Empress of Dorsa (The Chronicles of Dorsa)

He looked past Megs, towards Jart and Reece. “I didn’t expose myself. Not on purpose, anyways. My head’s not exactly clear – I’m leaking life with every step, soldier.”

He stretched out one leg, and a damp patch of blood that hadn’t been visible before now appeared just above his hip. “I don’t trust you,” he said again, “but if I don’t get food, help with this wound, and at least a half night’s sleep, I’ll die anyway.”

Megs studied the lieutenant’s face, then the horizontal wound above his hip. It couldn’t be that deep; if it was, it would have ripped into his entrails, and everyone knew that once the entrails were lacerated, death followed soon after.

There were good reasons for two veterans to not trust each other. In the four years since the Imperial Army lost the War in the East and the mountain men had taken over, the lands in and around the Sunrise Mountains had become chaotic and lawless. There were bands of Imperial survivors like Megs’s, who continued to hold the view that the only true enemies were the tribesmen, and that if they just held on long enough, the Empire might still return to restore their rule one day. But as years went by, as resources grew scarcer and each passing winter seemed harsher than the one before, there were also those bands of survivors who cared little for the restoration of Imperial rule and only about keeping their own larders filled. Whom they raided, tribesmen or Empire, mattered less to them than what goods the raid might yield. Occasionally, Megs had even come across rumors of Imperial gangs like hers that had actually allied with the mountain men, willing to hunt down their fellow Imperial survivors in exchange for a promise of protection for their own group.

Megs would rather die than turn against other survivors. But not all army veterans and former Easterners felt the same way.

“What’s your name, Lieutenant?” Megs asked the man before her.

“Clovis of House Andalthia.”

Ah. An officer and highborn. The men behind her rippled with discomfited surprise.

“I served a captain of House Andalth once. He was a good man.” She stuck out her hand. Clovis shook it. “First Sergeant Megstra of Druet Village. Call me Megs.”

“‘Empress’ would be better,” Rom said from behind.

Clovis cocked a bemused eyebrow.

“Ignore him,” Megs said. “Alright, Lieutenant Clovis of House Andalthia. I’m going to feed you, dress your wounds, and give you a place to stay for one night. In return, you consent to remaining shackled while in our camp, you draw us a map showing where this supposed tribal gathering is taking place, along with all the details you can provide, and you consent to being escorted from our camp by three of my men when it’s time to leave.”

“I accept everything, except that your men cannot know the direction in which to escort me,” Clovis said. “And I don’t intend on telling them.”

“You said the tribal gathering is west. My men will take you east.”

“Not east,” the lieutenant said firmly. “My people will come looking for me. They’ll panic if they don’t find me west of the tribesmen, and they’ll be quick to draw steel on whoever they encounter first.”

Megs tilted her head to the side. “I certainly hope that wasn’t a threat, Lieutenant.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a statement of fact, Sergeant.” He glanced from Megs to Rom, as though Rom might be made to see reason where Megs would not. “I can’t go east.”

Megs rose to her feet. “We can argue about where to take you in the morning. Can you walk without help?”

Clovis slowly pushed himself up, leaning on the tree trunk for support. “You’ll return my weapons when I leave in the morning?”

“Of course,” Megs said.

“Including my rune blade?”

She pulled her own rune-marked dagger a few inches from its sheath at her waist. In the final days of the war, everyone in the Imperial Army who bore the rank of sergeant or higher had received one. “We have our own,” Megs said. “We have no need of yours.”

He nodded once. Hesitated a moment. Then: “Thank you, Sergeant. You have saved my life today.”

Megs only inclined her chin in response.

Once they were back at camp, Megs instructed Allard to find the officer something to eat, then instructed Big Seth, who’d been a wagon smith before his village had been razed by mountain men, to ensure that the man’s hands and feet were bound in such a manner that enabled a functional but limited range of movement. The stout man nodded silently at her instructions. Finally, she set Grent and Aldusa, who’d finished their cooking project, to dress the lieutenant’s wound. She’d considered giving the task to Dwennon instead of Grent, because Dwennon was a formidable fighter who’d be a match even for an experienced Imperial officer like Clovis. But Dwennon was also hot-headed, which meant he was easier to manipulate. Megs reasoned that between Aldusa’s sharp wit and the blunt tool of Grent’s meat cleaver, Clovis would be secure enough for the time being.

Finished with settling the stranger into camp, Rom took Megs’s elbow and pulled her out of hearing range.

“I’m assuming ye noticed the highborn’s hiding something?” Rom asked when they were out of earshot from the rest of the camp.

“Yes. Which is why Zandra and I are leaving to scout this morning instead of tomorrow, as soon as we’ve both had a chance to break our fast.”

“You can’t leave,” Rom said, incredulous. “Find someone else to send with Zandra. We have a stranger in our camp and supposedly a tribe on our doorstep.”

“That’s exactly why it has to be me,” Megs said. “We’ll go west to see if there’s really a tribe on our doorstep, loop back in an arc north past the camp, then go east to see if there’s anything we should be worrying about in that direction.”

Rom ran a hand down his face. His mustache twitched in agitation. “Ye told this Lieutenant Clovis ye’d release him in the morning. The trip you just described … Yer not going to be back by morning, Megs, not even with Zandra, not even if you leave right now.”

“I know. You’ll have to make up an excuse tomorrow morning. Tell him … Oh, hell, I don’t know.” She waved a hand in irritation. “You’ll think of something that works. I’ll be back no later than tomorrow night.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Interrogate him. We both know there’s a hell of a lot he’s not saying. Tease out what else he knows.”

“What else who knows?” asked a voice.

Rom and Megs both turned. Azza stood a few feet away, arms crossed against her chest.