Fear's Union

Chapter Six

—Felip—

Damn it, this was not good preparation. Felip had a battle to fight tomorrow. Why had he been woken?

By his reckoning, it was well past midnight. His men were sleeping fitfully, resting before the fight tomorrow, but at least they slept. That's what he should be doing, and that's what he had been doing. But then his chief steward had walked into his dream, and it turned out to be no dream at all.

"What is it?"

"Sorry sir, but the sentries have stopped a pair of intruders. They claim that they are here to see you."

That was suspicious. He was leading a covert reserve force, and he was meant to surprise the enemy tomorrow. No-one, save the Consul himself, knew of their whereabouts. And yet here was someone who'd come looking for him. He stretched the sleep-ache out of his shoulders.

"Who is it?" The richly dressed servant shifted from foot to foot. He was a faithful servant, and he was never nervous like this. It must be grave news.

"One of the two is, ah, of your family."

Anejo. His damn renegade sister. He sighed. Surely she would not be here? His servant must be mistaken. But if it was her, then he had to see her. She would be in big trouble.

He dressed in a loose cotton shirt and casual breeches. He would be in bed again soon, so there was no point in dressing finer than that. He stalked after the steward, stomping over the hard earth, his breath misting. If it was her, she would have a hard time justifying herself this time, and maybe the Consul would finally listen. She needed to be locked away like the magistra she was. She was a woman, and she should live a woman's life. He erupted into the tent, waving his arms aggressively, but he paused when he saw it was her. And he gasped when he saw what happened to her. That was no way for a woman to look.

She was bloody and beaten, blue and black. Red. This was not right, not right at all. She leaned forward in the chair, discomfort on her face and a gash just below the eye. But her eyes shone bright despite all this. What was it that drove her down this path of stupidity?

And there was a man next to her too. A warrior from the Order of the Root – a rootman. This rootman was trespassing. This wasn't his country.

"What is he doing here?"

He spat the words. He had little enough trust for the Mandahoi, but the Order of the Root was something else altogether. They were the very manifestation of religious interference, and they were intolerable.

"You owe him a great deal, of that I assure you. But it is I who wish to speak to you."

"There is plenty of room outside."

"Felip, no. He stays."

Why did she always have to disobey? It was unacceptable, and yet the Consul tolerated the behaviour. None of his troops would speak so disrespectfully to him, so why should she? She should be reprimanded and she should be stowed away, somewhere safe. Where she belonged.

"What do you want?"

She breathed and stretched out her legs, leaning back. Then she winced. She had that look in her, the one she had when she wanted the world to bend around her. The least he could do was listen before he dismissed her. She was always insightful; he had to give her that.

"Altunia is in grave danger. We need to save it, and we need your help. You must march these men to the capital."

He laughed. That was ridiculous, even if the audacity was remarkable in its own perverse way.