Chapter Sixteen

In the ten days since Duncan dumped her into a stuffy little tent and forgot her, Faelan had memorized every inch of her prison. She paced it over and over, waiting for him to send for her, planning what she’d say. He had not.

“We are done,” he’d said.

At least she knew what adjective he would apply to her. “Forgettable.”

Several times a day ear-splitting explosions shook the ground. Faelan questioned Ky’lara about them when the native girl brought her meals. According to Ky’lara, Duncan moved the river. Actually, she’d said her Addiri moved the river. The woman’s proprietary words sparked off foolish jealousy. Duncan wasn’t Faelan’s anything, unless one counted jailer, while Ky’lara was a friend, of sorts. The whole idea was rubbish. Surely, moving a river was beyond even Duncan’s ability. What was he thinking of? One thing was certain, he was not thinking of her.

Six paces to her cot. Four-and-a-half paces to the washstand with its white bowl and chipped pitcher and rough white towel. Three paces to the chest where she kept her meager supply of clothing. Thanks to Ky’lara, she had an extra dress, some under things, and one of Duncan’s fine cotton shirts to sleep in. Like him, his shirt carried a faint scent of oranges and chocolate.

Five paces to a table with its two rickety chairs. A bowl of perfect red roses decorated the table, a gift from the kin-slayer captain’s silly wife. The captain’s lady visited every afternoon. The roses’ beauty and fragrance made Faelan’s drab little prison brighter. She had asked Katie where the flowers had come from, but the silly creature must have misunderstood because she said her bodyguard made them. That seemed about as likely as Duncan moving a river did.

Faelan sat on her cot her legs folded under her, and brought the fine cotton shirt to her nose, breathing in the comforting scent. Who was she to call the captain’s lady silly? She missed her jailer.

****

A fortnight. His signal flag had flown above his tent a whole fortnight and still no answer from the AOD. A woman of Faelan’s obvious worth, so brave, strong, and beautiful, must be valuable to someone. Somewhere in her vast army, surely someone cared enough about her to talk to him. And it better be soon. He could not put off a trial forever. Already, his generals were screaming for her head and Duncan really could not blame them, but still…

Faelan had a quick intelligent mind starved for knowledge. Duncan felt a kinship with his prisoner, smart, beautiful, and suppressed. He watched the fourth blast of the day throw sand and rock ten feet in the air. The mindless destruction buoyed his spirits. The gods knew he wanted to destroy something. He felt Captain Fawr’s presence before he heard him. He had a keen sense of his captain. It kept trouble off his sails most of the time.

“They don’t scramble when the powder blows anymore.”

Captain Fawr referred to the enemy entrenched across the river.

Duncan nodded once. “I want them complacent.”

“I’d heard they were on this side. How’d they get ahead of you?”

“I let them.” Duncan glanced at his captain. “I want them to stand and fight so I gave them a sense of advantage.”

“Which leads me to believe they don’t have the advantage. What am I missing here, Shug?”

Another blast ripped the air. Duncan smiled. “What happened to absolute faith in your choice of field marshal, sir?”

Kree laughed. “Alive and well. I just wonder why we’re setting off charges like black powder is free, and why we are building rafts when our enemy commands the river?”

“The charges provide cover, sir. The rafts misdirection.”

“Misdirection for what?”

“Construction of pontoon bridges, sir, and the charges cover— Come with me. I want to show you our new ordinance.”

“We have new weapons?”

The look of delight on his captain’s face made Duncan glow. He grinned. “Come see.”

The two men made their way behind the line of smithies to the wall strung from canvas. Duncan pulled the canvas up enough for his captain to slip underneath. On the other side stood a large triangular shaped object covered by another canvas. Duncan swept the covering off.

“What do you think, sir?”

Captain Fawr studied the object, tilting his head this way and that. “A new style trebuchet?”

“You have a fine mind, sir. This is a launch apparatus, and while the principle is similar to a trebuchet, the affect is quite different. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Taking a foot long cylinder from a nearby wooden box, Duncan loaded it into the launcher. “See the hay bale about forty yards distant, sir?”

“Uh huh.”

“This,” Duncan patted the cylinder, “carries the grain. This bit of wax here carries the igniter. My brother designed it—”

“Your brother the id—who is touched?”

“Yes sir, Anton.” Duncan shot his captain a searing glance. “My brother experiences the world differently than you and I. I do not deny it, but he does not lack intelligence. I wonder sometimes if he has it right, and we are the ones who are touched.”

“You would.”

“Yes, sir. Now then, these test rockets each carry two pound warheads. I plan at least twice the grain in the final field-ready version. There are trajectory problems to work out, and there is absolutely no way to aim them accurately, but the destructive power is impressive.”

Duncan prepared the rocket then pulled a wad of wool out his pocket. Dividing it into four bits, he stuffed two into his own ears and offered two to his captain. Captain Fawr followed his example.

“Once I spark it off, whatever is going to happen, happens,” Duncan shouted. “Unlike ordinary black powder charges, outcome is uncertain. I recommend we take cover behind that wall of hay bales there just in case.”

“Just in case what? You lost me back at igniter.”

“Catastrophic failure, sir.”

“Does it happen often?”

“About half the time, there is no precedent for this type of black powder application. It is entirely empiric.”

“I see.” Captain Fawr nodded. “I’ll step back there now.”

Minutes later Duncan dived behind the hay bales. The launcher thundered, spewing fire and smoke. The rocket screamed across the clearing, trailing fire. It struck the ground several feet short of its target, but it left a crater twelve foot across and five foot deep.

“Yes!” Duncan leapt up punching the air with his fist. “What do you think, sir?”

“I think there’s more monster in you than I gave you credit for.” Captain Fawr rubbed his ears.

Duncan’s loopy grin faltered, dissolved. “You do not like it?”

“Like it? By the goddess’s bloody tears, Sugar-babe, I love it. How many do we have?”

“Just the prototype; the design is not perfected. Would you like to know how it works?”

Captain Fawr favored him with his famous lopsided grin. “No.” He thumped Duncan’s shoulder. “Race you back. Last one there buys the beer.”

Duncan bolted for the command tent hurdling obstacles Kree Fawr could step over. There were not many physical challenges where he had a shot at besting his captain. A foot race was one of the few. He was not about to lose the opportunity.

Back in the command tent, Roland served small beer to the captain and fruit juice to Duncan. Increasingly hot weather left the tent stuffy even with the entire front section fly-rigged to catch any whispered breeze. Duncan’s yellow and black signal flag hung limp in the hot still air. He scowled up at the useless thing, but before long, his gaze strayed, as it often did, to the prison tent.

Duncan hadn’t questioned Faelan again. He should have. The men expected it. But the woman made him…hot inside, made his skin too tight. Now that his erotic dreams were gone, he craved them. He craved her. What did the fierce and defiant woman, who fired his blood, crave? His head in a basket?

When she was up in his face shouting, he had known in his bones he had found a kindred spirit, maybe even his future wife, provided he managed to keep her alive, and convince her not to hate his guts. He’d had the most insane urge to kiss every golden freckle dusting her creamy cheeks. Overwhelmed, he had put his hands on her, an unacceptable situation for jailer and prisoner. Duncan glared at the limp signal flag. How would he save this splendid woman if no one answered his flag?

“Why do they not respond, sir?” Duncan dragged his gaze back to his fellows.

“They’re desert nomads. Maybe they don’t have a clue what it means.” Captain Fawr made himself at home, removing his old fashion, leather breastplate, and stretching out in a camp chair. The Nhurstari twins settled cross-legged on the rug and struck up a game of rock-paper-scissors. For some reason they loved the stupid game.

“My Captain is right,” Eamon offered. “You should—

“Show them the prisoner in chains,” Eoin finished for his twin.

Duncan snorted. “Parade Faelan through camp in chains? I do not think so.”

“Oooh. You’re calling her Faelan, now.” Captain Fawr drawled. “You like her.”

That was the thing about a war…no privacy. “So.”

“So go talk to her.” The captain grinned at the twins and made a straight up-and-down motion with his hands. “I don’t see the attraction. The woman’s all muscle and gristle.”

“She will tell me nothing, sir.” Duncan ignored the captain’s assessment of Faelan’s figure. Defending her only exposed him to more sport.

“My Captain didn’t say interrogate her. You know how to talk to a woman, don’t you?” Eoin laughed. “I’ll take your glare as no.”

“And I suppose you are an expert?”

“He is,” Eamon chimed in. “Eoin makes great conversation. Females crave his company.”

“If I am not seeking information…” Duncan’s gaze drifted back to Faelan’s tent. “What reason would I give?”

Captain Fawr moved up behind him, wrapped his brawny arm around Duncan’s neck and slowly squeezed off Duncan’s air. He went very still in his captain’s grip. “This is your army,” Kree whispered next to his ear. “She is your prisoner. You don’t need a reason.”

The pressure on his throat eased and Duncan dragged in a deep breath.

“See the beauty of it?” Kree dropped back into his chair. “No? Fine, I’ll throw you a bone. Katie tells me your woman isn’t eating. You wouldn’t want to swap a malnourished prisoner now would you?”