Chapter 29 #2
“So let’s make more. And let’s set up tents, even if they stand empty. Triple the patrols so they think we have more people,” I say. “Let’s fake a larger force than we have and make them second-guess themselves and buy ourselves more time.
“That’s … genius,” Tahira says. “I might have to steal that one for the future.”
“But it’s a lie,” Savino says nervously. “A bluff. What if Rizaro works it out? We’ll be back where we started, with his forces swamping ours the moment they arrive at Semita.”
“He won’t,” Idris says, voice deep and rumbling. “Rizaro’s ego is too big. He’d never believe that we could trick him.”
“So long as we don’t go too big with the numbers, so long as he still feels like he’s winning, he won’t question it,” I agree. “We need to fake a force smaller than theirs, but large enough to stay his hand. Is that possible?”
“They have seven thousand men. But it’ll take most of tomorrow for them all to arrive and trickle in from all corners,” says Idris, pushing figurines around the map to cluster them.
“They’ll probably then rest and assault with the morning light.
We have just under three thousand without our reinforcements.
I’d say just less than double will do it, smaller but still comparable. ”
“Won’t Nouis wonder where we got the men from?” points out Savino.
“Probably, but that doesn’t matter. We can start a rumour that Nimal sent men by land that Nouis never knew about, or that we had a rush of people signing up to the army before we marched.” Idris waves his hand dismissively. “We only need to give him reason to pause and stick to his original plan.”
“Great, and we should send scouts to find out why our reinforcements are delayed and for how long. We can’t keep up the charade indefinitely. We might be able to buy a night or two, but certainly no longer.” I fold my arms tightly to my body, clenching my fingers to hide their slight tremble.
“What do we do if the reinforcements don’t come?” asks Savino.
“We’ll have to fight with the men we have.
But at least hopefully we’ll have been able to set up the war machines properly.
Let’s break for now and start talking about potential new scenarios with our smaller count tomorrow,” said Tahira, rubbing the back of her neck, clearly still stressed.
“Give each of us all a few hours to think through some ideas.”
“Let’s relay the order to start lighting fires and triple the patrols,” says Idris. “Tahira, can you—?”
“Yeah, on it.” Tahira nods as she sweeps from the tent.
“Great. Savino, send out some scouts for more information on the whereabouts of our reinforcements,” Idris says.
Savino nods and walks out of the tent, leaving me and Idris alone with the map.
Idris silently gathers up the pieces and reaches for a bag to put them all away in.
Of course, it would be stupid to leave the board set up for anyone to find.
I help him, quickly gathering the simple markers and sweeping them into the appropriate leather pouch.
I tug the strings closed and Idris takes the bags from my fingers. The bare skin brushing against mine floods my bones with sharp, clawing teeth. I swallow, the air between us thick and scalding. Idris wraps his hand around mine, those calloused fingers rough and beguiling.
“Come with me,” Idris says gruffly. “I have something to show you.” He steps backwards and gently pulls me with him.
I follow, his body a dark, searing magnet I can’t pull away from.
He picks up a candle from the side, and my heart throbs as we exit the tent.
He leads me towards a slightly smaller one barely twenty paces away.
It’s still tall enough to stand in at full height, with proud Halician guards stationed outside the material.
Idris pushes back the tent flaps for me, and motions I go inside.
I take the candle from him as I do, illuminating the inside of this red tent.
The single candle reveals a small circular room.
There is a low, wide cot made neatly with thick blankets and two pillows.
There’s a dressing screen to one side, a small table with a single collapsable chair and writing supplies.
“I hope staying with me is what you expected tonight,” Idris says, coming up behind me. The tent flaps shut as he takes a long match from the side table.
“Well, you did say not to leave your side,” I muse. He walks closer, the only sound our forcefully controlled breathing as he dips the long, slender piece of wood into the candle.
“I have something for you,” he says quietly.
“Oh really.” I roll my eyes, chuckling at his dirty joke. He throws me a wicked look.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Di Maineri. It’s an actual gift,” Idris says. “But if you insist, we can do that too.”
“Oh!” I blink in surprise. “Really?”
Why would he bring a gift with us on the march to war? That seems really inconvenient.
Idris nods as he steps towards a short candelabra and sets the candles aflame.
“It’s behind the dressing screen,” he says, gesturing to it. I put my candle on the desk and round the side of the wooden screen. I stop dead, my jaw falling open.
There stand two mannequins. One is clearly for Idris.
The armour is his size, made in a strange mix of the Halician and Coari style.
Chainmail and thick leather for his chest, but no solid breast plate like I see our soldiers wearing.
Thin steel shoulder pads scale down the outside of his arms, paired with metal forearm guards and the same for his legs.
Black metal reinforced boots stretch up the shin, and balancing on top is a helmet with a latched front so he can reveal his face without needing to take off the whole thing.
A sword, proud and polished, stands to the side, along with a table set with a bunch of different knives, daggers and blades.
But the other mannequin, the smaller one, is mine.
The scaled metallic arm and shoulder guards are of the same design, as are the reinforced boots.
The forearm guards wrap all the way around and stretch over the back of the hand, the triangular piece of metal fastened to the middle finger to keep it in place.
The chainmail jacket sits underneath durable, waterproof blue fabric.
Embroidered at the neckline are a few subtle lemons depicted in white and gold – the Di Maineri seal.
It ties off-centre, on the left-hand side, so there’s double the layers of material and chainmail covering the heart.
The jacket tails fall halfway down the thighs.
Over the dark, durable trousers are trapped outer thigh guards, to each of which are strapped a dagger, their hilts at easy grabbing height.
“I know you won’t be fighting, but I want you protected.
” Idris appears like magic behind me. His hand snakes across my front, that river of fire swallowing me up as he pulls my back flush against him.
He drops those boiling lips to my ear, their faint brush sending a torrent of scalding embers cascading down my neck.
“You should’ve said you were doing this,” I manage to say out of my blistering lips. I swallow the dry itching that stretches across my tongue and the acid clawing at my throat.
“You’re lecturing me about secret plans?” Idris chuckles softly, his hands moving over my stomach. I roll my eyes as he lowers his mouth to my ear.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t come. That you’d stay in the city and wouldn’t need it.” Idris’s whispered words are gruff and deep, setting off an eruption of lava deep in the pit of my stomach.
“It’s not proper armour,” Idris continues. “Not for a real battle. But it’s far better than this.”
He tugs at the hem of my travelling clothes.
I bristle under the sensation and smirk.
I lift a hand to run a path of embers across the back of his hand.
The tip of my finger barely brushes against the sensitive flesh of his wrist before I feel him pressing closer against me, his arms strong, his hand flexing out to grip more of me.
The air between us thickens and grows tight and tense, the world narrowing to the warring, vicious bond tussling to get free.
“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” I ask, somehow managing to get the simple question out of my thick throat. Idris breathes in deeply – I can feel his nose, his chin, his lips against the back of my head like the unwavering attention of the sun.
“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, the air crackling with his words as his other hand reaches up to sweep my hair away from my neck.
“Good. Otherwise I’d have taken my clothes off.”
Idris’s mouth drops to my neck. His sharp teeth nip gently at the sensitive skin, his lips replacing them in a tender, tormenting kiss that tries to take control of my mind.
“Do you think the tents and fires will work?” I whisper, looking at our armour together.
Idris lifts his head from my neck and spins me around to face him.
His hands cup my face, forearms resting against my collarbones as he brings my gaze up to his.
The searing gold rips through every dark corner of my mind, eradicating every shadow of thought outside of Idris into nothing but ash.
My blood roars, my bones grind. My limbs ache and twitch as the air between us teeters with the promise of an explosion.
“Whatever path we take will carry risk. We needed time and this is our best chance to grab it,” Idris says.
“And if it works, it’s one for the history books.
” His fingers tangle in my hair, their slight tugging pulling short breaths from my lips.
I fight for coherent thought, the whisper thankfully breaking from my tongue.
“If it doesn’t?”
“Then we won’t have to worry about it for too long,” Idris says with a shrug. I gasp, jolting back from the harsh words.
“Don’t say that!” I snap. My hands leap for his jacket, digging into the tough fabric as bite enters my words.