really. I've illegally detained and assaulted a citizen of the city, spy or not, funded the publishing of misleading war news, and I'm stealing two units of Elites for what is, by all accounts, a personal mission...”
“I could grant authority,” Guy said, “I could give the order–”
Cole put steel in his voice. “But you won't, Guy.”
Denial and rebellion fought on Guy's face for a moment, before he settled on mulishness. “I'm at least going to see you off. That can't hurt my rank. It's not like anyone knows who I am without twenty pounds of gold braided uniform and a herald, anyway.”
“I do,” Faer said, breaking the warm silence. “You're that Guy who follows General Cole around.”
It was too stupid, and the moment too tense, not to laugh. Cole's mare snuffled at Guy, putting soft lips to his neck in search of his attention. Guy finally relented and stroked her nose, clucking sweetnesses to her as he took her bridle.
“You know, Guy,” Cole said, raising his brows at the mare, “You would think it was the officer who should go to war and the lady who should guard the castle.”
“Shut up,” Guy said, letting the mare push against him as he stroked her jaws. “It doesn't matter to true love. And I deserve a break. Even when I'm a General you over-work me.”
With Guy leading the horse, they followed Cole out into the early twilight. Great black clouds had streaked the sky, turning the light a foreboding purple-gray. Cole smiled at the great bank of them, coming in from the north, the birthhouse of storms that hung over Geron. He decided to take it as a sign of sympathy from the gods, or God, or Midras himself, who may or may not be a storm-caller for all Cole knew. He would be racing the rain to get to Dair Garran before the fury of the skies washed the roads out. A push for speed if he ever saw one.
Leaving the stables meant they entered the open court by the Academy gates, where with sharp shouts and defined lines two units of horsed Elites stood like blood-splashed gravestones in red, blue and black.
Cole shouldn’t have been able to command them. Technically, they were on leave. Technically, with his status so questionable, Cole shouldn’t have been able to command anyone. But he hadn’t so much commanded as asked. They had, not so much mustered as voluntarily assembled. Having returned with Hammerlyn, they had been granted leave, as a reward for their remarkable service, so, technically, they could do what they wanted. They wanted to follow Cole.
After all, they had guarded him for going on three years, now, following faithfully even through his most idiotic or unclear directions, coming to understanding his desperate striving for victory rather than expecting the cool calculation of officers more entrenched in what they called the 'art' of waging war. Their leave had been granted because they had been the ones to help gather the surrender of the Comid general, thus, effectively, ending the war. So it also seemed fitting to take them.
At Cole's entrance, there was a shout for attention; those still gathering supplies moved double-time. Cole gave his sergeants a bright grin and hauled himself into the mare's saddle.
“Guy, you're going have to bury yourselves deep,” Cole said. “Keep that agreement hidden and get protected however you can.”
“Right,” Guy said, “because there's a whole lot I can do if the King decides to bend me over for a shafting.”
“You'll just have to let the King know that you're only interested in the ladies,” Cole said, with a raised brow at his mare. He pulled a crisply folded note from his pocket, as if just remembering where it was. “And they're very partial to you. This came while you were lolly-gagging about the dungeons.”
“What is it?” Guy was staring, but Cole and Faer were grinning as if they both knew – and as neither was above the arranging of a little dramatics, Guy guessed they knew perfectly well. Given its little gold border, the whiteness of the paper, and the delicate swoop of the handwriting, Guy could've make a fair guess, too, though he wouldn't have believed it.
“Princess Aodhnait kindly invites the most honorable General to come up to sup with her and some other friends, if you'll be done with your skulking by then,” Cole said, laughing as Guy's face turned first red, then a panicked white, then a warm red again. He gestured with the note, urging Guy to take it.
Guy devoured the fine script with his eyes, not once, but three or four times. “She really wrote 'skulking'.”
“I like her,” Faer declared, looking over Guy's shoulder. “And, if she’s the type, you two would have cute, fat little royal bastards. Though I'd aim for a long courtship; there's enough royal bastards around for now.”
While Guy stood stunned, Cole surveyed the Elites. They were ready, waiting for his signal. He felt Faer tug on his coat to get his attention.
“Cole,” Faer murmured, “running and hiding is all well and good, but even if you ride all night, it'll take most of the day to get to Dair Garran. We won't turn your agreement in until it's our only option, but with the rain, nine extra people and tired horses, you're not going to be coming back as fast as you go. You have to get them safe and then send word, and let us delay the trial if we can.”
“Do nothing of the sort – get to ground. You two can't risk being out in the open; you've already made yourselves vulnerable charges of treason, and don't think Durante or Diarmaid will hesitate a second to use either of you a back-up plan should it look like Nika will get free. If I send word, it gives Durante and the King time to interfere, and they will be interfering after they find out what we've done.”
“We can't just sit back, though.” Faer frowned, tightening his grip. “Maybe if we use the excuse of his family now, or bluff with your agreement, they won't... they won't be as hard on him.”
Cole looked down, eyes reflecting with sympathy Faer's worried anger, his need to fight. But Cole shook his head, turning his gaze towards the Palace. “Faer– they won't be fooled. Not if I'm not here to play their game. We can't keep up a three-day bluff, and expecting to be able to go back on our word is dangerous at best. Implying that we have a way to free Nika from them only puts others in danger.” Using the excuse of soothing his mare, he turned his gaze down again, catching Faer's frustrated eyes.
“I know. I know how you feel,” Cole said. This time Faer turned away, feeling the difference between them even as he returned Cole's sympathy.
“You have to trust me,” Cole went on. “It's as you've said: Nika knew this was going to happen, he was ready to accept it as a consequence... even if we aren't. We have to believe him, when he said he was prepared. He wanted us to do this – save his family. We must do everything we can for them. We can't stop what's already started, but can take care of him when it's over.”
Swallowing, Faer ran his hand over the soft gray coat of the horse, not meeting Cole's eyes, just as Cole had spared him. “They'll need protection, too, I imagine. Legally their status could be tricky, and there's ramifications to Galen's change of plea when they arrive, and, of course, there's still the trial to prepare for...”
Cole nodded. Faer would be busy enough as it was. They both would be. They could not choose to let Nika suffer, but they could work so hard they hadn't the time for choice.
Thunder sounded, so far distant as to be difficult to hear over the city noise, but loud enough to wake Guy. Hastily stuffing his note away, he came up beside Faer. “Riding at full speed and fighting at the end isn't the best idea, Cole. We don't know what kind of force they're using to guard Nika's family. Fifty tired men might not be enough, Elites or not. Regardless of what happens to Faer and me, we at least have to try to delay trial, any way we can. Without changing horses, you're not going to come back in time.”
“It doesn't matter. I'll be back,” Cole said, face set as stone. “Nika asked me to be there for his last night.”
Though moved, Guy sighed. “I'm sure he'll understand, under the circumstances. You'll be lucky to get here by trial, the way things are, I don't know how you'll get back two nights from now.”
“I'll use the the Relay,” Cole said.
Both Guy and Faer opened their mouths to protest that the Relay no longer ran that far, but Cole turned in his saddle, and gave a sharp, high whistle before they could. A single squad of ten came forward, each trailing a riderless horse in a simple, light saddle. They settled into a square behind him, every one's face both grim and eager, spoiling for the dead run that would end in battle as if it were a contest for glorious prizes. Guy and Faer stared, realizing what the other forty men were for:
Establishing the Relay.
This had definitely not been part of Guy's plan.
Cole smiled at them, that clear and unfailing smile of an easy conqueror. He spoke loudly enough that his ten could hear, “As for the Comid force – it doesn't matter. Ten Elites and I will be enough.”
Guy and Faer fell silent, hearing the quiet laughing, seeing the grim smiles and understanding the assenting grumble of the ten on their horses. They knew Cole – they had followed him for years, into battle, on missions, through all the varied lands of Ainjir, whether sneaking or stalking or screaming. If Cole believed it, they believed it.
And Cole believed. He need only ask, and they would follow.
So ask he would. Leaving Faer and Guy behind, Cole turned his mare, letting her dance some of her sympathetic nerves out over the yard.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” He shouted.
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the reply from the fifty, in perfect unison.
“Do you have mothers and fathers?” Cole asked.
“Sir, yes, sir!” they shouted, response ringing through the court, seeming to turn and tumble the clouds in the sky.
“Do you know what it's like to fight for them, bleed for them? To suffer for them and hope for them? To see them scared and want to die for them, if by dying you protect them?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” The stones of the ground rolled, the sky belched more distant thunder. Cole's mare thumped her hooves into the ground, questioning him, for the fifty who would not, why they spent any longer on delay. He smiled to her, and turned that approving smile over to his Elites.
“We aren't going to continue the war. We aren't going to save the Kingdom, or to fight bloody holdouts. We aren't going, for the King, or for the Council...” Cole glanced over them, dropping his smile, watching their steady eyes. “We're going to save a family which had been held prisoner, women and children kept captive, and forced to watch brothers die and mothers and fathers and sisters disrespected and degraded. Not because they fought for the wrong side, but because they would not fight all. The Comids would force them, make war on them, personally, as if they were an armed kingdom and not a family, fleeing a war that sickened them.”
Cole turned again, shedding the disgust in his voice in favor of pride. “Mine is not a mission for King and country, or for loyalty and defense. Nor is it one for which we will receive medals or honors. I doubt, even, that we will be thanked.”
He chuckled at the very thought they would be, and saw the hesitant shifts and smiles, the chuckles in return. They were used to not being thanked. No one threw them Royal balls.
“No – we will be hard pressed to receive thanks from more than a dozen people, anything other than the tearful gratitude of a set of sisters, or a mother's grateful embrace. We fifty will wage war for the sake of ten, though many hundreds will easily wonder why. So I ask you that you keep in mind your answers, and have only one more question.
“Do you know love?”
He left a pregnant pause, through which the soldiers fell silent. “Do you hope for love? Have you who know the love of family, ever known or hoped to know the love which founds it all? Have you who know the fear of death, seen it swept away in the mere look of another’s eyes?”
This time the clouds responded for them, the soldiers hearing all the agreement needed in the rolling of thunder, the way Cole seemed to catch each of their eyes individually, and know truth without speaking – share truth, without speaking.
His mare tossed her head, with a hard snort, animal voice raised in laughter at their human delay. Cole smiled a reckless smile, stroking her high-arched neck, and turned towards the gate. Fifty turned after him without a moment's delay, eagerly leaning in their saddles, ready for the waiting to be done. Cole called back over his shoulder, throwing his arm into the signal to charge, raised voice drawing the thunder of his men after him as they began their wild hunt.
“Then you may ride with me, and know that glory, as well!”