Free The Road to Hell - eARC by David Weber, Joelle Presby

were very, very clear and explicit about the proper treatment of POWs. And even if they hadn’t been, there were some things Jaralt Sarma wasn’t prepared to stomach.
    “Actually,” Ulthar went on, “if he threw us into a cell with Regiment-Captain Velvelig, he wouldn’t get an opportunity to beat the shit out of us. Velvelig would do it for him. In fact, he’d probably reach right down our throats and rip out our hearts with his bare hands.” The wiry, red-haired fifty shook his head, his expression even grimmer than Sarma’s. “That’s a hard man, Jaralt, and I’ve been watching him. Anyone who can drop a dozen gryphons all by himself—and put a bullet into the last one’s eye after he was down with an arbalest bolt in a shattered hip—is not someone I want pissed at me. He’s already decided what he’s going to do. He’s just waiting until he has the best chance to take some of us with him before he tries it.”
    Sarma nodded. He hadn’t spent as much time as Ulthar had in Fort Ghartoun’s brig—whether as a prisoner himself or since the survivors of the fort’s Sharonian garrison had been imprisoned there—for several reasons. The most important of them was his lack of desire to draw Thalmayr’s attention to himself, but his own sense of shame was high on the list, as well. On the other hand, he’d never been Velvelig’s prisoner. He didn’t have the personal, searing sense of obligation Ulthar felt. No, his shame was for the way in which Thalmayr degraded and dishonored the entire Andaran officer corps by his actions. Not that Thalmayr was alone in that…which presented its own thorny problem.
    “The question before the house is what we do about all of this,” he said. “We’re very junior officers, Therman. Whatever we do is probably going to put us over our heads in dragon shit by the time it all hits the wall.”
    “ I’d already be there if you hadn’t stopped me,” Ulthar replied. “In case I didn’t already say it, thanks.”
    He looked across at the shorter man, his eyes level and his tone somber, and Sarma unfolded his arms to wave one hand in a brushing away gesture.
    “Couldn’t let you get yourself killed before I had a chance to come along with you,” he responded, and the lightness of his own tone fooled neither of them. If he hadn’t intercepted Ulthar on his way towards the fort’s office block, Commander of One Hundred Hadrign Thalmayr or Therman Ulthar—or both—would be dead by now.
    “Maybe you couldn’t,” Ulthar said, “but this is a lot more on me than it is on you. The bastard’s my company commander, and I’m the one Velvelig and his healers did their dead level best to take care of. That makes it personal, Jaralt.”
    “I know that. But you won’t do anyone any good if you try to storm his office. While I’ll agree Thalmayr’s dumber than a rock, there’s a reason he’s doubled the sentries on the HQ block. And if I had to guess, I’d guess that reason is named Therman Ulthar.”
    “Probably,” Ulthar agreed.
    “No ‘probably’ about it. You have noticed none of those sentries are Scouts, didn’t you?”
    “Of course I have.”
    Ulthar sounded irritated, although Sarma knew the irritation wasn’t directed at him. Ulthar and Thalmayr were both officers in the 2nd Andaran Scouts, one of the Union of Arcana’s elite units. The 2nd Andarans were famous for their high standards, proficiency, discipline…and unit loyalty, and Hadrign Thalmayr had been a member of the 2nd Andarans for less than a month before he got two of its platoons blown into dog meat by the Sharonians. Worse yet, he’d accomplished that by systematically rejecting the advice of Hundred Olderhan, who’d commanded C Company for the better part of two years and whose father happened to be the 2nd Andarans’ hereditary commander. There couldn’t be much love for Thalmayr among the unit’s survivors, and an outfit with the 2nd Andarans’ élan and history—with