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COLD RAIN DOGGED THE military train as they left Alham, soaking roads, equipment, and soldiers. Shianan’s nerves were soon stretched to breaking, as he dealt with the thousand crises of mobilization and all plagued by the hated rain.
The rain did not cease as they went north but grew more vicious. After they crossed the river, two days out, an ice storm descended. Shianan lay in his tent and did not sleep, listening to icy pellets strike the cloth and trying to bury the cold, slow terror the sound woke in him. He wrapped his blankets about him and wished for more, trying to block out the rattle of falling ice. He angrily chastised himself for hearing it, for letting it touch him, for shivering at the mere sound, for failing to sleep. But resentment only glazed his unease. Though long accustomed to field quarters, that night he longed for stone walls, slate roofs, and burning braziers.
In the morning, already exhausted, he helped break wagons free of frozen puddles, shouting for burlap to be placed as footing for the draft slaves trying to start their loads on ice. The day stretched long and bitter, and by night Shianan was barely civil to his captains. “I don’t care if they’re tired,” he snarled at Torg. “We’re all tired, we’re all cold. But if those wagons aren’t on higher ground, they’ll sink and freeze in the mud and never move in the morning.”
Torg nodded, rubbing a streak of splashed mud from his face. “I know, sir. But the—”
“I don’t care!” snapped Shianan. “Just get it done!”
He saw that slaves were shoveling channels to direct rain away from where they’d left some of the lighter wagons and muttered a few more instructions. He was hungry and cold, like the rest of his men. Now they were settling, he wanted supper and a warm bed. And the ruthless freezing rain continued to fall, ever dogging him with chilly unease.
Someone had already erected his tent—there were advantages to being a commander—and he slogged through frozen mud to the entrance. A lantern was lit inside, lending an artificial warmth to the interior. Shianan shook his head to disperse the melt-water inside his hood and pushed his damp hair back. Luca looked up from the tunic he was mending and pointed. “I’ve brought your supper.”
For a moment Shianan stared at him, afraid he had somehow fallen asleep on his feet and dreamed. But it was bitterly real. He drew a sharp, angry breath. “Luca! What are you doing here?”
“I followed you, as a good servant should.”
“A good servant should do as he’s told, and I told you to stay in Alham.”
Luca took his time responding. He’d obviously schooled himself to present his argument reasonably. “I can help you. And I won’t—”
“’Soats, Luca, don’t you listen? You’ll be killed out here. I told you not to come.” Shianan’s fury fueled his words through his weariness.
“I know what you said. But I won’t stay in Alham and wait while—”
“Have you ever just done what I’ve said? Even once? Even when it would have protected you?” He turned, trying to put Luca out of sight, as if that would change anything, would keep him from this dangerous place.
“That’s not what—”
“Can’t you just do as you’re told?” he demanded. “Listen and obey?”
“But—”
Shianan wheeled to face him and roared, “I own you!”
Shock struck each of them in the same instant, as the words hung almost tangible within the sagging cloth walls. Rain drummed out all remaining sound as they stared at one another.
Luca took a slow breath and arranged his features into a wry smile. “You owe me,” he answered gently.
Shianan gulped, tried to move, couldn’t. “Luca, I—I didn’t...”
“You’ve said yourself that I’ve helped cover your back. I can do so again.”
“Luca, I’m sorry. King’s sweet oats, I’m sorry. I can’t—I didn’t—”
“Let me stay, then.”
Shianan shook his head. “No.” He dropped heavily to the low cot, heedless of the wet cloak soaking his bed. “If I die, Luca, and there is a chance of it, I die fighting, serving my country and my king. And you will grieve, and you will profit by my death, gaining your own self and a substantial sum of money.”
“And that is worth your life?”
“Hear me out! If you die, Luca—and it is no chance but certainty, you cannot but die facing Ryuven—then I will grieve the loss of my closest friend, and I will carry forever the burden of knowing I did not prevent it.”
Luca stared at him. “I came to help you.”
“Your presence won’t keep me safe. In truth, I’ll be safer without the distraction of worrying over you.” He smiled grimly.
“If you are—”
“There is one thing I have always done well,” Shianan interrupted, “and that is to frustrate anyone trying to kill me. If death comes, I won’t fear it; I have been a soldier all my life and I’ve known from boyhood what we faced. But know this, Luca—I do not go to search for death. I do not intend to throw away my life, nor to part with it lightly. I swear to you, I go to kill Ryuven.” His jaw tightened. “More, I go to kill a Ryuven.”
Luca’s eyes gleamed wide in the lantern’s light. “You can’t—Pairvyn ni’Ai is nigh immortal. He’s unstoppable. He’s already nearly killed you!”
“Then he won’t expect me again, will he?” Shianan’s voice held no humor. “Leave that aside. Luca, I am truly sorry for what I said, I am. But I won’t let you stay. If I cannot order you back, I’ll order men to take you back. I won’t have you die uselessly.”
Luca looked away, his throat working visibly. “I understand. I’ll go back in the morning.”
Shianan eyed him closely. “You’ll go?”
Luca’s jaw spasmed. “I would not lie to you. I’ll go back to Alham, and I will stay. And I will wait for you to return.” He looked again toward Shianan.
Shianan nodded. “I’ll come back.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “And if I somehow fail, it will be the first time I have lied to you. But at least you will know it will also be the last.”
Luca scowled. “That’s poor comfort and poorer humor.”
Shianan shrugged. “It’s all I have.” He glanced up at the roof, where water beaded ominously to show where the proofing was weak. “’Soats, I don’t want to go out in that again.”
Luca wordlessly passed him a cooled plate. Shianan unclasped his cloak with his free hand, tossing it to the slave, who hung it to drain as best it could overnight.