The Betrayed by Igor Ljubuncic Page B

prisoners-of-war approach.
    One of the soldiers beckoned her to enter, a sign from George that it was safe for her to meet the stranger. She realized she had missed most of the conversation, her thoughts sidetracked by self-pitying reflection.

    Adam’s heart quickened as the woman entered. It was her. The one he’d seen the day he’d gone to talk to Sergeant Nigel.
    Despite the uniform and obvious manly ego she had acquired as the leader of so many men, she had a strong feminine presence that you could almost smell. She had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes without a flake of mercy in them. This woman did not cry into her pillow.
    “What’s your name?” she asked him without any pleasantry.
    “Adam,” he said.
    “Where do you hail from?”
    “From Penes,” he mumbled.
    “Your town of birth,” she insisted.
    Adam realized it was best to stick with the one city he really knew. “Paroth.”
    “A city boy,” she said, a hint of mockery in her voice. “Show me your hands.”
    Icy fire lanced down his back as she took his hands in a firm yet cool grip and examined them. For the first time in weeks, he was glad for the blisters and calluses from the shit-shoveling.
    “What do you recall of the battle?”
    Sometimes, the truth was the best lie. “I don’t remember much. We were attacked suddenly from the left flank. The convicts were in the lead, and they just fell apart. We could not hold them.”
    She continued questioning for some time, asking very vague and then very detailed questions. He sat back and lied, doing what he had been trained to do his entire life.

    “What do you think?” George asked her after they left the tent.
    “Well, I don’t trust him,” Mali spoke after a while. “He seems well-spoken, has bright eyes, and does look like someone an officer might choose to promote in the heat of a battle. But his story is a bit disjointed.”
    “Could be the stress of the battle,” George offered.
    “Ah, now you’re taking his side!” She punched her colonel on the shoulder.
    George flushed. “Not here. Not in front of my men,” he whispered.
    Mali made an indignant face. “Oh, don’t you think the rutting sounds you make in the night are a bit of a giveaway?”
    “I don’t make sounds,” he hissed.
    Mali sobered. “I have made some serious mistakes back there,” she said, pointing at the gray and blue hills hidden in the mist of a summer day. “I should not have combined troops from different garrisons.”
    “We didn’t have the required manpower yet. We had no choice.” George tried to cheer her.
    “I got them killed.”
    George shook his head. “Kal Armis knew what he was doing when he volunteered to lead that scum. He was a good and brave man.”
    Mali ran a hand through her hair. “Has Marco said anything yet?”
    George bit a cuticle off one finger and spat it. “He’s sent some men inquiring. Maybe one of the soldiers from the other battalions will be able to recognize this Adam.”
    Mali slanted her head. “Did he appoint anyone yet instead of William?”
    “Not yet.”
    Mali smiled wickedly. “I have a brilliant idea.” When George said nothing, she continued. “This Adam is not someone to have around. We should send him away. Ask Marco to promote him to captain and assign him to the new battalion from Yovarc.”
    “More convicts?” George asked.
    “Peasants. Then, we send him back to fight the Caytoreans. He’ll have a chance to redeem himself and win the lost ground. If he’s who he truly claims he is, I bet his soul screams for revenge.”
    “Won’t that be suicide?”
    Mali seemed adamant. “I’m not sure. We need to get past those hills. And I see no easy way of doing it. And if that man has lived through that battle, then he might be blessed by the gods.”
    “You’re a vicious one.”
    “I’m the commander of Eracia’s South Army. It takes a basketful of balls to lead this lot.”
    “I’m not sure Marco will approve. He’s lost a good