32. The Perfect Soldiers #2
Dola darted forward. “Medallion Morbank.” Her voice shook. “What are you doing with that boy?”
He answered her loudly enough for most of the parade grounds to hear. “This boy is a soldier. Are you not?” He looked down at the youth, twisting in the grip of his captors.
The boy shot him a furious look and spat at the horse’s feet. The soldiers dragged the young fighter off-balance. He tumbled to his knees between them.
“Blatant disrespect toward superior officers is not tolerated in the Southland Army!” Morbank’s cheeks were crimson. “I am Medallion, and I will see this army properly run. Recompense must be—”
There was a word he never wanted to hear again. Imalroc bolted forward before he could form a full thought, blade in hand. He rushed to Morbank’s unfortunate prisoner and the guards hovering above him.
He could rip the boy free and knock all four of his captors sprawling in the dirt.
It would be exactly the response Morbank expected from him.
Imalroc stooped so that he was eye-level with the boy. “Look at me,” he murmured. “Be still.”
The frightened young fighter squirmed and could not hold his gaze, but he stopped trying to rise beneath the crushing grip of the soldiers.
“Look at me.” Imalroc dropped his voice even lower, forced his words to come out on an even tread, slower and steadier. “I will not let anything happen to you,” he said.
The boy trembled, his eyes glistening.
“Battleboxer! Get back in line!”
Morbank’s command barely penetrated his focus. “Stay still. Stay calm. Nothing is going to happen,” Imalroc soothed. He was talking to all of them. To the boy, to himself, and to the soldiers clustered around them.
He looked at the foursome carefully. The soldiers’ hands were work-swollen, their faces tanned from the sun and streaked with sweat.
They met his eyes with stares nearly as frightened as the boy they had pinned.
If he had dared to look any battlebox guard in the eyes, he would have been immediately clubbed in the face.
Battlebox guards never would have allowed him so close, especially not armed.
Imalroc remembered Veshion’s rueful words at the campfire. Farmers with swords.
“Get”—Morbank tried to kick his uncooperative horse forward into Imalroc—“back!”
Imalroc sidestepped the horse and trained his attention on the shuffling guards. “Which one of you,” he began, cloaking his voice in velvet, “will be responsible for the whipping?”
The soldiers looked at him, at the shaking, twitching boy, and then at each other.
“We’re not going to…” The soldier’s words stumbled out of her mouth.
Imalroc cocked his head at her. “What exactly do you think that fuckhead on the horse has in mind?”
The woman swallowed, and her gaze flitted from the boy's quivering shoulders to Morbank.
“Let go of him,” Imalroc murmured. “He wasn’t even the one who said it; he was just the one you could grab. Let go.”
“You!” Morbank screeched. “Treasonous bastard! Get back—”
Imalroc stepped toward the frothing Medallion.
“So sorry, my lord,” he bellowed, “but I can’t hear you down here.
Maybe if you get down from the horse and come over.
” He let a madman’s smile tear across his face, and Morbank sputtered.
He might be an idiot, but apparently wasn’t enough of one to dare climb down and approach.
Imalroc turned to the soldiers and resumed as though there had been no interruption. “You know that this is an innocent boy, that he deserves none of whatever injustice Morbank has planned for him.”
“The Medallion is right,” one soldier said, squaring himself. “We can’t have soldiers just insulting officers. It’s the beginning of the end for an army. It’s… it’s unfortunate that this boy—this soldier, I mean—happened to… Look, an example must be made! We follow the codes of the Southland Army!”
Imalroc took a deep breath. “Fine. If an example is all you need, then let him go and take me.”
The soldiers gaped at him. None of them made a move. The boy looked from face to face. A tear traveled the curve of his cheek to tremble from his chin.
Behind them, every face turned down the row. Imalroc followed the path of their gazes, shifting to block the boy from the next threat.
Someone was sprinting down the line of soldiers, making the long run from the other end of the parade grounds. Boots pounding, face shining, his cloak flapping behind him like a useless green wing.
Tefka Quinn skidded to a stop in front of their small party, panting for breath and drenched in sweat. “No…” He waved a hand at the young battleboxer. “Not… No.”
“But—”
“No. Captain’s order.” Tefka found enough air for the command.
All hands dropped off the boy’s shoulders as though they’d been sliced at the wrists. Imalroc wasted no time in seizing the terrified youth and propelling him into Dola’s waiting arms.
“Insubordination!” Morbank shouted. “Treason!”
“A word, my Medallion.” Tefka snagged the horse’s bridle. Imalroc grabbed the other side, and they towed Morbank and his mount away from the soldiers.
Morbank lashed out with his feet. The fuckhead was really trying to kick them. “Let go of me! I’ll have you fucking executed! Both of you!”
“My lord, I seek only to avoid a tragic end to what would have been a disastrous situation.” Tefka peered up at him. “I hate to think of what your mother would do to you. We both know how invested she is in your leadership here.”
Morbank flushed, and whatever he had been about to shout became dead air.
Imalroc gulped back an amazed laugh as Tefka continued his play.
“I think of how proud Feldlady Morbank would be to stand before the Council and brag that her son commands the first and greatest unified force in the Southland Army. The Advocate will sing your praises. Of course,”—Tefka patted the horse’s nose—“none of that will happen if you end up sowing unforgivable discord on the first day.”
“He insulted me! The codes—”
“Do not permit conduct unbecoming an officer,” Tefka said primly. “Such as drowning in gambling debt or harassing female soldiers. Never mind what the codes might say about not knowing how to read tactical maps.”
Imalroc could no longer contain his delight. Morbank, prune-colored, shot a look of pure hatred at him, and he considerately turned the laughter into a loud cough.
“I know you will make the right decision, my lord,” Tefka finished.
Morbank let out a long breath through his nose. He raked his gloved hand across his scalp. “Fine. Finish this stupid ceremony without me and make sure nothing goes wrong. Now let go of my—”
“Beg pardon, my lord, just one last thing.” Tefka tipped his chin across the horse toward Imalroc. “I think you already know Imalroc. I’d wager he’s one of the battleboxers we’re making a captain.”
Imalroc blinked. They hadn’t told Tefka the results of any votes yet. That warm, tender thing in his chest flickered again.
“Fucking Eternals, just let go of my horse!” Morbank drove his spurs into the poor mount, sending it into a frantic gallop. Imalroc released the bridle in time to avoid being pulled off his feet. He caught Tefka by the arm before the captain could tumble into the rock-solid parade grounds.
“My lord!” Imalroc roared after Morbank’s retreating back. “I’ll need a cloak! And a shiny gold pin!”