Part 28 (1/2)
”One of these days I'm going to have you shot for that insubordinate tone, Olem.”
”Of course, sir.”
”Pit, you're insufferable.”
”You did make me a colonel.”
”What does that have to do with anything?”
”I've met a lot of colonels, sir. They're all insufferable.”
Tamas waved some cigarette smoke away from his face. ”What about Arbor? He was a colonel until a few hours ago, and you always seemed to like him.”
”Have you played cards with General Arbor, sir?”
”No.”
”He's insufferable too. Likable, but insufferable.”
”Can one be both?”
”He is.”
”Pit. I don't have time for this. What were you telling me before?”
”A report on our powder stores, sir.”
”Do we have enough for an extended campaign against the Kez?”
”Yes. Barely. Despite the Brudanians holding Adro, we're still getting s.h.i.+pments from Ricard's businesses. Even more now that General Ket isn't there to skim off the top.”
”Good. Then skip the report. Anything else important this morning?”
Olem addressed the stack of notes in his hand. He flipped through them, grumbling to himself. ”Beon je Ipille arrived with the Seventh and Ninth. He'd like to meet with you at your convenience.”
”It can wait. If I see one of Ipille's sp.a.w.n right now, I'd probably shoot him in the heart. And I actually like Beon. Have all of my promotions gone through?”
”Most of them,” Olem said. ”All senior officers will be waiting for you in your tent at eight o'clock.”
Tamas checked his pocket watch. ”We'd better finish this quickly, then.”
”Of course, sir.” Olem shuffled through his papers and cleared his throat.
”What is it?” Tamas's mind was already drifting back to Ipille. He could feel the bile in the back of his throat, and it wasn't hard to envision putting his bayonet through Ipille's prodigious gut.
”There's one more thing, sir.”
”Spit it out!”
”Me, sir.”
”What in the Nine are you talking about?”
Olem put his papers away in his saddlebag. ”Things are a bit confusing, sir.”
”You're my bodyguard, aren't you?”
”Yes sir. That's what's confusing.” Olem s.h.i.+fted in his saddle and cleared his throat.
Tamas's patience was wearing thin. ”Get to it.”
”You made me a colonel. Colonels, traditionally, aren't bodyguards or aides-de-camp.”
Was this so important that Olem had to bring it up right this instant? Most men don't usually go from sergeant to colonel in the s.p.a.ce of eight months, either, but Tamas had promoted Olem nonetheless because it fit his needs. ”True,” he said.
”I don't think I deserve to be a colonel, sir. I'd like you to demote me.”
Tamas stared at Olem. ”This? Again?”
”Yes sir. I don't have my own command. Keeping me a colonel but also your bodyguard and aide doesn't make sense. I don't mind the demotion at all.”
”You don't mind...? d.a.m.n it, Olem. You're going to mind what I tell you to mind. You want a command? You have one now.”
”Sir?”
”The Seventh is yours.”
Olem's cigarette fell out of his mouth. ”But sir! You were going to give the Seventh to Colonel-I mean General-Arbor.”
”General Arbor has the First and the Third. They've been humiliated by Ket and Hilanska's treason and he's going to whip them into shape. You will combine the best men from the Seventh and the Ninth to form the new Seventh, which will be called the Marshal's Own Riflejack Brigade.”
Olem sat up straight.
Tamas continued. ”You don't have a lot of command experience, but you know people. I'll leave it to you to choose your officers. Choose them well, because you're still going to spend most of your time with me.”
”Are you certain, sir?”
”Of course.”
”You'll need a new bodyguard.”
”No, I won't.”
”Uh, sir?”