Forest For The Trees (Book 3) by Damien Lake Page B

near imprisoned until they received orders.  It left him operating
completely on his own.
    “Which is how it’s always been,” he grumbled, making
his way back to his horse.  The mount, along with the scented oil he rubbed
into his skin that would tell any Taur patrols happening across his scent trail
that he was an Arronath, were about the only assets he had for moving around
unnoticed.  For long years he had worked alone…except he hadn’t, had he? 
Adrian had always stood in his shadow, providing minimal aid, yet giving Jide
the minute assistance each situation required.
    The battlefield told him little, other than that a
calamity had erupted there.  Jide prayed harder than he had in years that
Adrian had survived it.  In such a short time, Mendell was stripping away the
pride and values of Adrian’s army, remaking it into his personal rouges
gallery.
    Hovering in the back of his mind was the certainty
that Mendell, along with Xenos probably, was making a play to screw them over. 
It was the same old shitstorm, ignominious men maneuvering to seize power
enough to satisfy their lusts.
    What they never realized was that it was never enough.  If they jumped a rung up the rank ladder, they always felt cheated
that there were still other rungs above them.  Power gluttons were never
satisfied, always hungry.
    This marked the first time he and Adrian had been
outflanked by the scheming bastards.  Jide felt it in his gut.
    If only Xenos were not so involved with the king,
Adrian would be able to accept the man’s true nature readily, and thus deal
with him and these vipers who owed their positions to the councilor.  The
general’s patriotism had been a real problem at times.  It would take the gods
personally appearing for a private chat before he admitted King Lambert’s error
in judgment.
    “Tomorrow’s problems are tomorrow’s problems,” he
grunted.  The stolen horse held still while he remounted.  “But what, by
Leander, am I to do next?  You tell me that, you monkey of a general.”
    He gazed eastward.  In that direction, the local
survivors must have departed.  Had the Galemarans taken any prisoners?
    Follow?  Return to the base camp and mingle, hoping
for an opportunity?
    What in the hells could he do if he did follow an
enemy army on his own?  One undoubtedly riled by the cheese grater they had
been ground across.  On the other hand, what could he hope to accomplish under
Mendell’s baleful eye?  Would it be worth staying in the devolving army after
he’d been reforged in Adrian’s fire, or should he give up and make his way back
to Arronath and his sweet Jazelda?
    Fingers circled the leather patch from habit.  His
eighth since the loss of his eye.  The others had eventually worn to nothing
from constant friction.
    Alone, he could make his way through enemy territory. 
There might be battle lines, fronts established to repel the bestial wrath of
the Taurs, yet once beyond them he would find towns.  Roads.  Countryside.
    Usually he would be confident that he could make his
way through any civilized setting.  Wherever shone the light, shadows were cast
as well.  The underworld beneath the law would always be his kingdom.  But
language would be a barrier, unmasking him for the stranger he was.  Could he
still swim those dangerous waters with only the Traders Tongue he had mastered
between his tasks for Adrian?
    The base camp, along with every station under
Mendell’s control, decayed by the day.  With the pestilence named Colonel
Mendell in command, and the outright plague of Xenos on the way, army doctrine
would inevitably decompose under their diseased influence.  Simply being there
would be dangerous as taking the luncheon meal in hell amidst a salivating
horde of Vernilock’s soul torturers.
    Meaning…after the Galemarans, then.  For too many
years he had been a mover in the Arronathian Armed Forces, if an unacknowledged
one.  Being a nobody supply officer worrying