The soldiers scrambled past us and fled the room. Their errands should send them all over the post where my men could pick them off.
I pointed to the last six, but the closest one squinted. I watched in horror as recognition formed on his face.
“You’re the trader. You’re not—”
I slammed the butt of my pistol into his forehead. He crumpled, but the other five soldiers surged forward.
Fang, heretofore silent, blurred into motion. He lunged at two men. The remaining three crashed into me. Their weight forced me to the ground.
I drove an elbow into somebody’s stomach. A fist clipped my jaw, and I bit my tongue. Blood flooded my mouth. Fingers scrabbled for my eyes. I snapped my teeth at an arm in front of my face. Someone yelped.
A heavy weight—knees?—landed on my chest and stole my breath. I writhed like a cat trying to avoid a bath. Someone pinned my arms. This was not part of the plan.
Fang appeared behind my assailants. He grabbed one soldier around the neck. I pitched another to the side. As soon as I tried to get my feet under me, someone rammed into me from behind.
A weapon cracked against the back of my head. I pitched forward, stumbled over an overturned chair, and ended up on the floor again.
Large figures blocked out the light. Too many figures. I frowned. Had the other imperials returned?
The click of a pistol cocking near my head caught my attention. I tried to roll to the side, but a boot crushed my shoulder. I winced in anticipation of the shot.
“Fortis?”
“Erg?” I tried to place the voice. It wasn’t Fang.
“What’re you doing in that uniform?”
Relief stole the tension from my limbs. I melted into a puddle. “Would you please take your boot off me, Corporal Makk?”
The man complied. “You’re lucky the captain ordered us not to make any noise.” He uncocked his pistol. “Else we would have shot you.”
Across the room, Fang offered a skeptical snort. No one had pinned him to the floor, I noticed.
I spat blood and staggered to my feet. The six imperial soldiers huddled on the floor, unconscious or subdued. Eight men from the company assured they would stay that way.
“Is everyone here?” I asked.
“Just the patrol,” the corporal said. “The captain’ll be expecting us to report back soon.” He glanced around the room, then out the window at the dark outpost. “Uhm, what shall we report?”
I briefed him.
* * *
I watched the rain drizzling outside my room. Squads of our soldiers trotted through the streets below, securing the outpost. I should have felt cheered by their presence, but the entry of the real leaders made me feel insignificant. The captain had apparently learned all he needed from the patrol, for he dismissed me when I appeared to make my report. His clipped tone suggested he was not particularly pleased with me. I had disobeyed orders, after all, endangered the mission, and risked compromising the company.
A fool I, for thinking this lunacy would win his respect. Why did his opinion matter so much anyway? I sighed. Because I loved him, which was stupid. I had seen him with women; the most I could hope for was friendship, and even that seemed ambitious. Corporals did not hang out with the company commander. The captain didn’t even socialize with Lieutenant Jorres.
I thought of Ross and his love for his commander, a man who could not return it. And Akari who for some unfathomable reason loved me. What prompts us to long for the impossible?
Sometime after dawn, a knock came at the door. The captain entered and eyeballed me like something distasteful that Cook had made. He sank into the room’s only chair. It creaked beneath his muscled bulk.
“You haven’t slept?” he asked.
I lurked by the window, still wearing the purloined imperial uniform. “No, sir.”
“Should have. You’re on duty in an hour.” His lips thinned. “Guarding prisoners.”
“Are you angry, sir?”
“You’re a commander’s nightmare. If I had had any idea what you were up to over here, I would have sent my spirit ahead to strangle you in your sleep.”
“Yes, but are you angry?” I asked plaintively.
The captain sighed. “How can I be? With results like that? An imperial outpost taken without a single casualty.” He shook his head. “It was damned clever. You’re a horrible subordinate, Fortis, but if you survive long enough, you’ll make a good commander.”
I gnashed down on my lip to keep from grinning like a simpleton. “Thank you, sir. Would you like to hear my report?”
“Later, Corporal. I’m,” he yawned profoundly, “tired.” He cocked his head, and a predatory smile creased his lips. “Actually, I want you to write that report. Make two copies. One for me, and one for the imperial officers. I want those haughty aristocrats to know how their outpost was taken.”
“Yes, sir.”
I expected the captain to leave then, but he seemed content to sit in the chair. Was it possible he actually enjoyed my company? I searched my mind for something clever and entertaining to say.
“Sir, I was wondering—”
A loud snore punctuated my words. Oh. At least he was comfortable enough to sleep in my presence. It was a start.
THE END
Lindsay Buroker, Degrees of Delusion
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