Not even Sleepy had the physical or mental energy left to do anything useful. She slumped against the saddle of a dead horse, let the twilight and exhaustion wash over her. She felt no exhilaration even though she had broken the backbone of the last Taglian army and had, for the first time, been the one who held the field when the fighting ended. Mogaba, if he lived, was the one slinking away this time.
A big contributor to her mood was the fact that this accomplishment, such as it was, was as much Suvrin’s responsibility as her own. Suvrin, alone, had not abandoned all thought of the third Taglian division. He had been able to move his brigade in response, feebly, when the rest of the enemy appeared. But for Suvrin’s cool head, the Great General would be here, holding the field, yet again. Though the numbers of dead and dying, likely, would be much the same.
Suvrin settled beside her. He said nothing for a long time. Neither did she. For the first time in decades she wanted to hold someone, wanted to be held by someone. But she did not act upon that want.
Finally, Suvrin spoke. “Willow Swan is dead. I saw his body a while ago.”
Sleepy grunted. “I have a feeling there’ll be a lot of old friends to mourn once we collect the dead. I saw Iqbal and Riverwalker go down.”
“No. Not Iqbal. Who’ll take care of Suruvhija?” Singh’s wife was not all that bright.
“The Company, Suvrin. Until she chooses to leave.” And Runmust, if he had survived. It was his obligation under Shadar religious law. “She’s one of our own. We take care of our own. Do we have anyone capable of handling picket duty?”
Suvrin responded with an interrogatory grunt.
“That’s the Great General over there. Iron Man Mogaba. If he’s still even a little bit healthy and can pull together some kind of night attack he’ll be back. Maybe even if he has to do it all by himself.”
Suvrin took several deep, thoughtful breaths. “We have quite a few recruits who didn’t do much but hide in the cemetery. I’ve already shamed some of them into picking up the battlefield.”
“It won’t matter if they run away as long as they run toward us.”
“Uhm.”
“Willow? He never did . . . Never found his dream.”
“I always pictured him as your basic everyman. Just drifting wherever the tides of life took him. Showing a flash sometimes but never really getting up and grabbing the reins. He might have been a hopeless romantic, too. According to the Annals. He had a case on Lady once. And a case on the Protector, where he was much more lucky but lived to regret it. He even had it for you for a while, I think.”
“We were friends. Just good friends.”
Suvrin did not argue. But there was a quaver in Sleepy’s voice that made him wonder if, possibly only once or twice, there had not been something to lend substance to rumor.
It was none of his business.
“I should’ve avoided this mess until Tobo and the others got back.”
Suvrin observed, “Mogaba wouldn’t have let you. So don’t beat yourself up. He would’ve chased you hard, trying to take advantage of the fact that they were gone.”
Sleepy knew that was true but truth did not alter her emotional state. A lot of people were dead. Many of them had been comrades of long standing. It was her mission to preserve them, not to waste them. She had failed.
And the full, grim scope of the tragedy remained to be revealed.