The Bonds Undone (Sequel to The Sword Unbroken)

Chapter Fourteen: Tea

Imalroc had spilled several drops of tea on the ruffled blouse Tefka had lent him. He wasn't sure where the captain had found it, or how exactly he had convinced Imalroc to wear it. Their hostess seemed to like it, as she kept remarking on how nicely it went with Imalroc's eyes. Almatra had been delighted by his pink embarrassment.

The hostess in question, Mistress Endlebrook, was making some remark about flutes. Or floods. He'd missed it. Imalroc nodded politely, hoped he hadn't just nodded politely about floods, and sipped the last of his tea. Almatra gave him a disgusted look from her perch on the couch opposite him.

Tefka jumped in when their hostess finally took a breath. "Mistress Endlebrook, it has been a...a real pleasure to spend the afternoon with you, but I'm afraid we have to go."

"You have other engagements for dinner?" She looked more than slightly miffed by the idea that they would want to go anywhere else.

"Er, yes," Tefka said. For all his skill in manipulating Morbank, he couldn't seem to transfer the same deftness to any of his interactions with Midland's wealthy merchants.

Imalroc set his teacup down. "I can assure you, it was the best afternoon I've spent in a long time. Probably the best of Almatra's pitiful life."

Almatra had to cut short her mime of choking him to death when Mistress Endlebrook swiveled around to coo at her.

With a few more flowery compliments, Imalroc managed to extract them from the Endlebrook estate, and all three tumbled down the steps into the drowsy daylight.

They collected their belongings, the pair of horses Tefka had wrangled from Sol Serene, and the small group of soldiers encamped waiting for them. Even this far south in the Midlands, Command Medallion Galada insisted that they travel with support. The Red Guard ranged mostly in the northern towns closer to Kirinoll, but all reports indicated their number was growing at an ominous rate.

Imalroc wrapped his hair up high on the crown of his head, desperate to get it off his neck in the late afternoon heat. Back at River, everyone would be in the water by now. He imagined his limbs cool, weightless, and clean.

The rally camp was adjusting more quickly to the blended banner legions than Imalroc had dared to hope. Free battleboxers and Southern soldiers trained side by side, and they had decided there was enough stability to begin changing the living arrangements. The camp was endless stretches of green tents now.

The downside of everything going well was that Command Medallion Galada had decided the new captains were the perfect ambassadors to the Midlands, and they had all been dragged away from their camp duties to try to convince Midland merchants to throw their lot in with the Southern felds. Considering that the Midlands were likely to be the battlegrounds for the rebellion, the allegiance of the merchants, farmers and the surrounding villages had tactical significance, but it was not their sole aim.

Imalroc knew that what Galada and the Advocate really needed was the political pressure of the Midlands brought to bear on the Feld Council. Even as he trained new blended squadrons of battleboxers and Southerners, he dreaded the thought that they might never get a chance to see the fight to its only worthy end. Iffroa, the Arble, fucking Widran, all the battleboxes would survive a half-hearted rebellion that ended in treaty with Kuraya. A treaty would not be enough to crush the blood sport. So he went to the dinners, he wore the hideous ruffled shirt, and he desperately tried to convince the Midlanders to petition the Council for war.

"How'd it go?" Martau, one of the Western battleboxers, jumped up from where he and the other soldiers were sitting.

"She says she's an ally, but she won't go to the Council unless Master Calteak agrees it's a good idea." Imalroc did not hide the tension sawing through his patience. Calteak's name had come up often enough to make it clear who was the real power in this part of the Midlands.