Part 42 (2/2)
”Who's that?”
”Ricard Tumblar.”
Nila and Olem hunted the Kez cavalry through the gorges and hills of Brude's Hideaway for three days. On the first day a low cloud cover descended over the area, obscuring the peaks of the Charwood Pile to the west, and on the second day a heavy fog rolled in. Nila wondered if the fog had some kind of sorcery behind it, but neither she nor Olem could sense anything amiss in the Else.
It was just bad luck.
Nila couldn't see the ends of their cuira.s.sier lines as they swept the ridges and bends of the highlands. The sun was obscured and the whole world seemed gray.
She stood in her stirrups the third day, wondering how any man or woman could possibly stay in the saddle for hours at a time, let alone several days. Everything below her waist hurt, and most of the things above it. Her knuckles were sore from gripping the reins and her spine ached from the jolt of her horse's stride. Her head spun from hour after hour of trying to maintain her vision of the Else, attempting to spot anything in the fog. Olem told her to drink more water.
Olem sat beside her at the top of a small hill looking to the south-or maybe the north, she couldn't really be sure, with no point of reference. There was a white chasm at their feet where the earth dipped beneath the fog, and she couldn't tell if this was merely a divot in the landscape or a valley a mile long.
”The good news,” Olem said, puffing on a cigarette, ”is that the fog screws with them as much as it does with us. They're left reading the ground and listening for echoes in the murk, same as us.”
Nila sniffed. He'd become progressively more optimistic as the hours rolled past. He seemed to hold the opinion that every minute they spent circling the Gurlish Wolf in the fog was another minute he wasn't abusing the flanks of Tamas's army. Which, she supposed, was true, if the Gurlish Wolf hadn't slipped past them and was back on the plain already, attacking the Adran army.
”They have an advantage over us,” Nila said.
”Oh?”
”They can smell your cigarette smoke from farther away than we can see them.”
Olem took the cigarette from his mouth and stared at it sourly before putting it out on his ash-stained saddle horn and tossing it into the damp gra.s.s. ”d.a.m.n it.”
They sat in silence for several minutes before Nila said, ”How do they communicate in this?”
”Pit if I know. I haven't heard a trumpet since the fog descended, so it's not that.”
”Maybe they have a Knacked?”
”Maybe,” Olem mused. ”Someone with very precise hearing. A few years back I heard a story about a pair of Knacked twins that could communicate over a hundred miles just using their minds. That kind of thing is rarer than a Privileged healer, I'd imagine.” He drew his tobacco and rolling papers from his breast pocket, stared at them for a moment, then put them back with a sigh. ”No, I imagine they've done the smart thing and hunkered down in one of these valleys to wait out the fog.”
Nila studied the ground beneath their feet, looking at the horseshoe prints in the mud-horseshoes marked by a Kez blacksmith. The tracks led into the gully below them. The Kez had split up after being run from their camp three days before. Their tracks seemed to lead everywhere, crisscrossing and doubling back without any clear path to follow.
And like a hound looking for a scent, Olem had patiently been following every one of those trails. He kept his formations tight, his scouts plentiful, and never stumbled blindly into one of the fog-concealed valleys.
It all seemed very professional to Nila, but she wouldn't have had any idea as to any of this if Olem hadn't been explaining it to her along the way.
”You're picking this stuff up quickly,” Olem said.
”What stuff?”
”All this.” He tapped the pocket where he kept his tobacco. ”Cigarette smoke. Something I didn't think of, but a Kez cavalryman would. Good call.”
Nila ducked her head. ”Thank you.”
”A fighting Privileged,” Olem said. ”Six months ago, if I had to guess what extraordinary thing you'd become, I would not have guessed that.”
Nila knew it was meant to be a compliment, but it niggled at her all the same. ”You don't think I'm capable?”
”You've shown yourself to be capable.”
”But you wouldn't have thought that.”
”That's not quite what I meant.”
”And what did you mean, Colonel Olem?”
Olem removed the rolling paper from his pocket and was about to sprinkle tobacco on the center before he made a face and put it back. ”Privileged are born to it. You were a laundress. No offense, but it didn't seem like something on your horizon.”
Nila opened her mouth, ready to take the argument further, then decided against it. What was she doing, arguing like this? Olem was right, of course. A Privileged? Her? It was laughably unlikely.
”If you don't mind me saying,” Olem said, ”you've been on edge. More than just a chafed a.s.s.”
Nila let out what she had wanted to be a dismissive laugh, but it came out as just this side of hysterical. ”You could say that.”
”The field marshal has a habit of using the hottest fire to temper soft metal,” Olem said. ”I'm not sure if he should have sent you.”
”I'm soft metal, am I? No. It's not that. Well. It is that. But so many more things. I've never ridden before and my body hurts so badly I want to cry every moment. I'm untested, barely trained. This infernal fog!” Her voice rose a little too high and a nearby cuira.s.sier glanced at her.
Olem sat unmoved, listening for several moments before he said, ”At least you know your failings.”
”Oh, thanks.”
”Really. I mean it. I've met dozens of officers who think their immaculate mustache can move the world. Not knowing one's weaknesses gets people killed.”
Nila shook her head and gave a short laugh, relieved to hear this one sounding a little less desperate. ”Little do they know that an immaculate beard is what it takes.”
Olem grinned at her. ”Right you are.” His hand was halfway toward his rolling papers again before he swore under his breath.
”Are you with anyone?” Nila asked, the question leaving her lips before she could stop herself.
Olem glanced up in surprise. ”Huh? Well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. ”Kind of. It's a tenuous thing.”
Nila was surprised to find herself hurt by his answer. She had turned him down, after all, and that was months ago. Maybe she had hoped he would pine for her a little longer. ”Another soldier?”
”Yeah.”
”What's she like?”
”Long legs. Black hair. Very good at what she does.”
”Oh? And what does she do?” She felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth when Olem's cheeks turned red.
”She's a powder mage.”
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