To the High Redoubt Read Free

compromised. If you have good sense, you will go to Captain Pliecs when I’m…not here. He is a good and sensible man and he will not abuse you.”
    â€œCaptain Tworek already has asked that I serve for him,” Hedeon said, trying to sound pleased.
    Arkady shrugged. “He’s a sensible man. He won’t treat you badly. He’s got more fleas on him than a heartsick camel, but there’s nothing new in that.” No soldier was free of them, and if one officer attracted more than another, what did it matter?
    â€œI’ll take care,” Hedeon said, relieved that this was the only comment that Arkady made.
    â€œAnd God guard you,” Arkady added as an afterthought. “You will need His protection, I am afraid.” He started to lean back. “See that my leather armor is packed, and my weapons.” He drew the cinquedea out of his belt and handed it to Hedeon. “I’ll want to carry this with me, but the two swords and the maul…pack them as usual.” With that he leaned back and closed his eyes.
    By morning, Hedeon had attended to his chores and had brought Arkady’s horse around to the tent, where he waited now, bridled but not saddled, while Arkady went about the rough business of shaving with a knife edge. “There is food, Captain, if you want it,” the boy called out.
    â€œCheese will do. See if you can swipe a few extra rounds for me, so I’ll have something to eat on the road. Don’t get caught at it, or the Margrave will see you flogged for helping me.” He kept up his chore, dragging the blade over his wet face, wincing every now and then at the little cuts he gave himself.
    â€œThe priest has come to hear your confession,” Hedeon added a moment later.
    â€œI will be ready shortly.” Why did he wish to go to such trouble to make himself a respectable figure, he wondered, when his departure was intended to disgrace him? It might be that he would not permit the Margrave to dictate everything to him. “Ask the priest to step inside.”
    The tent flap was drawn back and a small, bent man came through the opening. He made a blessing in Arkady’s general direction, then said, “It is unfortunate that you must leave us, my son.”
    â€œYes, it is, isn’t it?” Arkady said with a lightness that he did not feel. “I will be with you in a moment, Father.”
    The priest took his place on the three-legged campstool. “Sometimes it is in distress that we glimpse the Face of God,” he remarked, then waited for a response.
    â€œI haven’t seen Him so far,” Arkady said, nicking himself one last time. He blotted his face with the same rag he had used to clean his swords, then turned to the priest. “I appreciate your coming, Father, and I know that it is expected of us both for me to make some sort of accounting to you as my excuse for my actions. But I still believe that it was right to stay out of the defile, and I cannot apologize for helping my men live.”
    â€œGod is merciful,” the priest said quietly.
    Arkady knelt and crossed himself. “I admit that I swear—all soldiers swear. I admit that I wench when I have the opportunity. I admit that I hanker after gold. I admit that I have killed men in battle. I admit that I have been drunk and made a great fool of myself over dice and women. All that is so. But I have never knowingly exposed my men to any more danger than is a soldier’s due. That is why I refused to fight, and why the Margrave is sending me away.”
    â€œIs this a confession, my son?” the priest asked, a bit bewildered in spite of years of experience listening to soldiers.
    â€œNo. I do not think this is a sin. I cannot confess it, Father. It would be a greater sin if I did.” He crossed himself again.
    â€œI cannot offer you absolution without confession,” the priest reminded him.
    â€œThen let me confess to