Hope's End: A Powder Mage Short Story (2 page)

Young, he’d called her, though as a man in his forties, Tamas couldn’t be more than a decade her senior.

“Because I volunteered,” Verundish said, “And you know that a volunteer will more effectively lead the charge.”

“Is that a challenge I hear in your tone, captain?” Tamas asked. “No, don’t answer that. I always hated it when a superior officer made me choose between dishonesty and my pride. I won’t do it to you.” He paused to clean bits of black powder from beneath his nails. “Perhaps I have orders from my superiors that Constaire lead the charge.”

Verundish felt her heart beat a little faster. An order like that would only come from Field Marshal Beravich or from the king himself. Was Constaire involved in some kind of plot? Or had he been made a pawn in some nobleman’s maneuverings?

“I don’t, of course,” Tamas said, waving away the thought with a small smile. “Can I ask why, beyond some misguided sense of affection for that fool, you would sacrifice your life for Constaire?”

“Sometimes, sir, the attack succeeds. If it does, I’ll be up for immediate promotion. I’ll be a hero, sir.”

“That’s awfully optimistic,” Tamas muttered. He stood up, indicating that the meeting was over, and said, “I’ll take it under advisement, captain. You’ll have your answer by this evening.”

Verundish went through the rest of the day in a fog.

She had a way out. In two days she would lead a Hope’s End through the breach and into the face of musket fire and Privileged sorcery where she would be killed almost instantly. She would die a hero’s death and be given a hero’s burial, and Genevie could take pride in the mother she barely knew.

Her hated husband would release Genevie into the care of Verundish’s father and mother, and she would receive Verundish’s ample pension for the rest of her life.

If General Tamas gave her leave to lead the charge.

She was walking through the camp, reviewing her company, when Constaire found her.

He took her firmly by the arm, not saying a word, and steered her behind the relative privacy of a colonel’s pavilion tent.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, shaking off his grip.

“No,” he hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Constaire’s face was red with anger. In four years of campaigning together, she had never seen him so furious. “I’ve just been informed by General Tamas that you volunteered to take my place at Hope’s End. I won’t allow it!”

“There’s nothing you can’t allow me to do,” she said.

“You think me a coward?” Constaire stamped his foot. It was a terribly childish thing to do, and Verundish wondered if perhaps he needed practice being angry. “You think that I can’t do it? Why would you do something like this?”

She thought of all the reasons she could give him and put her finger to his lips. He was a coward, but that wasn’t the right thing to say at this moment.

“I don’t think you’re a coward,” she said. “But I know that this isn’t something you can do.”

“You would die in my place?”

His face was so raw in that moment that Verundish wondered if he had really meant it when he offered to marry her. She had assumed it was brash declaration, with nothing of substance to back it up. Soldiers didn’t marry each other. The chance that one of them would die was just too great.

“I would,” she said. She didn’t tell him that she would surely die by her own hand if not at the weapons of the Gurlish.

“No. I can’t have that. I may be a coward, Verie, but not enough to let you take my place.”

“You have no choice. The general has made his decision, it seems.” She was surprised that Constaire heard of it before she had.

Constaire straightened his uniform. “I will go to the general right now and demand that he let me lead the charge. It’s my right!”

“No one demands anything of Tamas,” she said.

“I will!”

She took him by the arm and put a hand on his chest. “Don’t, you fool. You’ll receive nothing but a reprimand from the general.” She lifted a finger back to his lips. “Now I have to put my affairs in order. Come see me tonight. If I’m to die in two days... well, I want to enjoy that time.”

The morning before the attack, Verundish was summoned to see General Tamas once more.

A fear gripped her as she approached his tent that he’d decided not to honor her request. That Constaire would still have to lead the charge, and that she’d have to put a bullet in her head to save Genevie.

When she arrived the two guards outside the general’s tent looked pensive and tight-lipped. One of them announced her, and then she was nodded through.

She ducked inside, the protest on her lips dying as she surveyed the room.

The general’s desk had been overturned, the floor and wall of the tent covered in ink, papers, and scattered gunpowder. The mighty oak table that had held his two-hundred year old map was cracked down the middle and an iron candelabra that had been perched on his desk was a snake of twisted metal.

General Tamas sat on a chair in the corner—the only unbroken piece of furniture in the tent—with his legs crossed, surveying the destruction with a sour look.

“Sir?” Verundish asked.

He looked up for a moment, then back to his desk. That desk was huge. It took four men to carry it, no doubt, and at least two to turn it over. Yet Tamas was alone.

The general stood up, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Captain,” he said. “Thank you for coming. I’ve just finished a conversation with Privileged Zakary, the royal cabal’s new beadle.”

It was no secret that the royal cabal and Tamas were kept from each other’s throats only by the king himself, but Zakary’s visit didn’t explain the broken table.

“Did he do this, sir?” Verundish said. She felt anger at the indignity of it. No one came to Tamas’ tent and disrespected him like this. He was a general. Her general!

“What?” Tamas seemed genuinely puzzled for a moment, following her gaze to the mess. “Oh. No, that was after he left. Someone will come and clean it up soon. Zakary stopped by to let me know that no Privileged would participate in the Hope’s End during the attack on Darjah tonight. They’ll provide distant support only.”

Verundish felt her breath catch in her throat. No Privileged? None at all? A Hope’s End was always accompanied by a Privileged—usually someone young and stupid, or incredibly ambitious—but a Privileged nonetheless. Without a Privileged of their own, the Hope’s End would have no counter to the Gurlish sorcery that would be flung at them from atop the walls.

Verundish forced a ragged breath in and out. She was going to die tonight. No question about it. This was what she wanted. But to know so baldly that her death would be in vain...

“Furthermore,” Tamas continued, “Field Marshal Beravich has forbidden me from taking part in the attack. I usually sit back about a mile, with the artillery, and shoot the enemy Privileged when they show themselves against the Hope’s End. But it seems I’m being denied even that.”

Tamas’ nostrils flared, and his voice rose as he spoke. “Bloody idiots just want to see me flounder. They throw away lives—good lives—just to spite me! The damned dogs. If I could kill every Privileged in Adro, I’d do it this instant.”

Verundish’s heart beat faster and she felt fear. Not for herself. No, her life was forfeit. But General Tamas was one of the few officers in the army that genuinely seemed to care for his men. He commanded loyalty from every rank, and he had seen to it that soldiers in his command could rise through the ranks by merit.

If the royal cabal ever heard him speak like this they would kill him in an instant, even if he did have the king’s favor.

She waited for a few moments for him to continue. “Sir?”

Tamas shook his head. “Captain, the point of a Hope’s End is to capture a fortress by surprise. It doesn’t work often, but it has worked. But not without a Privileged. Without a Privileged I’ll just be sending a company of men to their deaths. Guaranteed failure. But I have my orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re all right with that?”

“I’ll follow orders, sir.”

“I’m giving you a chance to back out, captain.”

“I’ll lead the charge, sir.”

Tamas’ eyes narrowed at her. “Why?”

Because if the Gurlish don’t kill me, I’ll have to do it myself. “I’d rather not say, sir.”

“Even if I order you?”

Verundish stiffened. “You’ve always respected the privacy of your men, sir.”

“Yes. I have.” Tamas turned to survey the mess that used to be his desk and map table and gave a long sigh. “You’re dismissed, captain. The Hope’s End will gather at dusk and attack at midnight. If you have not yet put your affairs in order, do so now.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Verundish paused in the tent opening and turned back to General Tamas.

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you grant me a request, sir?”

“If it’s within reason.”

“Make sure my husband doesn’t get my pension. Make sure it goes to my daughter.”

Tamas considered this a moment, then nodded. “Sign a letter to that end, and leave it with my secretary. I’ll be sure it’s done.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The company that would make up the Hope’s End gathered as the sun set over the western edge of the desert.

It was a sad group. Half of them were malcontents—men and women who might end up on the gallows or spend years in prison if they hadn’t volunteered. The other half were ambitious young soldiers, stupid or desperate enough to hope that they might survive the night and see a promotion upon capture of the fortress.

Verundish wondered whether any of them had received the same chance at reprieve that she had.

General Tamas was there when they gathered. He watched them all with hands clasped behind his back, small sword at his side and pistol at his belt. His face was stony and unreadable, but when Privileged Zakary passed by not long after, the torchlight revealed the open hostility with which Tamas regarded the Privileged.

Two hours before midnight, a Kresim priest prayed for the group’s success, and the men were allowed to say goodbye to their friends and comrades.

Constaire found Verundish among the crowd. He wore his full uniform and carried a musket in one hand, with his sword buckled to his belt.

“Where the pit do you think you’re going?” Verundish asked.

“There’s still time,” Constaire replied. “Say the word now, and I will lead the charge.”

“No.”

Constaire shook his head. “Please, Verie. Don’t do it.”

“I have to.”

“No,” Constaire said. “You don’t.” He held something up for her to see. It was the letter she’d received from her husband three days ago.

“Give me that,” she hissed, snatching for it. “You have no right to read my private letters.”

He pulled it away from her grasp. “I had to know why you would do this. I know you don’t love me back, Verie. I knew there had to be a reason for this suicide.”

She slapped him. She hadn’t meant to, but a moment later he clutched at his cheek and stared at her like a hurt puppy.

She rubbed her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I deserved that.”

Yes, he did. “It will be all right,” she said. “I have to do this.”

“I’ll challenge your husband to a duel.”

“He’d slaughter you.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“He would. He’s a skilled swordsman. It would take someone like... like General Tamas to defeat him.”

Constaire fell silent, and Verundish felt compelled to step forward, pulling him into her arms. “Why the pit am I comforting you, idiot?” she asked, feeling his tears on the back of her hands. “I’m the one going to my death.”

“I’m the one who has to live without you.”

Verundish shook her head. “Go back to your tent.”

“No. I’ve volunteered to lead the second wave. If you succeed in taking the breach, I’ll be right behind you. We’ll fight our way through the fortress together.”

“Pit. You really are a fool.”

A whisper went through the ranks for the Hope’s End to prepare. Verundish pressed her lips to Constaire’s and then headed toward the front line without looking back.

General Tamas waited for them by the artillery that would herald their attack. Behind him stood four Privileged, their white gloves etched with crimson runes that caught the dim torchlight. They regarded the Hope’s End with skepticism.

When the Hope’s End had fallen into ranks, Tamas addressed them.

“There,” he said, pointing to the fortress a mile behind him, “is our enemy. They sit assured in their towers, drinking to another day of our failure and thanking their heathen god that we don’t have the stomach to set ladders to their walls.”

“That ends tonight. Tonight, we will open a breach. We will swarm their fortress and put their shah and their Privileged to the sword.”

The Privileged behind Tamas shifted uncomfortably at the mention of killing their Gurlish counterparts.

“The fall of Darjah will destroy Gurlish confidence, and we will be one step closer to ending this damned war. And then, my friends, we will all go home.” Tamas seemed weary suddenly, and far older than his forty years. He smiled. “I’m done with this damned dusty land. I’m ready to go home and bounce my boy on my knee, and then take my wife upstairs where I can bounce her on my knee.”

There was a chuckle among the group.

“End this siege, lads,” Tamas said. “Get in there and break them once and for all and every one of you, living or dead, will be a hero in the morning.”

A quiet cheer went up among the company, and Tamas raised his hands for silence. “I’d be there with you if the king allowed me. By Kresimir, I would.”

That might have been a lie from any other general, but Verundish knew it for truth.

Tamas continued, “Captain Verundish will take you in. Follow her like you’d follow me.” He stepped away then, and gestured to Verundish.

Verundish raised her saber above her head. “No lights. Not a word. We move in darkness up below the walls, and wait for the thunder. When the wall falls, charge.” She waited for the nods, then lowered her arm. “Let’s go.”