14
DEVEN
A bang in the distance wakes me. I go from lying propped against the tree trunk to standing in half a breath. Daylight rests upon the woodland, severing my drowsiness.
I groan. “We overslept.”
Natesa opens her eyes from her place curled up against Yatin. I nudge him in the boot, and he jolts, thumping his head against their log. Rohan rouses, shedding sleep like the blanket of leaves that kept him dry last night. Sunup stole into the forest, and the day marched us well into morning, far past our planned departure at dawn.
Yatin scrubs the sleep from his eyes, and Natesa shoves strands of her fallen hair up underneath her turban. Tightness stretches all my sore, stiff muscles. I peer through the misty woods. The fallen leaves are saturated to a deep crimson from the passing rain. No tent peaks mark the army’s camp. We were completely gone from this world not to have heard the army pack up and leave. I should have anticipated our exhaustion after our taxing days of travel.
“They’re on the move.” I brush dirt from my trousers and grab my sword. The others rise alongside me, wide awake.
We hustle to the outskirts of camp. The area around the nearest outpost barrack is deserted. I race across the trampled field, my friends right behind me. Up ahead, a group of soldiers and their team of horses pulling a catapult wagon were delayed. The back wheels of the wagon have sunk into the rain-soaked ground. A commander riding on horseback shouts at the four men to heave the catapult. They try to push the heavy artillery free, but it is mired deep.
The commander notices us from a distance, our scarlet jackets visible in the morning mists. “You there! Give us a hand!”
I run to the catapult and lean my shoulder into the board above a rear wheel. The rest of my group does the same. Mud loosens my footing. I hunker down for better leverage. On the commander’s order, we push and the horse team pulls. The catapult wagon rocks forward, on the brim of escaping the muck, and then rolls back to its stuck position.
Stepping back, I search the area for something to wedge under the wheels. The commander continues to count, and the men push, but to no avail. I return with branches and lay them in front of the nearest wheel. The next time the men shove and the horses rally, the wheel rocks up onto the branches. But the other rear wheel drags the weight back into the mud.
“We need more branches,” I say.
Natesa collects more with me. We return, our arms laden, and set them in front of the second rear wheel and resume our place behind the catapult wagon.
The commander, who has dismounted and joined the group of men pushing, leans into the back of the wagon and shouts, “Go!”
We rock one wheel up onto the dry branches. My footing slips. I switch places on the wagon, shouldering the weight of the lagging wheel, and we muscle it up onto the other branches.
“Forward!” the commander orders.
We impel the wagon onward until the burden of our load transfers to the horse team, and they plod along the trail. I bend over to collect my breath. Yatin pats me on the shoulder, his own rapid breathing loud. Rohan fastens his attention to the other soldiers, and Natesa lowers her chin and tugs at her turban.
Light rain lays a thin vapor over the forestland. We trek on, and the commander mounts his horse and paces us. I am certain I do not recognize him. He was not in the military encampment in the sultanate. But Yatin and I have served with many soldiers, and he could identify either of us. Or even Natesa if he frequented the rajah’s courtesans’ wing.
In short order, we unite with a lumbering ammunition wagon, and our horse team slows to a plodding walk in the long line of wagons and soldiers.
The commander rides up to my side. I pretend the rain bothers my eyes and fixate on the muddy ridges on the ground. “Where did you and your men hail from?” he says.
“South. We heard word of the imperial army marching and came to join you.”
“The southern outpost was abandoned last moon,” he replies, fists firm on his reins.
I correct my statement as smoothly as possible. “We rerouted to Iresh and followed the troops.”
The commander rides alongside us for several tense steps, evaluating my group. His attention carries over to Natesa. She leaves her chin down. He looks past her to Rohan and then lingers on Yatin’s sturdy bulk. “Do you have experience leading your men?” he asks me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I do not miss Natesa’s lips twisting dryly. “Sir?”
“These other soldiers have been hauling the catapult since Iresh. You and your party will take over.” He excuses the current team of soldiers, and they advance with the troops on foot. “You’ll lead this horse team and catapult the rest of the way to Vanhi. Don’t slow us down.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
The commander taps his heels against his horse’s flank and trots to the wagons ahead.
Natesa shifts to walk next to me. “That was unexpected.”
“Not really,” I answer. “The first rule of successful soldiering is to make yourself indispensable. No one will look twice at us so long as we follow orders.”
“How will we look for Opal if we’re stuck watching this big hunk of wood?” Rohan grumbles. Natesa had rolled up Rohan’s sleeves so the ill fit of his jacket was not so apparent, but the imperial army uniform still drowns him.
“We’ll search at night,” I say. Rohan mutters, his strides short and agitated. “Trust me, Rohan. I know the army. We’re safe so long as we keep our heads down and do our work.”
Yatin grunts in agreement, but we both remain on guard and keep our weapons close. Our small unit fans out, Natesa and Rohan upfront. Yatin walks just ahead of me, patting his pocket every tenth or twelfth stride.
“Do you mean to give her that ring or go mad worrying that you’ve lost it?”
Yatin hikes up his trousers, which are roomier since he lost girth. “She wouldn’t accept it.”
I double-step nearer to his side. “What? Why?”
“She wants to meet my mother and sisters to make certain they approve of her first.” He scratches his beard. “I told her it would be some time before they met, but she’s decided.”
Traditionally, Yatin would meet with Natesa’s father to discuss the wedding, but her parents are deceased, so she can make the arrangements herself. A strong rapport with his family must be important to her, but I would wed Kali regardless of whether I had my mother’s approval.
Our speed stays consistent as the day wears on, and we soon surpass clambering wagons and catapults. Once we reach the center of the ranks, I slow to uphold the pace of those around us. A mediocre position in the marching line will draw less notice our way. My feet already hurt and my back aches, but I ignore my protesting body and settle into the familiar monotony of military obedience.