‘Only because you rode into the skirmish. A Fist should not do that. You stay back, surrounded by messengers and guards. You may find yourself not issuing a single order, but you are the core position none the less, the immovable core. Just being there is enough. They can get word to you, you can get word to them. You can shore up, relieve units, and respond to developments. It’s what an officer of high rank does. If you find yourself in the midst of a fight, you are useless, a liability to the soldiers around you, because they’re obliged to save your skin. Even worse, you can see nothing, your messengers can’t find you. You’ve lost perspective. If the core wavers or vanishes, the legion falls.’
Gamet considered Blistig’s words for a long moment, then he sighed and shrugged. ‘None of that matters any more. I am no longer a Fist. Keneb is, and he knows what to do-’
‘He’s acting Fist. The Adjunct made that clear. It’s temporary. And it now falls to you to resume your title, and your command.’
‘I will not.’
‘You have to, you stubborn bastard. Keneb’s a damned good captain. Now, there’s a nobleborn in that role, replacing him. The man’s a damned fool. So long as he was under Keneb’s heel he wasn’t a problem. You need to return things to their proper order, Gamet. And you need to do it today.’
‘How do you know about this new captain? It’s not even your legion.’
‘Keneb told me. He would rather have promoted one of the sergeants-there’s a few with more experience than anyone else in the entire army. They’re lying low, but it shows anyway. But the officer corps the Adjunct had to draw from was filled with nobleborn-the whole system was its own private enterprise, exclusionary and corrupt. Despite the Cull, it persists, right here in this army.’
‘Besides,’ Gamet nodded, ‘those sergeants are most useful right where they are.’
‘Aye. So cease your selfish sulking, old man, and step back in line.’ The back of Gamet’s gloved hand struck Blistig’s face hard enough to break his nose and send him pitching backward off the rump of his horse.
He heard another horse reining in nearby and turned to see the Adjunct, a cloud of dust rolling out from under her mount’s stamping hoofs. She was staring at him.
Spitting blood, Blistig slowly climbed to his feet.
Grimacing, Gamet walked his horse over to where the Adjunct waited. ‘I am ready,’ he said, ‘to return to duty, Adjunct.’
One brow arched slightly. ‘Very good. I feel the need to advise you, however, to give vent to your disagreements with your fellow Fists in more private locations in the future.’
Gamet glanced back. Blistig was busy dusting himself off, but there was a grim smile on his bloodied face.
The bastard. Even so, I owe him a free shot at me, don’t I?