Clement heard a footstep outside the door. “Come in,” she said, and a soldier stepped in–an old man with a left hand so badly smashed in an old battle or accident that his fingers were now frozen in a useless claw. Clement remembered the soldier’s name, and asked him in to warm up by the fire. The man handed her a note from the medics, put a log on the fire, and warmed his hands by the flames.
The note was scrawled on a torn piece of paper: “Fever, delirium, lumps in groin, one dead flea. Too early to judge outcome.”
But a woman who can dole out life can dole out death just as easily. Clement dropped the note onto the coals and watched it shrivel, puff into flames, and become ashes. The soldier said, “It’s bad, eh?”
“The general’s certainly picked a bad time to get sick,” said Clement. “Why do I remember you? Did you know my mother?”
“I knew her pretty well. We all were on the same boat, you know. You were just a little bit of a thing. Dreadfully seasick. But tough. We all told Gabian you were going to be an officer. I guess she’d be pretty proud of you right now, Lieutenant‑General.”
Proud of what?Clement wanted to ask. My lousy luck!But this was no time to be imposing her low spirits on anyone else. She said, “Thanks–I’ll try to keep that in mind. How are people doing, do you think? This news about the general is going to be hard to take, I’m afraid.”
The old man looked at her. “Do you think so, Lieutenant‑General?” His words were neutral, but his tone had a sharpness to it. “I guess I’d better get back. Thanks for the warm‑up.”
Clement was left alone to think about Cadmar: a courageous, handsome, powerful man with the luck of the gods, who made a reputation for himself by barging into impossible situations and then fighting his way out unscathed. Clement had adored him once, had even indulged in fantasies of a covert love affair. That was before Gilly, before Clement watched Cadmar’s casual abuse of a helpless boy, and his stupid disregard for Gilly’s vivid intelligence. After Gilly had given Clement a point of comparison, she had loved Cadmar no more. In fact, she had become determined to make herself what Cadmar was not, and she had been young enough still that reshaping herself had at least seemed possible.
Yet Cadmar was a man to stand behind. An overshadowing obstacle, he was also a substantial shield and a convenient excuse. Clement had railed against him, suffered under him, detested herself for the tricks she employed to get around him. Yet, despite the long years of repugnance, now that it seemed likely that Cadmar soon would be gone, what Clement felt was simple terror. She would be unshielded. She would be the one in front, and the lives of six thousand soldiers would entirely depend on her. If she failed, she would not have anyone else to blame.
She wanted the bloody idiot back.
She heard voices in the hallway, and lifted her head from the table. She felt empty, dazed, and then, as she stood up, dizzy.
Commander Ellid came in without bothering to knock. A soldier was standing in the hallway, with a lantern at her feet. Ellid surveyed the room, glanced at Clement, then said to the soldier, “Bring the lieutenant‑general a load of wood, and find her something to eat. Kick a cook out of bed if you have to.” She shut the door behind herself and added, “Well, Lieutenant‑General, don’t you look like hell.”
“I’ll take your word for it. What do you think, Ellid, is this worse than the night they burned down the garrison?”
“Much worse. There’s nothing to do. Nobody to kill, no fires to fight. Sit down, will you?”
It did seem like a good suggestion. Clement sat and pushed out the other chair with her foot. Ellid sat next to her and said, “This morning, I thought I was about to initiate your demotion. And then I was thinking you were a bloody genius. By afternoon I was thinking you had gotten yourself beaten to death. And now you’re about to become general. My day’s been pretty lousy, but it must look good to you.”
“I wouldn’t want to be you either right now,” Clement said truthfully. “Are the medics certain now that Cadmar’s dying?”
“He’s only got a few more hours, they say. They never heard of an illness moving so fast. They put themselves in quarantine, and they’re desperately hoping it’s the kind of illness that doesn’t spread.”
During Clement’s solitary wait, her apprehensiveness seemed to have consumed itself. She said, “No one else will get sick. I know it for a fact. And I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be what anyone expects.”
Ellid looked blank. “Begging your pardon, Lieutenant‑General…”
“Oh, for gods’ sake, Ellid, we’re alone in the room.”
“Clement,” Ellid corrected herself. And then she seemed to think for a while. “You know some things that I don’t know. No, never mind–I doubt we’ve got time for you to explain. Tell me what you need from me.”
“Whatever I do, it won’t be what anyone expects, either. I need the whole garrison behind me, though: absolute obedience, no hesitation. Every last bloody soldier.”
“All right,” Ellid said absently, as though she were waiting for Clement to ask for something difficult.
“That’s it. You better get busy.”
“You got it already.”
“Ellid, I commanded a garrison for five years myself. I know for a fact I haven’t got it already.”
“I guess you don’t know everything. There was some fifty soldiers watching this afternoon when Cadmar smashed your face after you saved his worthless life. And every last one of them wanted to beat the hell out of him. And there’s another fifty soldiers that just came back from a tough campaign with you, and all they’ve been talking about is how hard you worked to make sure they got through it without even a touch of frostbite. And there’s not a soldier in the garrison who doesn’t remember that you’re the one who kept us all from burning to ashes this summer. You’ve got their loyalty, Clement. Because you earned it. Tell them what to do, and they’ll do it.”
Clement simply could not think of a reply. The expression on her face–what remained of her face–must have been completely blank.
Ellid got to her feet. “I’m going to assign a signal‑man to you, and I’ll make sure every captain in the garrison knows that when the bugle blows, that’s your voice giving the orders.” She paused. “A favor, Clement. A little thing.”
“What?” Clement said doubtfully. It was difficult to believe any favor could be small at the moment.
“Don’t put your life at risk, eh? The last thing I want is to inherit this bloody mess from you.”
Clement said, “That’s exactly what I told Cadmar the last time he promoted me. And now look at what’s happened.”
The kitchen had gradually emptied out, and Garland, too tired to go through the trouble of finding a bed, dozed on the hearth. Down the hall, he heard the Paladin’s voice, and then he heard Medric saying urgently, “Etnil! Wake her up! Now!”
Garland grabbed Karis’s mended, cleaned, ironed, and neatly folded clothing, and ran to the parlor. Medric, standing in the doorway with a blanket trailing from his shoulders, said vigorously into the parlor, “Not only is it a mistake to try to protect her, but it’s generally a good idea to keep out of her way, under all circumstances. Yes, that’s a useful principle.” His spectacles, reflecting fire, made his eyes into a circle of light.
Emil said, “Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up and tell me what to do. Come in, will you? Or at least allow Garland to pass. Is there a Paladin out there?”
“Yes, Emil,” said the Paladin.
“You might as well start waking up the house.”
Garland went in, to find Emil kneeling near Karis, holding his watch up to the firelight. “What time is dawn in the garrison, Garland?”
“When the bell rings. Sainnites ignore Shaftali time. But we can’t hear the garrison bells here; I think we’re too far away.”