The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,125
he was the only one who truly hadn’t seen anyone, although from the look he gave Will it was obvious he knew who had come after him. Tiny refused to say who had helped him, claiming it had been too dark, and naturally none of the abductors identified themselves.
It was then that Will discovered how quick military justice could be. The men took Tiny to one of the training pells and tied his hands together on the other side of it. They brought out a whip and he was given two lashes. According to the lieutenant, that was leniency on his part. The appropriate punishment was three, but he deducted one lash since Tiny had been acting on behalf of a squad mate.
Will still felt it was unfair, and he felt guilty that night as he watched the big man struggle to find a comfortable sleeping position.
Chapter 39
The next morning Will examined Tiny’s back. The big man had a scar from his previous time before the whip, and it appeared he would get another from the previous night’s punishment. Since he didn’t have any freshly boiled water to clean the wound, he accompanied Tiny to the chirurgeon’s tent to make sure it was well taken care of.
As they were about to enter, Will caught the sound of a woman’s voice and paused. He and Tiny exchanged puzzled glances, as neither of them had seen or heard of a woman in the camp before that moment.
“What is he thinking?” protested the woman. She sounded young. “He should at least send Nerrow’s men here. They’re going to need more men to hold the pass. Doesn’t he realize we have no magical support either?”
“My apologies, milady,” answered a deep male voice. “You know I agree with you, but it isn’t my place to second-guess His Majesty’s judgment.” Will thought the man’s voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “I have two teams scaling the mountains via separate routes. They’re experienced mountaineers and scouts. We should know more about Darrow’s disposition in Barrowden soon.”
“It won’t matter much if he sends the entire army to Thornton. Even a modest force will be too much for us here,” argued the woman. “Eighty-percent of the troops here are green, and our numbers are pitiful.”
“At least we have you, milady,” said the man. “He wouldn’t risk you here if he didn’t believe the intelligence regarding Thornton to be extremely credible. It’s highly probable that Darrow’s incursion into Barrowden is just a diversion.”
“That diversion may well roll over us and sack Branscombe,” countered the woman. “If he won’t send men he could at least send a few sorcerers.”
“At least Baron Fulstrom will be with us.”
“Fulstrom is old, and his elemental is minor. If the Patriarch sends one of his cardinals, or even a couple of his more modest clergy, we will be entirely outclassed.”
Afraid they would be discovered eavesdropping, Will decided to make some noise before entering. “Don’t worry, Tiny. They’ll fix you up better than new.” The conversation inside ceased, and after a count of ten Will opened the tent flap.
A man wearing a full mail byrnie, as well as a breastplate and greaves, exited the tent. Will had never seen the man close up, but he recognized him immediately as Sir Kyle Barrentine. Sir Kyle was one of Baron Fulstrom’s knights and the captain of Company B. Will and Tiny both snapped to attention and saluted, placing a fist over their hearts.
“At ease, men,” said the captain. He left without looking back, and Will and Tiny waited a moment before entering the tent.
Will’s eyes went wide with surprise when he stepped inside, and he stumbled deliberately, hoping to cover his reaction. The woman in the tent was a sorcerer, as evidenced by the two elementals hovering invisibly over her shoulders, one of water and the other of earth. Her hair was tied back and hidden beneath a simple yet elegant wimple, but despite the covering, Will spotted a small, black wisp of hair sneaking out beside one temple.
Two startling sapphire eyes locked on Will as he straightened up from his mock fall. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Is it your leg?”
Will chuckled nervously. “No, I’m just clumsy. It’s my friend.” He gestured at Tiny.
She indicated a low bench beside a table. “If you’ll sit here. What’s your name, soldier?”
Tiny sat. “John Shaw, if it please you, milady.”
The woman waved her hand dismissively. “None of that, Mister Shaw. I’m just a nurse. You’ll get me in