He’d pinned his gold bars inside his collar; they were too shiny—flawless—which declared how recently he’d been promoted and how little action he’d seen since. Once the awe of making captain a month before turning twenty-one wore off, the glare bothered him to no end, but at the moment he was more concerned with the enemy seeing the bars flash in the darkness.
To his right, twenty yards away, sat two of his lieutenants, both hooded—his oldest friend and second-in-command, Casseck, covering his blond head, and Luke Gramwell, hiding the ruddy tints in his brown hair. Quinn’s mother was from the far eastern region of Aristel, and he’d inherited her dusky complexion and black hair, so he had no need for such precautions. Nor did Robert Devlin, positioned beside him. Rob had begged Quinn to pick him last fall. A new cavalry captain was granted his choice of officers so his first successes or failures were his own, but it had taken some smooth talking to convince the general to let the crown prince join a regular company.
At the moment Rob’s hazel eyes were wide and his face pale, his gloved hands clasped to steady their trembling. Other than in height and eye color—the prince was slightly taller and Quinn’s eyes were so dark they were nearly black—they looked so much alike, people often confused them. Quinn eyed his cousin, wondering if he’d worn the same terrified look just before his first battle. Probably. There was only one way to lose it, though, just like the shine on his gold bars, and that was experience.
Heavy snow and ice storms through March had confined the army to their winter camp in Tasmet, near the border with Kimisara. Patrols had started up again only a few weeks ago, and Quinn had been eager to prove his new company’s worth. As the most junior commander, he had to wait his turn.
And wait.
His opportunity came last week, and his riders picked up the trail of ten men almost immediately. While he wasn’t positive this group had come across the border, as far as Quinn knew they were the first potential Kimisar raiders anyone had seen this year. After two days of watching, he’d reached the point of needing to know more than just tracking could provide.
When the group of men came into view, walking—almost marching—down the road, every muscle in Quinn’s body tightened. They carried themselves like fighters, and he didn’t like the look of those staffs they carried. What if they smelled a rat? Beside him, Rob craned his neck to watch, going even paler, though Quinn hadn’t thought it possible.
At that moment, another figure came ambling from the opposite direction. He slowed his pace briefly, as was prudent for a solitary man suddenly faced with ten. The group of ten also looked at the stranger with caution, but they obviously didn’t feel threatened. Quinn’s mouse could take care of himself, but five crossbows were backing him up from other angles in the shadows, just in case.
Quinn’s tension increased as the men came together, and Ash Carter held up his hand in friendly greeting. The strangers offered few words from the looks of it, but seemed cautious. He turned and pointed back where he’d come from, probably describing the distance to some point ahead, or telling part of his story. Ash always said the trick to coming across as real was to change as few details as possible. Maybe that was why he was so good at this kind of scouting. Quinn would’ve had to change a lot more, starting with his name.
The talk concluded and both parties continued on their ways. A few glances were thrown back at Ash, but he never looked around. He didn’t need to—over a dozen pairs of eyes were already watching their every move. Quinn relaxed and sat back. He’d never get used to putting his friends in danger. With a series of hand signals, he gave the pair on his right some instructions, and the lieutenants eased back up over the ridge behind them and disappeared.
A few minutes later, Ash scrambled down the hill to join him and the prince, having looped around behind them once he was out of sight. “They gone enough?” he asked quietly.
Quinn nodded. “Cass and Gram went ahead to watch. What did you learn?”
“Definitely not from around here,” said Ash. “Most didn’t speak, but the two accents I heard were Kimisar. Not that uncommon in these parts, though.”
The province of Tasmet had belonged to Kimisara less than fifty years ago, and Demora had annexed it after the Great War, using it as a buffer against invasion more than anything else. For many this far south, Kimisar was still the primary language. It made identifying raiders more difficult.
The prince, who’d been uncharacteristically silent for the last three hours, stared at nothing. Ash leaned over and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Wake up, Lieutenant.”
Rob jerked out of his thoughts and scowled at his half brother. “Watch it, Sergeant.”
Ash grinned. “Yes, sir.” Ash had trained as a page and squire like the rest of the officers, but refused a commission last summer, never wanting to risk outranking his brother. Most soldiers treated him like an officer, though. He often joked that his position in the army reflected his life as the king’s bastard son: all the perks of rank, but none of the responsibility.
“Any distinctive metalwork?” asked Quinn, drawing the talk back to the matter at hand. Kimisar soldiers usually carried symbols to invoke their gods’ protection.
Ash shook his dark head. “Nothing visible.”
“Did you find out where they’re headed?”
“They asked how much farther the crossroad is. I told them they’d reach it by sunset,” Ash said. “They looked happy to hear that.”
“Weapons?”
“A few carried short swords—not long enough to draw attention, but bigger than knives. Couple bows, but that’s to be expected if you’re living off the land and traveling as light as they are.” He paused. “Those staffs didn’t look right, though. They looked hinged on the top.”
Quinn nodded grimly. “Folded pikes. We’ve seen those before.” It also pretty much proved the group had entered Demora with hostile intent, but in twelve years with the army, he’d never met or heard of any Kimisar who hadn’t. Raids had been especially numerous in the last two years as Kimisara had suffered some sort of blight that destroyed half their harvest. There wasn’t much in Tasmet to steal—the population was sparse, and the granaries were all the way north, in Crescera. “The bad news is that means they’re ready to repel horses. The good news is they’re not as strong as solid pikes.”
Ash smiled. “Also that we’re just as good on foot as on horseback.”
“I guess that settles it, then,” said Quinn, pushing to his feet. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” said Ash.
Quinn wore a wicked grin as he brushed dirt off his black jacket. “Time to welcome your new friends to Demora.”