The Company of Shadows (Wellington Undead Book 3) (17 page)

“How far from here is your village…Talwada, wasn’t it?”

“I set out from Talwada some four…” He thought for a moment. “…no, five days ago. At sunrise. But I spent three days looking for your army, sir.”

“I see. And how was it that you finally found us – blind luck?”

“I knew that the British had to have come from the south, General Wellesley, and that if you had won the battle, then your opponents would have fled to the north.” Vinkesh shrugged. “ I simply kept walking until I saw the dust cloud on the far horizon. It was big enough that only an army could have made it.”

Wellesley thought for a moment. If the man had spent a couple of days wandering around in the wilderness, drifting roughly north and south, then his village couldn’t be much more than three days away as the crow flew.

“Captain Campbell.”

“Sir?” Campbell stepped forward expectantly.

“A map, if you please.”

The were-tiger disappeared into the shadows, returning just a moment later with a large map that measured two feet on a side when it was unrolled on the nearest table. It was extremely accurate, having been drawn from the first-hand observations of Arthur’s very own exploring officers, men who rode out into enemy territory in full uniform (if caught by the enemy wearing anything else, they could be shot or hanged as spies) and sketched the terrain. Campbell weighted the four corners down with four leather-bound ledgers that he pulled from a stack.

Arthur went over to the map and beckoned for Vinkesh to join him. He traced the sharpened tip of one fingernail along a wavy line which represented the River Kailna, then brought it to a halt just above the section of map that bore the word ‘Assaye.’

“This is Assaye,” he explained, assuming quite rightly that if the villager spoke only a little English, then he was highly unlikely to be able to either read or write it. “Where does your village lie in relation to it?”

Vinkesh reached out and hesitantly indicated a spot some few inches to the left of Arthur’s. “A day and one half day’s march away to the west,” he answered via the translator. “Perhaps two, on foot.”

Two days march – backward, away from the Marathas— then let us say a day to hunt and trap her…by which point, we shall have to make up those two days of lost ground again…and all the while, Scindia and Berar shall be that much closer to Gawilghur, re-forming their army and preparing to fight once more.

No, I cannot turn away from them now. I dare not.

And just like that, the choice was made.

“Gentlemen,” Arthur said, addressing the expectantly-waiting cadre of senior officers who surrounded him. “We are, I suspect, all thinking the same thing: That this talking tigress is none other than Jamelia, the woman who has caused us no small headache of late.”

Nods and a low murmur of assent passed through the gathering.

“We cannot turn back now in order to deal with her. To ease up the pressure on the Maratha army just now, when they are in full retreat, would fly in the face of everything that we have accomplished thus far. It would be madness. Our army will continue to march on Gawilghur, for it is there, gentlemen, that the final hammer-blow shall be struck.”

“But surely we cannot just let her go!” Wellesley looked to see who had spoken. It was Harness, who until now had stood calmly and quietly at the back, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “She’s spilled a little too much fine British blood to be let off so easily.”

“Quite so,” Wellesley agreed, “and nor shall I allow it. Note that I said our army will continue to march on Gawilghur. I did not say that all of it would. I am proposing that a smaller force be detached and sent south-west to skin this troublesome cat, once and for all.”

“I shall be delighted to lead it,” Colonel Stevenson said with relish, his eagerness for the mission very evident in his tone.

“No,” Arthur said flatly, shaking his head. “I need you here, Colonel. Dividing the army up in order to move them more efficiently across the landscape was, I think, a wise move when first we made it. But now, with a decisive battle on the near horizon, it would behoove us to concentrate our force for the remainder of the campaign.

“I envision a small, hand-picked force of men – no more than half a company, at most – for this particular mission. Remember, we have a specially- trained cadre of men for just such occasions as this.”

“You refer to the Shadows, sir?” Campbell said.

“I do. The neutralization of supernatural threats is their very reason for existing. Thirty or at most forty men of the Shadow Company should be more than sufficient to flush this creature out, hunt her down, and put an end to her once and for all.”

They were hard words for Arthur to speak. Anger was burning deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to take flight this very minute, leaving his army behind in the capable hands of Stevenson, and fly to Talwada, deal with Jamelia in person. That was how it should be, he knew; the two of them dueling one another to the death, the were-tiger and the vampire in a final hand-to-claw melee that would decide things once and for all.

But he was the commanding general, damn it! He had larger responsibilities to fulfill. He must look to the army, and every man in it, not to mention its allies and the goals set by his brother, Lord Mornington. Duty was everything. Everything! And so he had little option but to force the anger down, allow it to simmer and burn deep in his gut, and delegate this nasty little side-step to his subordinates.

Oh, how it rankled.

“General, I say this with the greatest respect.” It was Harness, breaking his introspection.

“Yes, Colonel?” Arthur enquired politely. There was a slight edge of frostiness to his civility. In the army, when a man prefaced a sentence with ‘the greatest respect,’ it usually meant that what followed would be insubordinate at best.

“This woman…this creature has proven itself to be extremely powerful. She has killed many of our soldiers in battle—”

“And came close to defeating me, let us not forget.” Wellesley threw back his head and laughed, a loud, nasal bray. He always wanted his subordinates to be at liberty to speak freely (within the bounds of propriety and proper respect, at least) when it came to matters of military import. “Do not be afraid to say it, Colonel, for we all know that you speak the truth. I still bear the scars of our last encounter.”

“I do not mean to question your martial prowess, sir.” Harness was being suitably respectful, but was there the slightest undercurrent of teasing in his tone? If so, Arthur was more than happy to take it in the spirit with which it was intended. He liked and respected the man, and the colonel of Highlanders was helping the mood by injecting a little light relief into the proceedings.

“My martial prowess was given a damned close run for its money, Colonel,” Arthur shot back, earning a laugh from all assembled, with the exception of Vinkesh and the translator. “You raise an excellent point. I made the mistake of underestimating our enemy the last time we fought. It is not a mistake that I shall make again.”

“If I may, sir,” CSM Nichols raised a hand. “Thirty-odd of our lads are more than capable of skinning this particular cat, General. And if I may also make so bold, it’d be our pleasure to take care of it on your behalf, sir. A few silver blades and musket balls should do the job a treat.”

“Your enthusiasm is duly noted and greatly appreciated, CSM,” the vampire general favored him with just the hint of a smile, “but Colonel Harness is quite right. Jamelia is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, who is to say that she has not retained command of some of her troops? This whole thing – and you will not translate this—” he favored the translator with a wide smile that revealed the tips of his incisor fangs “could be a trap, designed to lure us into an ambush. I would not put it past her.”

“Nor I,” Harness snorted.

“Which means that all due caution must be exercised,” Arthur continued smoothly, ignoring the interruption. “So far as we know, the rest of the Sultan’s Tiger Guard were killed on the night that Seringapatam fell. Be that as it may, we would be fools not to assume that she has something up her sleeve.”

Nichols knew that he was right, but he was obstinate enough to want to press on regardless.

“We’re going to stack the deck in your favor, CSM. Just in case.”

“Very good sir. May I ask how?”

The general cleared his throat expectantly. “CSM, you have done a remarkable job in running the Shadow Company since its inception. I would even go so far as to use the word ‘exemplary.’”

“Thank you, sir.” Dan appreciated the compliment, but wondered just where exactly the general was heading with this. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

And then it came.

“I believe that the time has come to appoint an officer to take overall command of the company. One who has not only demonstrated unparalleled leadership ability while under fire, but who also brings a few additional abilities to the table.

“It is for this reason that I am appointing Captain Campbell to command the Shadow Company.”

There were nods of approval from almost every officer gathered there. The only holdout was Campbell himself, whose face was frozen in an expression somewhere close to shock.

“Well, Campbell – have you nothing to say for yourself, man?” Harness clapped him warmly on the shoulder, an uncharacteristically warm gesture for a vampire. He had been a jocular man before accepting the Dark Gift, however, and a certain degree of that had survived the transformation intact.

“I, um…thank you, sir?” Campbell sounded a little flustered, Wellesley thought as he struggled to contain a smile. The fellow had done an admirable job as his adjutant, with an eye for detail that almost rivaled his own, and yet Arthur knew that the command of fighting men was where Campbell’s heart truly lay.

“What better to hunt down a tigress than a tiger?” Arthur asked rhetorically. Colin shot him a sharp glance that the general didn’t seem to catch. Was Wellesley aware that for the first time since his turning, he had referred to Colin as a ‘what’, rather than as a ‘who?’

If so, the vampire made no mention of it; he simply continued to talk, not making eye contact with the young were. He was speaking to the entire assembly, but his eyes kept returning to meet those of CSM Nichols. “Frankly, running a company without an officer in overall command is damned irregular, and I have only gotten away with it thus far because I am the commanding general of this army. Be that as it may, there is no excuse for flouting the rules. Sooner or later, an officer would have to be appointed to command the Shadow Company. It just so happens that it is taking place sooner.

“Are there any questions?”

Nobody spoke up. The officers seemed more than satisfied with the progression of events. Dan Nichols and Colin Campbell looked at one another, uncertain of what to say. Both men knew that would have adjustment to make, both large and small, in the days to come. But for now, there was little else to be said.

There was a job to be done, and a cat to be killed.

Not to mention a Maratha army to destroy.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Whether dining out in public, attending some social function or other, or even simply enjoying the company of my fellow officers in the mess, I am quite often asked the following question, or some variant thereof: “General Wellesley, what is the most important quality of a prime soldier?”

The questioner usually goes on to tentatively venture a few possible answers of his or her own, such as courage, fortitude, honor, integrity, the ability to withstand pain and discomfort, and many other virtues which are, in truth, to be greatly prized in a fighting man.

I do not mean to devalue such fine characteristics, because without these and others like them, no army will maintain its cohesion in the field, let alone stand and defeat an enemy force of equal or, as often seems to be the case, superior numbers in a pitched battle. And yet, the questioner always seems to miss the mark, for to my mind, the cardinal virtue of the prime fighting man — particularly that of an officer, whether commissioned or non — is the ability to carry out simple tasks well, often while operating under the most extreme pressure.

When I supply this particular answer, the questioner is typically taken aback. I see their expression change to one of disbelief. Their eyes search mine for as long as they can stand it (never an easy thing for the flesh and blood mortal to do) in order to determine whether I am making sport of them. In truth, I never am, even when the conversation is being conducted in the intimacy of the officers’ mess over luncheon or dinner, surrounded by comrades and confidantes.

More often than not, once the person who has posed the question realizes that I have responded with the utmost sincerity, the result is one of disappointment on their part. Then it is my turn to search their eyes, and read the truth behind them. Surely, they are almost always thinking, there has to be more to it than that…some secret, mystical quality possessed by the finest of soldiers that this vampire General is unwilling to speak of. They believe that I am hiding the magical secret of successful soldiering from them for some nefarious purpose of my own.

Yet I am never jesting when I give such a reply.