Casket of Souls by Lynn Flewelling

shook her head. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
    The camp was already stirring, and the green-and-white tabards of the riders looked ghostly in the morning mist. They were on cold rations rather than risk the smell of cooking reaching the enemy.
    Captain Danos waved to her as she strode by his troop. They were sitting in small clusters on the dew-soaked grass with their cold beef and stolen cheese. This part of Mycena had been overrun by both armies twice this summer; there was little left to forage.
    Beka smiled and waved back. Tall, broad-shouldered, andfair, Danos was as good a fighter and able an officer as any under Klia’s command. She was proud to call him her friend.
    Her riders were on the far side of Klia’s tent, which was distinguished by the green horse-and-sword pennant flapping on a pole at the tent peak, and the black Aurënfaie horse with a distinctive white mane and tail tethered outside.
    “Go eat, if you can find anything,” she told Syra, her own empty belly rumbling with hunger. “I’ll give Klia our report.”
    “I’ll see if I can find us some meat that hasn’t turned green yet,” Syra replied with a laugh.
    As commander of the Queen’s Horse Guard, Princess Klia led a squadron—half the regiment—under General Moraus. There had been talk when she was not given the general’s position after her unexpected recall from Aurënen. Moraus was an able man, but Klia had proven her worth in the field, too, and was Queen’s Kin. It had only fueled the rumors of bad blood between them, but no one could say they’d heard Klia complain.
    Two of Captain Danos’s riders were on duty at the tent door and saluted Beka as she entered. Inside, the tent was divided into two rooms: this one, large enough for a map table and the commander’s council of officers, and a small one beyond a canvas wall at the back where Klia slept—when she slept, which didn’t seem to be very often these days.
    Klia and her aide-de-camp and friend, Major Myrhini, were at breakfast in the front room, eating the same rations as the soldiers. Beka’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the Aurënfaie—
her
Aurënfaie, as she liked to think of him—was with them as well, lithe and handsome in his worn leathers and corselet.
    Even without the
sen’gai
of his clan, there was no mistaking what Nyal was. He had long, dark hair and fine ’faie features, and his lively hazel-green eyes were unlike any Skalan’s. He was a brave man, to be here in the midst of a war that was not his own. Harshly as the Plenimaran marines treated captured female soldiers, they treated ’faie far worse. Those they didn’t eventually kill they shipped back to theirhomeland as slaves. She’d heard stories of ’faie falling on their own swords rather than be captured. It made it all the harder that she and Nyal were often apart from each other in the field; as her husband, it was against regulations for him to serve under her, so instead he was a scout for the whole troop, often working with Danos or directly for Klia. It had been nearly a week since she’d seen him.
    He smiled, hazel eyes tilting up at the corners as she came in; she could tell he was equally relieved to see her. Nyal had no official rank beyond scout, but in the field he took his orders directly from Klia. It had taken them both time to get used to that. In the winter they lived as husband and wife, but here in the field they were hardly more than fellow soldiers most of the time.
    Beka saluted Klia, pressing her fist to the front of her battle-stained tabard.
    “Good morning, Captain,” said Klia. “Come and join us. You must be starving.”
    “Thank you, Commander.” Beka pulled up a stool and gratefully broke her night’s fast. Even salted, the meat smelled a bit high, but she was too hungry to care.
    Klia looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Months of steady battle had sapped some of her beauty. Her face was sun-browned and haggard under the dark