Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 242
were not the writings of the queen of Iapysia. He wanted to
believe she was isolated, perhaps even imprisoned in her
palace, and that some other, evil cabal was running the country.
But the turns of phrase, the uncanny self-assurance of the
voice that spoke in this pages; they were undeniably hers.
He sighed, and sat down in a folding camp chair. He was
having more nights like this, as the siege lengthened and Galas
continued to refuse to surrender. The strain was showing in his
face. In the lamplit mirror his eyes were hollows, and lines
stood out around his mouth. Those lines had not been there
last summer.
Some kind of discussion broke out in front of his tent.
Lavin frowned at the tent flap. They’d wake the dead with
those voices. He cared for his men, but sometimes they
behaved like barbarians.
"Sir? Sorry to disturb you sir."
"Enter." The flap flipped aside and Colonel Hesty
entered. The colonel wore riding gear, and his collar was open
to the autumn air. He looked haggard. Lavin tried to take
some satisfaction in that: he was not the only one who found it
hard to sleep tonight.
"What is it?" Lavin did not make to rise, nor did he offer
Hesty a seat. He realized he had spoken in a certain upper
class drawl he was usually at pains to disguise from his men.
They seemed to think it was effete. With a grimace, he sat up
straighter.
"They’ve found something. Over in the quarry."
Something in the way he said it caught Lavin’s full attention.
"What do you mean, ‘found something’? A spy?"
Hesty shook his head. "No. Not... a man. Well, sort of a
man."
Lavin rolled his head slowly and was rewarded as his