Page 32

Riders

Jameson

Commander Sullivan—who had been put on suspension—weathered the scolding of Commandant Venara with surprisingly little reaction.

He hardly twitched, which was uncanny to say the least.

Jameson would have at least cringed away from the shouted insults.

While Sullivan received an expert scolding, the commandant, a large fellow with sun-kissed auburn hair and an enviable mustache, lined up all the men from the fort against the walls.

A glorious type of justice was being settled.

Jameson could barely hide the smirk that continuously crept over his lips at each speck of spittle that flew from the commandant’s mouth and onto Sullivan. Yet it left a hollow feeling in his stomach because Sullivan did not react the way Jameson thought he ought to.

Unfortunately, Jameson figured that as soon as the commandant left, they would be punished.

He bet Martin two bennings that they would all be lashed and would spend the day moving every rock they’d cleared from the yard from one side of the fort to the other.

Even being on suspension and demoted until they got the Arryvian back, Sullivan still outranked all of them.

The commandant had made that very clear.

This was a temporary suspension: Sullivan’s rank and honor would be restored upon retrieving the woman.

Did they even realize the monster they were unleashing? Jameson could see it.

The drive.

The ambition…so similar to Callum’s, right down to his stubbornness.

A big difference between his friend and Sullivan, however, was a moral code. Jameson had never known Callum to break the rules and laws intentionally. He was good to a fault. Even when there was a justification for an unlawful action, he’d always take responsibility for whatever the consequences might be. Cal had always been capable of great things—terrible things too, but he never acted out of malice. He never harmed without just cause, and even then, he exercised every other option first.

While there had been more than once that Jameson would have preferred Cal put his lawfulness to the side, he also highly respected him for it.

As long as Cal was around, there were still good people in the world.

Fyn was pretty decent too, if a bit off his rocker.

Jameson was glad he’d been there, coming out from Weston’s barn, when Fyn’d been shot.

He was probably all gussied up and being fattened like a prize hog under Melba’s ministrations.

There was something clever in the old woman’s wizened face.

She knew far more than she let on.

Once Fyn vouched for Jameson, citing their time in training with Cal, Melba tended to him like a mother hen, warm and welcoming.

“Dismissed,”

Commandant Venara said, clicking his heels together and strolling toward the end of the hall.

“Captain Sullivan,”

he said when he reached the corner.

“Meet me in your office.”

Sullivan stared after him for a long moment, his eyes hard, before shifting his gaze to the men lined against the wall.

“You heard the man.

Return to your duties.”

Then he followed the commandant.

No one needed to be asked twice.

They disappeared from the hall like hares into shinweed, slinking away before Sullivan could assign a punishment.

As Jameson stepped away, he slipped his hand into his pocket and toyed with the wedding band Melba had given him.

“Listen here, Jameson,”

she’d said.

“You find that girl and make sure she gets to where she needs to, or so help me, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

Even now, the threat was real enough to give him pause.

Jameson had never considered that travel as a woman could be so difficult until Melba warned him that it would be easier on everyone if the Arryvian appeared married.

“You owe me two bennings,”

Martin murmured as he and Jameson rounded the corner.

“Me and the rest of the squad want to head to that new brothel down on the outskirts that turns a blind eye to anything left on or in the girls, if you know what I mean.”

The man’s breath hung in the air as he grinned, a noxious odor that combined with his words to leave Jameson’s lip curling in disgust.

It seemed like every man here was not only repulsive but gods-damned soulless monsters to boot, even his own squad.

He couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

“There’s still time to win,”

Jameson replied, shoving his other hand into his pocket as he spit to the side.

Martin sucked his yellowing teeth and half shrugged before heading the opposite direction.

In no time at all, Jameson was alone.

Perfect.

Maybe he could do some sleuthing and figure out what the fuck was actually going on.

When he was sure the coast was clear, Jameson left in the direction of his office, a small, windowless room he was afforded for leading his own squad.

Instead of stopping there, however, he continued on, his footsteps careful, listening for Bill outside the other lieutenant’s office.

Almost immediately, he heard the scratching of a quill on paper along with muttered letters as Bill sounded out the words he was writing.

Satisfied, Jameson continued in the direction the two higher-ranking officials had gone, sliding along the wall until he reached the closed door.

Voices murmured from inside.

As he leaned in, the commandant’s voice became clear.

“…that it is imperative we retrieve the asset, I’ve been instructed to relay your plan back to Durask.”

Gone was the commanding tone from earlier, replaced by a respect that had Jameson mouthing “What the fuck?”

under his breath.

Sullivan’s voice was measured and commanding, an attitude completely at odds with his rank in relation to the commandant.

“I’ve received word that an early storm is brewing to the northeast, due to hit Durask in about two days.

I’ll take advantage of the fugitives’ need to take shelter by requisitioning dampstone powder for my men and their solariths, so once we’re finished here, head to headquarters and send some by courier immediately upon arrival.

I’ll have two teams search along the roads to both Chirston and Brega, meeting at the road leading to Arbistol to cut off any means of escape.

Also pass along that if their bodies aren’t found, I’ll be closing our operations here and returning for further orders.”

“Understood.”

Came the commandant’s reply.

“Is there a reason you aren’t currently pursuing them?”

“The subject is being supported by an expert marksman.

If we were to pursue them now, the lives of my men would likely be forfeit.

Once the desert softens them up, their retrieval will be much more likely to succeed.”

Jameson heard the scratching of writing on paper, and the commandant said, “I see.

I’ll brief headquarters on this when I return.”

“Now, before you go, berate me once more, loudly.

But I tell you now, if you spit on me again, I’ll break your jaw.”

“Very well.”

The Commandant’s voice rose in volume and regained its authority, and Jameson hurried back to his office, opening the door and stepping inside only to lean out again, as if he had been drawn to the noise.

Moments later, Bill did the same, blocking Jameson’s view of the now-captain’s door before it flew open.

“Get it done, Captain!”

the commandant bellowed as he strode away toward the stables.

Sullivan followed, looking down the hallway after the commandant, his hands clasped behind his back.

Turning, he looked at his two lieutenants, both leaning out their doors.

“My office, gentlemen. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

They said one after another as they followed him back into his office.

Sullivan did not sit, instead rounding on the two officers.

“The commandant provided orders.

We are to send out two teams to retrieve the Arryvian and bring in the traitor.

The traitor is dead or alive, the Arryvian is alive if possible.

Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The men responded.

Jameson studied Sullivan’s face, trying to discern the reasoning for the duplicity, but came up dry.

Bill raised his voice, clearing his throat nervously before he began.

“Uh, sir, there was a storm warning come in from command, just a couple days out.

We, uh…we gonna be waitin’ till it blows over?”

He seemed to brace himself for Sullivan’s response.

“Negative, soldier.

I’ve requisitioned an experimental tonic that will diminish the effects of fresh rainwater.

You’ll be able to pursue them immediately.”

He made a half step forward, looming over Bill, his expression unchanging.

“Does that not sit well with you, lieutenant?”

Bill swallowed visibly as he responded, “Good to go, sir.

I’ll make sure my squad is ready.”

“Speaking of which, since Enet and Kark are both in the infirmary, I’m assigning two of lieutenant Jameson’s squad to you.

Take Merre and Almiran.

That will leave you both with six.

Jameson will take his squad along the road to Chirston while Bill will take the road up to Brega, then both of you will meet up on the road to Arbistol to ensure they don’t escape.

Any complaints, lieutenant Jameson?”

“None, sir,”

Jameson replied, his voice steady.

Sullivan nodded, looking between both of them.

“This goes without saying, but the importance of this mission cannot be understated.

I’ll make myself clear; you fail to retrieve the fugitives, and mucking shit out of latrines will be the least of your concerns.”

“Understood, sir,”

they both said.

“Good.

Prepare your men, you leave in two hours.”

Jameson and Bill saluted as Sullivan gestured their dismissal, then turned and left the room.

Bill hurried away, muttering under his breath about what he would need for this kind of mission.

Jameson walked back to his own office, one he had been so proud to attain before he realized its cost.

If Callum was taking that woman to Chirston on foot, there was really only one route beyond the road that made sense.

There was no way Jameson was going to lead the horrible excuses for men he had assigned to him anywhere near where Callum could be.

Instead, he would take them on a more circuitous route, then see if he could find Callum in Chirston before he headed up to the Arbistol road.

Jameson shook his head as he realized he was staring at his desk, unmoving.

He left his office, closing the door as he made his way to the squad barracks.

Whatever happened, he would figure it out.

He’d always been good at that.