Fires of the Faithful (43 page)

“The one who’s in charge here,” I said.

Giovanni sighed. “You need to learn how to delegate,” he said. “It’s the only way you’re going to be able to make this work. Generali don’t do everything themselves; even Beneto had a second.”

“Are you asking for the position?”

“Are you kidding? You should be
my
second.” He paused for a moment. “Also, you need to learn to ride a horse.”

“Why?”

“Because generali do not
walk
to battles. Besides, when you’re on a horse, it’s easy to get people’s attention. You’re up high where they can see you.”

“And shoot at me,” I said.

“Well, that’s why you also need a bodyguard, on another horse.”

“That would
not
be you,” I said.

“No, of course not. I don’t want to take a crossbow bolt for you. I’ll teach Michel to ride as well.”

“Great,” I muttered.

“The knife-fighting came in handy, didn’t it? Trust me on this.” He was enjoying himself, I could tell; he was going to enjoy the riding lessons even more.

Still, on Giovanni’s suggestion, I divided up my red-sashed soldiers into smaller companies, then put someone I knew and trusted in charge of each group. I could demote my officers later if they caused too much trouble. I sent the obvious children off to the village. My army was a strange mix—two dozen of the mutineer soldiers mixed in
with the Ravenessi. I hoped not too many of those were spies.

As I was checking over the soldiers, I found myself face-to-face with Arianna. She met my eyes challengingly, daring me to send her off to Doratura with the children.

“Do you really want to be here?” I asked.

She lifted her chin. “I won’t let you leave me behind. If you don’t let me join you, I’ll follow you. If you tie me up, I’ll—”

I touched her shoulder. “Fine,” I said. “You’ve convinced me.” She’d found a red sash somewhere. Looking at it for a moment, I realized it was a strip torn from the skirt of that red velvet dress.

Arianna noticed my look and smiled cautiously. “Giula wasn’t wearing it at the time,” she said. She carried Mario’s knife at her side.

“Well.” I looked around the army. There were hundreds of people, spreading out across the ruins of the camp, and the plains around me. “Let’s go hunting.”

To Ed Burke, with love and gratitude
for all your support.

First I’d like to thank my editor, Anne Groell, my agent, James Frenkel, and his assistant, Tracy Berg, for their help, support, and enthusiasm.

I’d like to thank the members of the Wyrdsmiths, past and present, for critique, encouragement, and friendship: Bill Henry, Doug Hulick, Ralph A. N. Krantz, Harry LeBlanc, Kate Leith, Kelly McCullough, Lyda Morehouse, and Rosalind Nelson. Very special thanks to Lyda, who, when I told her that I wanted to write a novel but was afraid that I’d write myself into a corner, simply said, “You won’t.” Two days later, I started writing
Fires of the Faithful
.

Quite a few people answered questions, helped me with research, or let me borrow ideas. Thanks to all of them, but special thanks to Michelle Herder, for historical information; Curtis Mitchell, for letting me borrow some ideas on marriage customs; Geriann Brower for Italian language consultation; and Sharon Albert and Louis Newman for Aramaic language consultation. Of course, any linguistic
mistakes or historical anachronisms should be blamed on me, and not my consultants.

Thank you to all of my beta readers, who read and commented on earlier versions of this book: Ed Burke, Jason Goodman, Rick Gore, Michelle Herder, Jennifer Horn, Curtis Mitchell, Rudy Moore, Rebecca Murray, and John Savage.

My most heartfelt thanks go to several people. To my parents, Bert and Amy Kritzer, who encouraged my writing and creativity, and my love of reading, pretty much from birth onward; my sister, Abi, and brother, Nate, for being my very first fans; and my wonderful husband, Ed Burke, who has an unerring sense for when I need to be nagged, when I need to be reassured, and when I need two pints of premium ice cream.

Finally, when I was a very young novice writer, my neighbor Nancy Vedder-Shults offered to critique one of my first completed stories. Her comments were both incisive and supportive, and gave me the tools I needed to begin to edit my writing; her encouragement since then has been unfailing. Every young writer should have a mentor as insightful and kind as Nancy.

Naomi Kritzer’s

Turning the
Storm

The riveting conclusion to Eliana’s tale
Coming in January 2003
Here’s a special excerpt:

    “Eliana? Eliana!” Giovanni stared down at me, flushed in the late summer heat. I squinted up at him and he sat back, looking relieved. “That was one hell of a fall.”

I groaned and lay still for a moment. Two months of leading an army—two more successful battles, even—and I still couldn’t stay on my horse and reload a crossbow at the same time. I pushed myself up with my elbows. “Nothing hurts,” I said. That was blatantly false, but nothing
especially
hurt. “I must have just had the wind knocked out of me.” I turned to glare at Forza, my horse. She had skidded to a stop shortly after throwing me, and was staring at me with wary sheepishness from farther down the hill.

“It’s getting late anyway,” he said. “Let’s just make a quick circuit of the hill and head in.”

“Where’d the bow land?”

“Got it,” Giovanni said. I stood up and Giovanni handed it back to me. “Let’s go.” He whistled for Stivali, the horse he’d claimed from the Ravenessi stables, and we remounted, turning to head back to the army encampment.

“Hold on,” I said, reining in Forza. “Who the hell is that?”

Giovanni turned to look north and squinted at the figure walking toward us. “I don’t know.” He unslung his own crossbow and cocked it. “But whoever it is, he’s alone.”

The man headed straight toward us. He seemed to be carrying weapons but had not drawn. I loaded my crossbow—easy enough now that Forza was standing still—and checked behind us in case the man was supposed to be a distraction. I saw nobody but stayed on my guard. We had an outer ring of sentries, but this man, at least, had gotten past them unchallenged.

“Hello there!” the man said, saluting us as he approached. “I come in peace, to meet with your leaders. I assume you are soldiers of the Lupi?”

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed and he squinted down the sights of his crossbow. “Maybe.”

I decided to let Giovanni go ahead and intimidate the stranger. He wouldn’t fire without cause, and I found the stranger’s breezy manner irritating. “What do you want with the Lupi?” I demanded.

The stranger bowed low, showing off a freshly sunburned
neck. “My name is Felice. I have come from Cuore as the delegate of the reformers.”

Giovanni lowered his crossbow just a hair. “Fire falls from the sky,” he said challengingly.

“And the land weeps,” Felice said.

Giovanni lowered his bow completely. “I guess you are who you say you are. We’re—”

“—pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said, cutting Giovanni off. “We’ll take you back to the camp.” I swung down from my horse and confiscated Felice’s visible weapons—a decorative sword and an ornately carved crossbow. I was not so impressed by a two-year-old password that I was going to tell this man that he’d just met the generali of the Lupi army, alone. For all we knew, he was a spy on a suicide mission to kill us both. “You can ride double with me.”

Felice mounted Forza effortlessly and I climbed up awkwardly behind him. I regretted not making him ride with Giovanni but said nothing, not wanting to look foolish. We rode back toward camp.

Felice even smelled like an aristocrat: clean, despite his long walk, with a very faint whiff of perfume. His tunic was made out of a delicate fabric that caught the light oddly, and was covered with a well-tooled padded leather vest. His hands carried the light calluses of a gentleman-fencer, like Giovanni—except Giovanni did some real work these days.

Back in camp, I dismounted and passed the horses off to Vitale, the youngest of the Lupi. He’d joined us when we’d liberated that first slave camp after Ravenna. I’d tried to send him off to Doratura or one of the other resettled towns, but he’d stubbornly followed us across the wasteland until I shrugged and said that anyone so determined was clearly old enough to make himself useful. “Take Forza and Stivali,” I said to Vitale. “And tell Michel we need him right away.”

Vitale vanished into the camp, and Giovanni and I stood awkwardly, facing Felice. I wanted a private moment with Giovanni, to ask him the significance of the pass-phrase and how secret it really was, but I needed Michel to take custody of Felice first. Fortunately, Michel arrived almost immediately, still tying his sash. He was rumpled, and I suspected he’d been napping. “Michel,” I said. “This is Felice, allegedly
one of the reformers from Cuore. Take him to the generali’s tent; they’ll be with him shortly.”

Michel picked up his cue and saluted without addressing either of us as “Generale.”

“Please follow me,” he said, and led Felice off toward my tent.

I turned to Giovanni. “What was it he said to you?”

“It’s a pass-phrase—”

“I guessed that. How secure is it? Couldn’t he have found it out some other way?”

“We can trust him,” Giovanni said confidently. “He’s been sent by Beneto’s commanders. I’m just surprised it took them this long. We ought to have a contact with the main University Reform organization.”

“Really.” I stared off past Giovanni’s shoulder. An argument was brewing between two of my men over whose turn it was to dig latrine trenches. “Hey!” I shouted, and they both jumped to give me a guilty stare. “It’s both your turns. Fight over it and you’ll be filling them in, too.” I turned back to Giovanni. “Well, let’s go see what he wants, then.” I caught Vitale as he passed by. “Send Lucia to my tent when you get a chance. I don’t want Isabella, not yet. Try to get Lucia alone.”

Giovanni beamed as we entered the tent. My tent was larger than Rafi’s tent in Ravenna had been but not a whole lot higher; we didn’t have much in the way of real tent poles. Felice sat cross-legged on a cushion, looking around dubiously at the rough accommodations.

“Welcome to the Lupi encampment,” Giovanni said. “I am Generale Giovanni, and this is Generale Eliana.”

I nodded to Felice, returning his aghast look with a predatory smile. “Charmed,” I said.

Felice closed his mouth with a snap, but his eyes were still wide. “Really? I’d pictured you”—he studied me, his lips parted—“differently.”

“Were you expecting me to be taller?” I asked. I glanced toward the tent flap, wondering how long it would take Lucia to arrive. “Male?”

“No, no, no. Of course we knew your, ah, basic description. Older, I’d say. I guess I’d assumed you’d be older.”

“Hmm.” I decided to let him stop flailing. “I suppose you’re expecting us to bring you up-to-date.”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

Lucia came in and sat next to me. “This is Felice,” I said. “He claims to be a reformer from Cuore.”

“Do you know him, Giovanni?” Lucia asked.

“No,” Giovanni said.

“I joined the Cause after you departed for Ravenna,” Felice said. “I am originally from Parma.”

Lucia gave Felice a long, careful stare. I looked at her; she shrugged.

“Well,” I said, “you probably know that we led the uprising at Ravenna.” Felice nodded. “That was about a month and a half ago. We’ve liberated three more slave labor camps since our escape, adding former slaves to our army when possible.” Our army had doubled in size from the original group, but then the other camps had been smaller than Ravenna.

“At the last camp, reinforcements had been sent down,” Giovanni said. “Fortunately, they had not been well integrated. The new troops and the old did not trust each other and fought together poorly. Still, we can’t count on that being true everywhere.”

“What sort of training have you done with your men?” Felice asked.

“Tactics,” I said. “Some sword training, and bow.”

“Three victories,” Felice said. “That’s quite something.”

“Minimal losses,” I said. “That’s something we hope to keep up.”

“Any problems?” Felice asked.

“Well, you know, we’re fighting a war,” I said. “People get injured sometimes, or die.
That’s
a problem.”

“But other than that?” Felice asked.

There were the constant petty squabbles, the rivalries between the original Lupi and the mutineer soldiers from Ravenna, the constant shortage of supplies, and the fact that half of the people I’d impulsively made leaders couldn’t lead their way out of a stable if you drew them a map, but I wasn’t about to share those problems with Felice. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Well,” Felice said, his face lighting up. “Sounds like you’re in good shape, then.” I nodded. “So, anyway, I’m here to take over.”

I froze, not entirely sure I’d heard right. Lucia’s jaw dropped, then she closed her mouth and sat back quietly, her eyes flickering from me to Giovanni and back. The slight quirk of her lips made it clear she was waiting for the show.

“You’re here to
what
?” Giovanni demanded, just barely restraining himself from attacking Felice. “I am doing just fine myself, thank you very much.”

“Oh, er, yes, of course,” Felice said, glancing from Giovanni’s face to mine. “Of course you’re doing fine. We really appreciate what an excellent job you’ve done since Beneto’s execution. The reformer leaders in Cuore have voted to give both of you a commendation, in fact. But you have to understand, a position like this requires someone with experience—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “So how many armies have
you
led into battle?”

“Oh, I’m very good at strategy,” Felice said confidently. “I won nineteen out of twenty-five mock battles with my tutor—”

I laughed. “You’re not taking my army away from me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Signore Felice, you can
try
to command here if you enjoy being laughed at, but this is
my
army. If you think we’re putting our men into your manicured hands, think again. You don’t command here; I do.”