Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (4 page)

Adrian and his men would deal with it if it came.  He
trusted them to act as professionals, as warriors befitting the seasoning they
had undergone during their campaigns with him against wild Taurs and equally
wild Tillsar natives.  This kingdom, which had hardly any experience with
warfare during the last few centuries according to his analysts, should be
unfamiliar with such matters as prisoner transport.  There existed a
possibility that any procedures they employed would be rife with mistakes.  His
men would not let their fall prevent them from taking advantage of any such
opening when one appeared.

Concerns for a later time.  The witching hours were
upon him and hopeful wishing would only deepen his depression if an escape
opportunity failed to arise after all.

Fight your best fight, and never give in until the
end.

How very odd.  That was the only advice gran had ever
gifted him with that he whole-heartedly agreed with.  He was a soldier to the
core.  Adrian understood about never giving up.

What happened to me?  Surely something calamitous must
have befallen me for everything to have transpired as it has.  Yet my memories
are scattered and my recall of the time is fading by the moment.

Adrian distantly remembered walking endlessly,
marching in a limitless darkness that put the night surrounding him to shame. 
Every day those memories faded, losing any meaning they might contain and
melting into the forgotten recesses where all dreams petered away.

And yet, clearly he had never left.  He had remained
with his men, issuing orders, making decisions.  How could he have done so much
while retaining no recollection of it?

Was he slipping into madness?  His actions were
without question contrary to his nature.  The orders sheer insanity. 
Reinstating Colonels Harbon and Mendell nothing short of incredulous, let alone
entrusting them with the authority to command the army’s major elements.

The fact that those
two were so closely tied to
his aberrant actions made him suspicious.  Except, easy as it would be to place
the blame on them, it left as many questions unresolved.  He well remembered
Mendell’s keen interest in the forest of the Rovasii, on whose border Adrian
had regained his senses, and Mendell’s pique at being denied authority to
investigate those woods.  That surely must be why the forces had struck hard to
the south after crossing into Galemar.

But why this foreign forest was of such importance to
the colonel remained a mystery beyond his comprehension.  It made no sense. 
Risking the lives of every Arronathian soldier to seize woodlands of no
strategic value?  The worst of the criminally incompetent officers would need
to be excessively deluded to order such.

As much as he would like to believe those two vipers
were responsible for his mental malaise, the question remained what exactly
could they have done to him?  No poisons or chemicals familiar to him could
have reduced his mind to rubbish while leaving him, for all appearances to his
men, whole and sane.  Any magics approaching the manipulation of the mind were
wholly anathema in Arronath.  If they were willing to go so far in their
disregard for morality, where had they found a mage capable of the feat?  Try
as he might to remember the last clear moments before his slip into the
depthless dark, he could only picture the two of them entering his office in
Kallied.

They had been alone.  No third party, no possible user
of proscribed magics, accompanied them.

Blaming them only explained a handful of the facts. 
Too much remained veiled from his knowledge.  All he had were suspicions
without basis, circumstantial evidence relying solely on what he knew of their
foul nature.

Jide had wanted to expunge them from the ranks by
whatever means he could devise.  Adrian still found the idea repulsive, after
the many years he had labored with the one-eyed man to purge such corruption
from the Armed Forces.  Shivering in the dark and the cold, worms of hindsight
relentlessly burrowed at his thoughts.

Would it have come to pass if I’d granted him free
rein to deal with Harbon and Mendell as he wished to?  Or would that not have
made the slightest difference in the end, only sparking the rebirth of
underhanded career maneuvering in my army?

Unanswerable, the questions and self-doubts made him
want to sink onto the cold earth and sleep forever.  The witching hours were
indeed upon him.

Adrian could do nothing.  Nothing.  He was a
prisoner.  His men and command had been cast down.  Inevitably he would be
brought before the Council of Kings to receive wrath made all the fiercer for
his actions against them.  Their contemptuous treatment of the messengers sent
to them years before in hopes of fostering new bonds after being so long
separated from their ancient allies across the sea promised that his eventual
fate would be harsh and drawn out.

Forward or back, no matter where he looked, he saw only
shadows and mystery.  He felt the cold of winter’s soul settling ever deeper
into his heart.

*        *        *        *        *

“What in the blinking shit are you telling me?”  Jide
tightened his hold on the bunched uniform shirt belonging to a startled
over-captain, pulling the man forward to a point only inches from his stubbley
face.  His coarse cheeks, angry breath and worn eye-patch all promised
retribution.  The soldiers shrugged off dire threats from others as being
merely the typical bullying of superior officers…but never with Jide.  When
Jide promised to break the neck of a man, anyone with experience treated the
words as writ in stone.

The over-captain left in charge of the western camp at
the base of the Stoneseams took a single breath as a prelude to stepping back
from Jide’s furious countenance.  He meant to extricate his uniform from his
junior’s grip by doing so, and was unnerved further when Jide maintained his
hold.

“I only know what I know.  Which isn’t much,” the man
offered, striving to maintain a calm air.  “Word is still filtering in.  But it
seems clear enough that the strike forces have been obliterated.”

“What about the general?” Jide barked, spraying the
over-captain’s face with spittle.  “He must have escaped to bring back word!”

“No one knows what happened to the general.  We’ve
been told that he’s likely fallen in combat.  I’ve been sending troops through
the pass to the eastern side, following instructions, and until we’ve quelled
the resistance, we’ll never reclaim the site of the battle and learn for
certain.”

Jide demanded, “If Adrian’s kicked over, who’s been
giving you your orders?”

“Colonel Mendell.  He escaped the battle and has been
directing the subjugation of the lands across the mountains.”

“Mendell?”  At that, Jide released the man’s uniform. 
The over-captain stepped back a pace and tugged at his shirt with dignity to
smooth out the wrinkles.  “What about Harbon?”

“Colonel Harbon is also listed as missing, likely
fallen.”  A sullen gaze emitted from the man who did not quite dare tell Jide
off.  Any other supply master who dared speak to an over-captain in such a
fashion, let alone the manhandling, would find himself under army arrest so
quickly his clothing was left behind.  Given Jide’s reputation and sheer
presence, the superior officer thought it would be wise to leave well enough
alone.

When Jide remained silent within his own thoughts, the
over-captain tried to end the matter and send Jide on his way by saying, “Your
regiments went through the pass two days ago.  They will have drawn fresh
supplies from the town where the eastern camp is based and moved on, but your
wagons will do well to restock the camp’s stores.  You can make your way to the
resting area easily through the dark, as there are no obstructions.”

Jide cast his sharpened glare on the man, edged enough
to cut glass with.  “I have brought these wagons through snow and ice in a
timely manner that the regiments I am charge with supplying may have the use of
my provisions.  This they will have, or I will express my
displeasure.
”

The over-captain nodded as if to say it was of no
consequence to him.  Suppliers and quartermasters were all crazy in the first
place.

“Is Mendell at this town?”

“I doubt it,” the over-captain replied.  “I hear he’s
been riding from dawn to dusk everyday to ensure the lands are secure.  He’s
been waiting for the Citadel to arrive so we can make use of whatever
reinforcements are still stationed there.  At the least, the Wyverflies will be
able to sortie properly.”

“Small good those gnats can do without a proper plan
to use them,” Jide growled.

“It’s a question of whether the Citadel arrives first,
or if the new commander beats it here.  Given the mages in the Citadel since we
came to this barbarian land, no one can say for sure.  The colonel demands status
reports every time he returns to the eastern camp.”

Jide’s face shot up.  “New commander?  Burn it, what
do you mean by that?”

The venom in his voice startled the other man.  His
composure suffered.  “Word came in through one of the mages.  Obviously they
had to report to the king what happened, what with the general falling in
battle.  King Lambert appointed a new commander for the Armed Forces to take
General Adrian’s place.”

“What about the burning chain of command?”

A shrug from the over-captain greeted Jide’s angry
shout.  “The king wants a man he can trust to take over the campaign.”

“Trust?  How many campaigns did Adrian organize in
Arronath?  How many years of service?”

“None of that matters if the man is dead.  The new
commander is coming over as we speak on a ship, with geomancers to ensure they
arrive without being swallowed by the ocean’s temper.”

“Who in hells could possibly be a better commander
than Adrian?  Tell me that!”

“That advisor who’s helped the king lately.  The one
they say can tell you anything about anything.”

Jide’s blood chilled.  “Xenos?”

“Aye, that’s the one.”

His back stiffened while he glared at the man.  The
over-captain returned the look, failing to match the steel.  He resembled a
mouse in a corner, staring defiantly at a hungry cat.

With a whirl, Jide strode back to his wagons.  He
berated himself silently the entire way.  The news that Adrian had fallen in
battle had hit him hard, cracking his usual reserve and deliberate mannerisms,
making him say more than he should have.  It would not do for people to realize
that Adrian was anything to him other than just another officer.  That the
general made use of him as a capable sparring partner, thus granting Jide cushy
privileges and access to plunders that would normal have been beyond his reach,
was the image they both wanted everyone to see when they looked upon the
bandit.  For all appearances, Adrian should be nothing except a gold mine to
him.

Perhaps his unseemly show would be passed off as
that.  As a man upset that his coin cow had died.

Presumed lost
,
Jide mentally barked harshly.  If there were any chances a bastard like Adrian
was still alive,
that
man would surely find them.  Over the long haul to
reach the mountains he had grown increasingly certain that an ill wind blew
around Adrian’s ankles.  The general’s actions were too unprecedented, the
company keeping with him too likely to use a man rather than work honestly
toward their goals.

The worst trouble of all is the kind where you can’t
call for help.
  Whatever sort of
trouble that might be when Adrian could still clearly move about as he saw fit,
Jide remained mystified about.  But it
felt
right, damn it all!  His
every instinct told him it was so, or something close enough to make no
never-mind.

And Xenos coming across the ocean to assume command
over the army?  Jide’s teeth ground tightly at the very notion while he climbed
back onto the seat beside the wagon driver.  Wasn’t that flaming convenient? 
Especially with Xenos’ protégé making a massive effort to secure the lands he
had taken a special interest in before Adrian had yanked him back into line.

He grunted sourly at the lead cart’s driver.  After so
many weeks of close proximity, his driver correctly interpreted the curdled
noise to mean, ‘get this pile of rotten firewood moving before I make you haul
these crates on your own back’.

The wagons, in need of minor repairs by the dozens
after their hard journey at the relentless pace Jide demanded, bumped and
rocked jarringly over the pass’ uneven flooring.  A steep grade led upward into
the mountains.  They would begin the true portage through the pass on the
morning.  Only minutes from where the over-captain had intercepted them lay the
last soft dirt fields of the lower elevations.  His drivers disliked driving
their horses over unfamiliar territory in the dark nearly as much as the
laboring beasts.  Jide almost hoped one of the animals would break an ankle in
a jagged crack so he would have an excuse to return and shred the over-captain
alive.

This situation was souring with increasing rapidity. 
Jide smelled double-dealing and backroom scheming even if he had no clear
picture of whose hand shook whose yet.  He trusted his instincts.  After all,
he was a bloodhound with a nose keyed for embezzlement, graft and the minor
coups used by petty officers to advance their careers.  His back hairs were
spiked and his nose had long since begun to twitch.