Turning the Storm (2 page)

Lucia gave Felice a long, careful stare. I looked at her; she shrugged.

“Well,” I said. “You probably know that we led the uprising at Ravenna.” Felice nodded. “That was about a month and a half ago. We've liberated three more slave labor camps since our escape, adding former slaves to our army when possible.” Our army had doubled in size from the original group, but then the other camps had been smaller than Ravenna.

“At the last camp, reinforcements had been sent down,” Giovanni said. “Fortunately, they had not been well integrated. The new troops and the old did not trust each other, and fought together poorly. Still, we can't count on that being true everywhere.”

“What sorts of training have you done with your men?” Felice asked.

“Tactics,” I said. “Some sword training, and bow.”

“Three victories,” Felice said. “That's quite something.”

“Minimal losses,” I said. “That's something we hope to keep up.”

“Any problems?” Felice asked.

“Well, you know, we're fighting a war,” I said. “People get injured sometimes, or die.
That
's a problem.”

“But other than that?” Felice asked.

There were the constant petty squabbles, the rivalries between the original Lupi and the mutineer soldiers from Ravenna, the constant shortage of supplies, and the fact that half of the people I'd impulsively made leaders couldn't lead their way out of a stable if you drew them a map, but I wasn't about to share those problems with Felice. “That's pretty much it.”

“Well,” Felice said, his face lighting up. “Sounds like you're in good shape, then.” I nodded. “So anyway, I'm here to take over.”

I froze, not entirely sure I'd heard quite right. Lucia's jaw dropped, then she closed her mouth and sat back quietly, her eyes flickering from me to Giovanni and back. The slight quirk of her lips made it clear she was waiting for the show.

“You're here to
what
?” Giovanni demanded, just barely restraining himself from attacking Felice. “I am doing
just
fine myself, thank you
very
much.”

“Oh, er, yes, of course,” Felice said, glancing from Giovanni's face to mine. “Of course you're doing fine. We really appreciate what an excellent job you've done since Beneto's execution. The reformer leaders in Cuore have voted to give both of you a commendation, in fact.

But you have to understand, a position like this requires someone with experience—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “So how many armies have
you
led into battle?”

“Oh, I'm very good at strategy,” Felice said confidently. “I won nineteen out of twenty-five mock battles with my tutor—”

I laughed. “You're not taking my army away from me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Signore Felice, you can
try
to command here if you enjoy being laughed at, but this is
my
army. If you think we're putting our men into your manicured hands, think again. You don't command here—I do.”

Felice was putting on a patient expression, and that did it. “Michel!” I said.

Michel was waiting outside the tent and poked his head in. “Yes, Generale?”

“Take this man to the stockade and place him under guard. He is not to be left alone at any time.”

Michel took Felice's arm. “If you'll come with me, signore,” he said.

“But—but—wait—” Felice said as Michel started to haul him off.

“Oh, one more thing, Michel,” I said. “He's a guest. Treat him with courtesy.”

“He won't have anything to complain about, Generale.”

The tent was quiet for a moment after Felice was gone.

“I don't know if that was quite appropriate—” Giovanni started.

“If he's going to stay here,” I said, “I want him to be
absolutely clear on who's in charge. Besides,” and I relaxed slightly, “what an ass.”

Lucia laughed. “I agree. Let him cool his heels in the stockade, for an hour or two at least…”

Giovanni was opening his mouth to say something else when Isabella came in to the tent. At least Michel was gone by the time she arrived. “Who's the fop?” she demanded.

“An old friend of Giovanni's,” Lucia said. “The reformers sent him to take over.”

Isabella looked at me with a single raised eyebrow.

“I declined his generous offer,” I said.

“Just what is it you hope to accomplish by locking him up?” Giovanni demanded. “Fine, you get to gloat, but is there really any point to this, or is it just to humiliate him?”

I leaned forward. “I've seen no reason that I should trust him. There's nowhere else in this encampment designed to keep people under guard. So until I'm convinced that he's not a threat, he stays in the stockade.”

Giovanni snorted. “A threat? That pretty boy probably had a servant to reload his crossbow, back in Cuore. You're actually afraid of him?”

“I've got enough things to worry about without Felice,” I said. “I promise, I'll have Michel let him out soon. Do you want to go see about the scout reports?”

Giovanni left, still grumbling, leaving Lucia and Isabella in the tent with me. Unfortunately, Isabella showed no inclination to leave. She pulled up a cushion to sit on and poured herself a cup of tea. “Generale,” she said. “I wonder if I could have a word with you.”

I suppressed a groan; when Isabella called me generale, it usually meant that she wanted something. She
was going to have her word with me sooner or later, so I poured my own cup of tea and sat back to listen, gesturing for her to go ahead.

“Yesterday you ordered one of my people to scrub pots for insubordination.”

“Which?” I asked, trying to remember who'd gotten in trouble recently.

“Gemino.”

“Ah, right.” Gemino was a short, stocky boy who'd come with us from Ravenna. Isabella led a unit within my army, but it was made up mostly of “her people,” the old-time malcontents who'd followed her in Ravenna. “Isabella, you aren't going to have me reduce his punishment, are you? It's not like scrubbing pots is that dreadful a task, and someone has to—”

“It's not this instance so much as it is a general pattern. The problem was not Gemino, it was Michel. You should
realize
that by now.”

“I thought I told Gemino he didn't have to take weaponry lessons from Michel anymore.”

“You did. This wasn't a weaponry lesson. Michel was trying to give my people orders, and Gemino refused—”

Now I remembered. “Isabella, Michel was trying to tell Gemino he needed to move the horses. It was a perfectly reasonable request—”

“—and coming from anyone else, it might have sounded reasonable. Michel can make the most reasonable request sound like an insult.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Michel needs to be taken down a peg.” Isabella's large eyes glared at me from behind a stray lock of gray hair. “He's unsuited to a position of authority.”

This was true. Michel
was
unsuited to a position of authority. But so was Isabella, and most of my unit commanders. “I need him where he is,” I said.

“But Gemino—”

“I'll tell Michel again to stay away from your soldiers.” We'd be fine if I could find enough other things for Michel to do. Or if I could somehow keep him and Isabella permanently separated. The trouble was, I really did need him where he was. I needed his loyalty, his skills as a bodyguard, and his ability to get things done for me. He wasn't a bad soldier, but the power had gone to his head. I just wished I knew what to do about it. Isabella's suggestion had merit, except that if I hurt his pride, I might lose his loyalty—or he might simply leave. And I needed him too badly. Besides, if I disciplined Michel, I'd have to do something about all the lousy unit commanders, including Isabella. I
had
removed the really atrocious ones—the lecher, and the coward, and the one who turned out to be dumb as a donkey—but if I set about trying to ensure that only the best were in positions of authority, we'd be left with me, the woman who led the scouts, and Giovanni on his good days.

“Well, thank you, Generale,” Isabella said stiffly, and took her leave.

Alone with Lucia, I sighed. “Are you sure you don't want to command a unit, Lucia?”

“And have Isabella on
my
back, as well as yours and Michel's?” Lucia raised an eyebrow. “Positive.”

“So.” I wiped out my teacup and put it away. “What's on my list?”

Lucia considered for a moment. “The scouts are due back this evening, but probably won't get in until late tonight. If they're not back by morning, we'll have to
assume that they were captured. That's the most significant news.”

I nodded.

“Other than that … We're in pretty good shape for grain, but we're low on horse feed. If we absolutely have to, we can feed some of our wheat to the horses, but for obvious reasons that's not the best option. In any case, it's critical that we capture food at the next camp. And if they have horses, we should send them north with the refugees, rather than keeping them ourselves. Cavalry is nice, but we just don't have the food stocks.”

I nodded; she was right, although this would only increase resentment among the people who didn't have horses but thought they should. Never mind that most of these people could barely ride, let alone fight from horseback; a horse was a symbol of status, so everyone wanted one.

“Other than that—Nerio and Viola split and have made quite a fuss about it.”

“Move them into separate units. I don't care if they reconcile and miss each other; we're keeping them separate from now on. This is, what, the fourth time?”

“Fifth. Let's see. Ulpio and Bruttio were fighting.”

“Latrine duty.”

“Paulo and Severo are rumored to be spoiling for a fight.”

“Paulo and Severo?” They were two more of the men I'd put in charge of units … and now regretted putting in charge. “What's their problem?”

“Paulo's convinced you're favoring Severo's men. He wants a horse, and he thinks you're sending his men to dig latrines and scrub pots a bit too often. He blames Severo for turning you against him.”

I sighed. “Remind me to ease up on Paulo's men. He's wrong, but it's not worth losing his loyalty over. Maybe I
should
give him a horse.” I looked up; Lucia gazed at me levelly, a glint of humor in her eyes. I sighed again. “Once we're out of the wasteland, the horses can graze …”

“According to Giovanni's calculations, that won't be until the end of the summer.”

I shook my head. “No horse for Paulo, then. Maybe I'll arrange to outfit all his men with swords and crossbows.”

“Think you can get Giovanni to train them?” Lucia asked. “If you give them the swords without training they'll only trip over them in battle.”

“I could try making Felice do it,” I said.

“Think he'll be any better than Michel? Or Giovanni?”

“Could he be any worse?” I said. “Don't answer that. I suppose I should go spring him from the stockade. What else do I still need to take care of?”

Lucia considered. “Five more people who want you to mediate disputes.”

“Oh, for— Can't you do it?”

She shook her head. “They specifically requested you. Look, at least they aren't fighting.”

“Right, I know. Fine. Later, before the scouts get back. Was that it?”

“That's all,” Lucia said.

“In that case …” I stretched. “I'm going to visit Felice.”

The stockade was really just a fenced area with two guards standing over it. The fence was a flimsy, makeshift affair; any determined prisoner could escape by uprooting a fence stake and running. Most of the time,
when I tossed someone in the stockade it was more for the symbolic humiliation than actual confinement.

I expected Felice to greet me with a glare, but he merely looked sad and hurt. “I had no idea you'd take it like this,” he said when I arrived.

“Then you were poorly briefed.”

“Is this really necessary?” He gestured at the fence and the guards. “I promise not to try to take away your army.”

“I don't think you'd be able to,” I said. “I had you locked up because you're a stranger and you might be here to cause trouble. Why should I trust you? I was never one of the official reformers of Cuore; I don't know the passwords and countersigns that so thoroughly impressed Giovanni.” I stepped close to the fence, noticing that Felice was sweating. “Why should I trust you?”

Felice placed his hands flat against the fence posts. “Signora Generale,” he said. “I may be soft and I may be weak compared to you and your men. The orders I was sent with may betray a terrible arrogance on the part of my leaders. But the fire that burns in my heart springs from the same flame as the fire in yours. My brothers were among those murdered by the Circle to keep secret the devastation caused by magefire. And I will do whatever it takes to bring them down.” He met my eyes with urgent sincerity. “Let me fight with you, Generale. You won't regret it.”

“Well,” I said. I uprooted a fence post and gestured that he could step out of the prison. “Welcome to my army.” I fitted the post back into the ground and started to walk away.

“Wait,” Felice said. I turned back. “What do I do now?”

“That's for you to figure out, isn't it?” His look was
so pitiful I relented. “Fine. Report to—oh, you can be in Paulo's unit.” I flagged down Vitale. “Escort Felice here to Paulo. Do you know how to use a sword for anything other than jewelry, Felice?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Tell Paulo that Felice will be helping him with arms training.” With any luck, Felice would be better at it than Michel. Vitale saluted and marched Felice off.

∗    ∗    ∗

“Martido won't return my bracelet.”

I stared at Fiora, baffled. “Why does he have it?”

“I gave it to him when we were—you know. And now we're not. But he won't give it back to me.”

I glanced at Lucia, who sat beside me. She gave me her faintest wicked grin, and my spirits lifted slightly. I didn't understand why I was the one who had to mediate these stupid arguments. Lucia would have been better at it.

“Where did you get the bracelet?”

“From Teleso's keep.” Fiora glared at me stubbornly now. “It's mine. I want it back.”