He plucked a blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth. “Not a sight I’d want to greet.”
Makepeace, standing tall behind him, pointed with his rifle. “Ain’t so big a place that an army cain’t surround it; and we don’t really got no idea what the enemy will bring.”
“That’s true.” That had been the primary difficulty in trying to prepare for the Norghaest. In the visions they’d not seen any cannon, so they’d not added any glacises to deflect cannon balls. Since they didn’t know what the Norghaest would use to fight them, planning against them was at best a guess. Fort Plentiful might hold off the trolls, but that would really depend on how many the Norghaest brought.
The winged demons presented other problems, but Prince Vlad had thought of things to deal with them. All around the berm, long masts had been erected. Cables ran from them to the fort itself, anchored to the walls. The Mystrian forces would be bringing with them fishing nets, which they’d string between masts and fort, hampering the demons.
And the weight of their bodies could drag it all down.
Hodge and three of the Rangers who’d come with the Count joined them on the hill. The party, which had been out doing more surveying work, had managed to shoot two deer. Hodge looked at the fort and frowned. “Now that’s queer.”
Owen took another look. A flagpole had been placed at the heart of the fort at the Count’s insistence—as far as the Kessian was concerned it was little more than a trading post without one. Someone had produced an old Norillian flag with three crowned golden lions on a red field. As they watched, that flag descended and in its place rose a green flag with a black circle at its center. A red wurm-claw had been worked into the circle, with the talons pointing earthward and shaped to form the letter M.
The Rangers let out a holler at the sight, and Owen found himself smiling. The Mystrians who had marched off to Anvil Lake had done so under the Norillian banner, but by the time they’d returned victorious, it was under the Mystrian flag. Prince Vlad had let it be known that the flag was really the banner of the Mystrian Militia, lest people in Launston become alarmed. Even now, at celebrations and when the Colonial assembly was in session, that flag flew proudly.
“Looks like someone got here. I hope it’s the Prince.” Owen stood and started down the hill.
Their advance did not go unnoticed. Northern Rangers came out to greet their comrades, leaving Owen, Hodge, and Makepeace to finish the journey by themselves. Owen felt tired and wanted some sleep, but the information he’d gathered through the surveys was something the Prince needed to hear about immediately. Reaching the fort, he asked after Prince Vlad. He was told that the Prince was still a day back, but that he’d sent his staff ahead. Lieutenant Frost was already setting up the Prince’s office in what had served as the thaumagraph office.
Owen rapped on the door, then opened it. “Caleb, I’ve got lots of…”
The room’s sole occupant, Bethany Frost, looked up from the table by the thaumagraph. “Oh, Owen, I mean, Captain Strake.”
“What are you doing here?” Owen fought surprise. Bethany was the last person he expected to see in Plentiful. “Where’s Caleb?”
She stood, smoothing out her dress. “My brother is with the Prince. They should be here this evening. I pushed forward with the Rangers to set up his headquarters.” She extended a hand toward him. “What is it you have?”
Owen shook his head. “I was told Lieutenant Frost was here.”
“Yes, Captain Strake, that would be me.” She smiled modestly. “My brother is now a captain, overseeing the First Mystrian Volunteers Battalion.”
“What? Who?” Owen pulled of his cap and scratched his head. “Have I been gone that long?”
Bethany pointed him to a chair. “Please, sir, sit. Corporal Brown!”
The cabin door opened and a slender, flame-haired woman dressed in buckskins wearing a floppy-brimmed hat just like Owen’s entered. “Yes, sir?”
“See if you can find Captain Strake something to drink and eat. And get him a decent billet.”
“Yes, sir.” The young woman saluted smartly, a grin splitting her face ear to ear, then went off to follow orders.
Owen’s mouth gaped. “Did you, did she…”
Bethany laughed. “The Prince assigned her to me after Nathaniel suggested it. Clara is a crack shot and smart, too. She’s learning to read so she can work a thaumagraph.”
Owen leaned his rifle against the wall and shucked his pack. He laid a satchel on the chair she’d designated for him. “You shouldn’t be here, Bethany. It’s too dangerous.”
“What are you talking about?”
“War. There’s no place for women in it.”
Her eyes narrowed to blue slits. “Women have followed their men to war for ages, Captain Strake. You just walked through the compound where a dozen women came with their husbands and brothers. There’s more coming in with the Volunteers, and General Rathfield’s cavalry will have their share, I’m sure.”
“But that’s different, Bethany. You’re not the sort who should be here.”
“And what sort is that, exactly, Captain Strake?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Is it you think that the women who follow their men are stupid, or of low virtue? Am I some how too good to be out here, too delicate? Or is that women might come to war, but ladies like your wife never would? That my being here means I’m not as good as she is?”
Her last two comments—barbed and colder than any winter he’d ever seen—ripped through him. Until that very moment he’d not realized that when he’d seen wives accompany their husbands, he’d taken secret pride that it was always a wife from the ranks, not the officers corps, or a foreign woman, a war-bride, who was at home in the land where they were fighting. He’d allowed himself to think less of them not because they deserved it, than it prevented him from questioning why his wife didn’t love him enough to want to be with him. Deep down he’d seen that as a failing on his part, not hers, but he’d never taken the time to consider it.
He glanced down at his hands. “Bethany… Lieutenant Frost… I’m sorry. I know you’re not stupid, and I have the utmost respect for you. I respect the Prince’s decision that places you here, and your decision to be here. It’s just…”
“What?”
He drew in a deep breath. “You’ve seen what war does. You’ve seen the marks its left on me, on your brother. You’ve seen your uncle and his empty sleeve. I don’t doubt your courage. I just dread what the whirlwind of war could do to you.”
“Silly man.” Bethany shook her head. “I have seen what it did to you and Caleb and my uncle. Do you think I don’t dread the same thing? I do. Not for me, but for you and Caleb and Clara and everyone else. Owen, why are you here?”
His head came up. “I have my duty to my home and family, to people I love.”
“Do you think, because I am a woman, I do not feel the same duty?” She brushed away a tear. “I am, bar none, the best thaumagraph operator in the world. Clear communication, delivered quickly, is very important. If I were back in Temperance and I thought that something horrible happened because a message got garbled, I don’t know what I would do with myself. That line of reasoning—and Princess Gisella’s support—is why Prince Vlad allowed me to come. More importantly, Owen, I earned my place here because of my skills. I have a responsibility, just like you, so here I am.”
Owen closed his eyes for a moment. He could not count the number of times he’d used the same reasoning to explain to Catherine why he had to answer the Prince’s call. When he did it, he thought it the highest of noble motivations. He could not claim that justification if he would not grant Bethany the same. And not only could he deny it to her, but he felt no desire to do so.
He opened his eyes again and looked at her. She seemed incredibly tiny and fragile, though he knew she was far from either. She held her head up high and her back straight. She was proud of what she’d done so far and yet, in the way she shied from his gaze, she await
ed his judgment.
He chewed his lower lip for a second. “I’m pleased, Lieutenant Frost, to have you out here. I’m not saying I won’t worry about you being here.”
“But no more so than you would any other soldier.”
Owen hesitated. “I can’t say that, Bethany.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “I don’t want harm to come to any of the people here. I’ll help any of them I can. But there’s people here that I care about, that I care about a great deal. You’re at the top of that list. I’d sooner die than see something bad happen to you. I’m sorry, I don’t want to embarrass you.”
“Nor I, you.” She glanced away. “But I should tell you something, so you understand why I will act as I do, why this will be the last time you and I can speak alone behind closed doors.”
“Bethany…”
“No, Owen, you must listen.” She brushed away another tear. “I remember what it was like when Ira Hill went with the Rangers to Tharyngia. I remember waiting and the worst happened. He never made it home. And I remember when Nathaniel reported you had been captured. The days waiting for your return were pure torture. Then when you went off to Anvil Lake. Every day lasted forever because I didn’t know if you would be coming back, but I did know that when you returned, it would not be to me. I think I held my breath the whole of the time you were gone, and returned to life when you came back.
“So my being here, Owen, is to be near you. I know that’s wrong. I have no claim on you. I cannot have one while your wife lives. I accept that. But I needed to be here to make sure that you would live, that you would be able to return to her, and to Miranda and Becca. And, yes, I know I am torturing myself. I know I should be smarter than that, that I should forget you and find someone else, but I cannot.”
Owen forced himself to remain where he stood. He wanted to cross to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to hold her and keep her safe. He wanted her to feel his presence, for her to feel she could take sanctuary in him.
But he knew he could not. To do so would destroy her. Save for the Prince having chosen her at the insistence of his wife, Bethany would have been thought a woman of curious moral character for going off to war. That her brother was along might offer mitigation and her family’s upstanding reputation might shield her, but all that would go away were one person to see them together. Even an innocent remark would be forged into vicious gossip. Catherine would seize upon it and flay her alive. She would be ostracized and ruined, utterly and completely. Traveling south to Fairlee to live with her uncle might allow her to outrun the scandal for a short time, but it would eventually track her down.
Owen studied the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Anything I say will sound false and will cause you more pain.”
She half-laughed. “Then you probably ought not speak.”
“Being silent isn’t going to help, either.” His eyes tightened. “Decisions get made and lives are launched on a course we can’t predict. My mother fell in love with a Mystrian sailor. Her decision to marry him, and my father’s death, meant her father could decide to marry her into a powerful family. That set my mother up for her life, and made mine miserable. And yet, without any of those decisions, I’d never have come to Mystria. I’d never have fallen in love with the land, the people.” With you.
“Other decisions put us here,” he went on, “under these circumstances. Somewhere out there the Norghaest are making decisions that we’ll respond to. There’s no telling what will happen. But there is one decision that gives me heart. That’s your decision to be here. I can’t say I’m not scared for you, but I can say I trust you to do what you have to do. And I understand everything else you said, and I’ll respect your wishes.”
She nodded without meeting his eye. “Thank you, Captain Strake.”
“You’re welcome, Lieutenant Frost.” Owen shook his head. “It is going to take a bit for me to wrap my mind around having a woman in the militia.”
“You’re lucky I’m only a lieutenant, and that might change if the Bookworms don’t shape up.” Bethany smiled genuinely this time. “The Prince has threatened to make me a field marshal if that’s what it takes to get them to abide by communication protocols. It’s hard to tell their messages from ghost messages sometimes.”
“When the Prince promotes you, I’ll salute smartly.”
Corporal Brown returned with a bowl of stew topped with a hunk of black bread and a small mug with a slug of whiskey in it. She set them on the table, saluted, and made her way out, but left the door open at Bethany’s request. Owen moved his satchel, handing it to Bethany, then sat and began eating. “In there’s my journal, but it’s the map that’s the most interesting.”
Bethany drew it out, unfolded it, and smoothed it against her desk. She studied it for a moment, then nodded. “Many more ghost rivers. If you project the lines out, the nexuses flow together out here. What’s this marking on the map?”
Owen glanced over. “Hodge called it the Stone House. Natural formation at the edge of a woods, nice fort in and of itself. And you’re right, lots of ghost rivers come together in that valley about a day’s march west. We all noticed it, but I’m not sure of what to make of it.”
She shook her head. “Neither am I. I can’t wait to hear what the Prince thinks.”
Chapter Fifty-one
21 May 1768
Fort Plentiful, Plentiful
Richlan, Mystria
“It almost looks like a system of canals.” Standing in the thaumagraph office, Prince Vlad studied the map to which he had added the information from Owen’s latest surveys. A strong line running from the direction of the Antediluvian ruins to the northeast—and on toward a geological formation in the mountains in Bounty which looked like a man’s face in profile—split near the Stone House. Rays shot out at angles and then bounced back in. Another slightly weaker line ran from the southeast toward the northwest very close to the splitting point. The Prince guessed it was contributing to a formation of which they could only see the edge.
“If you look here and here, you see a similar angle. It is as if several squares are overlapping, rotating by thirty degrees.” He tapped his chin with a finger. “That would concentrate a lot of magick in the area.”
Owen, who had joined the Prince, Count von Metternin, Nathaniel, and Bethany Frost in the thaumagraph cabin, shook his head. “We didn’t see anything unusual out there. Just a valley with those three points on the ridges.”
“Not likely you would have seen anything.” The Prince smiled. “The Norghaest have taken refuge under the ground. If they were to have planted any devices or tools to help them split and deflect the flow, they likely would have done so from beneath the earth. Without the surveyors you’d likely have passed over the area without noticing anything.”
“I reckon we did just that a year ago, on our way into the mountains.” Nathaniel tapped a finger on the map. “We’ll be needing some eyes on that area. I’m fair sure I ain’t the only one what’s thinking that if they is going to raise a colony, that’s the spot they’re preparing for it.”
“Precisely what I was thinking.” Vlad looked at Owen. “How big is that valley?”
“About as big as this one, but not as much water. Forest mostly, with a bit of marsh in the middle. An industrious beaver could turn it into a lake.”
Vlad slapped his own forehead. “Of course. I was insane not to have seen it before.”
The Kessian noble cocked his head. “What is it you see?”
Vlad grabbed a sheet of paper from the thaumagraph table and overlaid it on the map. He drew six squares, each with a corner on one of the nexus points at the eastern edge of the valley. “This star shape, it is what we see from the high point of a fortress, with the glacises set to deflect cannon fire. It is easy, then, for us to see these squares as walls, or lines of defense. But what if that is not what it is at all? What if, instead, the magick is being channeled here not as a defense, but to create a reservoir of magick energy? Jus
t as we shipped supplies up the Benjamin to Grand Falls and replenished our supplies there, could the Norghaest look to create a reservoir in the valley?”
Von Metternin frowned. “This would suppose that magickal energy can be contained and that we can draw on that reservoir to make magick work. Unless your studies have carried you much further than even I imagine, neither supposition is supported.”
“We do have Kamiskwa’s statements that he could feel residual magick in the ruins. Owen, you had your own encounter with it.”
“Yes, Highness, after a fashion.”
“My Lord von Metternin, please do be so kind as to fetch your servant. He might have an insight into this matter.” Vlad studied the map while emotions warred within him. The idea that magick could be collected and somehow could be used by a man alleviated the limitation of magick use. A man who fired a gun would tire. A man who used magick drawn from elsewhere might not. Provided using external magick did not kill him, it might save him from instances where overusing magick might kill him. This prospect thrilled Vlad.
And terrified him. A man like Laureate du Malphias, given an inexhaustible source of magick energy, would be unstoppable. If the Church learned of this, or shared knowledge that it already had with various individuals like Duke Deathridge, its control over society would go unchecked. The same knowledge which might give them a fighting chance against the Norghaest could spell doom when their fellow citizens turned it against them.
Von Metternin returned with Ezekiel Fire. The Steward had grown a beard and styled it in the Continental fashion, featuring twin forks. He wore one of the Count’s old uniforms, taken in and up, along with hose and black shoes with silver buckles. The Prince found the change jarring. Even though he knew who the aide truly was, he had a hard time reconciling images of Fire and the man before him.
Of Limited Loyalty: The Second Book of the Crown Colonies Page 40
