by Alma Boykin
After they dismounted in the manor courtyard, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “So no shahma hams and sausages then, I take it.”
Ann spun around, stormed up to Elizabeth and shook her riding stick in Elizabeth’s face. “After everything, all you can think of is sausage?”
“Sausage with a Lazlo attached,” she whispered. Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s cheeks. Ann stared, then started laughing, then burst into tears. The two women embraced, crying onto each other’s shoulders for what could never be.
At last Ann got herself under control and sniffed. “Blessed St. Sabrina but I hate the change of life. I turn into a fountain.”
“Is that it? Is that why one minute I’m so,” she felt herself blushing. “And then next I don’t want to see a man, and then I burst into tears, or laughter, at the stupidest little thing.”
“You know,” Ann took her arm and led her into the manor house. “You have to be the most sheltered creature on this planet, Elizabeth von Sarmas-Destefani. You can’t tell why people think your husband is a Jennaman. You didn’t think you could get pregnant the first year you were married. And you can’t tell when you’re having the change?” She let go so they could take their boots off. “You truly are a terrible example of womanhood.”
Elizabeth stuck her tongue out. “Thppppth.”
“Thpppth right back. For that I should send nothing but mollies, the next time you want a saddle mule. Mollies and mares!”
“I’ll have the vapors,” Elizabeth warned.
“I’d pay to see you have the vapors.” Ann leaned closer. “I’m sorry for what I said. It’s just, I don’t want to lose you or Lazlo.”
“Dratted dust,” and Elizabeth wiped her eyes with her skirt hem. “Ugh, that wasn’t smart.”
Mina’s gasp stopped whatever Ann had intended to say. “My lady! Your face! I’ll get hot water.”
Ann folded her arms, a smug smile exactly like Lewis’s on her face. “Now you’re in trouble.”
Yes, I am.
8
The Waiting Game
The next songster to write about the soft, warm rains of summer is going to feel my boot on his rump. Cold, steady rain poured down on the Imperial army, finding its way past rain cloaks and hat brims, soaking bedding and tack, and turning dirt roads into boot-sucking muck. Even riding upslope, the late spring rains made the footing treacherous and the trail boggy. Elizabeth preferred not to think about what the lowlands along the streams and rivers were like. It was nothing short of a miracle that the entire army hadn’t come down with water-cough and foot rot.
Captain Martin’s voice emerged from what appeared to be a pile of waxed cloak and helmet perched on his horse’s back. “Now I understand why your grace prefers to ride mules. And why we buy so many Kossuth mudders.” The heavy, steady, ugly horses had more than justified their enormous fodder bills already, and the campaign was only two weeks begun.
Elizabeth nodded, “If you have any ideas as to how we can arrange to fight only in temperate, somewhat dry, cool and breezy places, Ulli, I’m all ears.”
Count Gerald Jones spoke up, volunteering an idea for the first time since he and his troops had joined with the army. In a thoughtful voice he mused, “Perhaps that’s not such a bad idea, your grace. Find an area without many people but with water, wood, and forage, and designate it as the battle site. When the Frankonians, or Poloki, or anyone have a disagreement, we fight there instead of tearing up the countryside over and over.”
She considered his proposal. “It would certainly be better than sucking random civilians into the war, true. I’m not sure how you’d keep everyone honest and limit them to the designated battle area, though. If the Empire and Frankonia decided to fight near Herbstadt, who’s strong enough to force us into the battle zone?” Maybe that’s how the Landers kept from killing themselves off, before the Fires: have a designated place and designated fighters.
“We’d have to get all the princes, free cities, and others to agree to cooperate,” Jones explained. “I’m not sure if it could be done before Godown brings the world to a close, though.”
Ulli raised a wet glove. “My lord, you’d have to persuade them that it is in their best interests to work together, and to abide by the agreement even when they’d prefer not to. I’m not sure a diplomat has been born yet with that skill.”
The riders reached the top of the hill and Elizabeth reined Square to a halt. Several men whistled, and she reached back, pulling her binoculars out of one of her saddlebags. She adjusted the focus and peered out across the gray flatness that should have been the Sigmartin River. Clumps of trees poked out above the sheet of water now stretching at least a kilometer beyond the west bank of the stream. “Gentlemen, I do not believe we have to worry about the Frankonians coming at us over the river.”
“My lady, I don’t believe we have to worry about anything coming at us from across the river. We might have to worry about fish falling from the trees, though.” Count Tim Albinez’s words made her smile despite the miserable wet.
“I’ll be sure to stay out from under the trees, then, Tim.” She twisted in the saddle, looking back at her staff. “Anyone have any idea how far the flooding extends? I know the Shelly is out of its banks still.”
“I heard every river out of the Triangle Range is still up, but that’s market talk, not confirmed reports, your grace,” Jones grunted.
She turned back to look out over the river valley. The high water did not bode well for crops later in the season. Biting flies would be a nuisance, too. Godown destroyed the Landers with fire. I wonder if He’ll use water if we fail Him? Well, she did not intend to fail either the Emperor or Godown. “Market talk’s better than nothing, Gerald.” She turned Square around. “Back to the ford, gentlemen. I want to get over before anything gets higher, Godown willing.”
She sent the others ahead, waiting to make certain that everyone had crossed safely before she took the last ferry across the Blue River, well upstream of where it joined the Sigmartin. Square did not care for the water and she needed two soldiers pushing and her pulling to get the mule onto the ferry. She held his head, stroking him and calming him the entire crossing. As soon as the boat touched ground he bolted and she jumped out of the way, letting him leap onto the squelchy but stable ground. “Don’t try to catch him,” she warned the men on shore. They kept well clear as Square kicked, then settled down and stood waiting at the top of the bank. Elizabeth followed at a more dignified pace and caught the gray-brown mule easily. “You are behaving like a horse and there’s no excuse for that,” she informed the jack as she checked his tack and snugged the saddle girth. Square swished his bobbed tail and snorted, unimpressed.
The rain tapered off during the night and a flood of sunlight poured into her tent the next morning when she opened the flaps. The sky looked white and by midafternoon the air felt as if she were breathing through a wet towel. For the next three days hot sunlight turned the waterlogged world into a steam bath, making Elizabeth cranky and summoning swarms of gnats, flies, blood-suckers, and little red itch-bugs out of the soil. It also magnified the miasma that usually travelled with the army, the stench of human and animal waste that bred disease.
Four weeks after Elizabeth and the forces from Donatello Bend left the estate, they reached the banks of the Donau Novi, or more correctly, the hills to the south of the river, near the little stream that served more or less as the border between the Bergenlands and the Empire. Only the Donatello troops advanced that far: the others spread out along several kilometers, in hopes of reducing the chance of disease and of surprise. Since they’d be staying for a while, in addition to her command tent, Elizabeth ordered her personal tent set up; the one with the elevated wooden floor. For all that she’d lusted in her heart after Col. Marcy’s luxurious tent-on-wheels, she needed to move faster than a five-pair oxcart permitted. This was a reasonable compromise, and one that didn’t make her stand out too much from the rest of camp.
“And n
ow, we wait.” After this long, she could outwait almost anyone, especially since she had supplies to augment what the foragers requisitioned from the villages and farms. The Imperial army had been in position for a week when a messenger rode in with news from Vindobona, and the Sea Republics. After the daily briefing, Elizabeth sat in the shade of her tent and read the messages. Count Dominic Montoya, now first minister, wished to express his thanks to his grace Duke Clellan, who had retired to his estates to regain his health and to see to personal business. Karl Grantholm yielded the foreign ministry to Archduke Gerald André, at least for the time being, because of Grantholm’s military duties. There would be no policy changes for the time being. The Poloki had voted to stay out of any disputes between the Eastern Empire and Frankonia unless the Frankonians marched into Imperial lands, at which time the Poloki would assist the Empire as per their mutual defense treaties. Elizabeth passed that note to Ulli Martin and Marlow Eulenberg, a wry smile on her face.
Eulenberg read it, snorted, and handed it to Captain Martin. “Anyone who’s surprised by that should be demoted.”
“Agreed.” She turned to the next piece of business, logistical matters this time. Four tons of the new gunpowder from Tivolia and Kilwali were en route. Matt Starland had already done quality checks and passed the shipment, relieving her artillery experts of that duty. The rivers were finally dropping, but slowly, and it would be a race to get a grain crop in before the first frost. Several more loads of shahma meat from Donatello should arrive, along with what little earth coal remained in the army’s supply depot at Peilovna. Anything to stretch the supplies, although, once we get into the Bergenlands, it’s free confiscation since they are allied with Frankonia now. The fools, thinking they could avoid him by being friendly.
Elizabeth picked up the next page, read it, felt the code pressed into the thick paper, set the message down, and stared out the open flaps into the camp. “My lady?” Captain Martin asked. She didn’t hear him. “Your grace, what’s wrong?” She got up and walked to the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, feeling the soft touch of her shirt collar around her neck, hearing the hollow thump of her boots on the tent’s floor, and feeling the heat of the sun on her face. Should I laugh or cry or just curl up in a corner and pray for Godown to come save us? She turned around and faced Martin, Jones, Eulenberg, and Lt. Imre Esposito, who lurked in a corner, waiting to be sent on a messenger run.
“It seems that the Sea Republics are,” she stopped and rephrased it. “In an attempt to preempt Frankonian attacks against their members, the Sea Republics are attacking Frankonia. Here.”
The men were, to put it mildly, nonplussed. Jones recovered first, animation returning to his hound-like face while the others kept blinking. “What do you mean, here? They’re marching all this way? But the Frankonians are in Louvat.” Jones scrambled to pull a map out of the bundle of map rolls while Esposito cleared the table of water pitchers and teapot and cups. Jones found the rocks they’d been using as map weights and unrolled the map of the area surrounding the Bergenlands.
“The Frankonian generals divided their army,” she corrected, walking over to the map table. “Rohan-roi is up here, defending against the Sea Republic army under Marischal Piet Van Looie,” and she pointed to the northwestern edge of the map, where the Shelly River disappeared off the margin. “The secondary Frankonian force, under Louis Javertt, has crossed the border into the Bergenlands, to help them defend against our, ahem, as Javertt put it, unwarranted encroachment.” She and the men shared sardonic smiles. “But the main body of the Sea Republic’s army is racing this way,” and she traced a diagonal, from Marsburg on the Shelly southeast across the Roamer Hills and down to the Donau Novi, inside the Bergenlands. “They’ve already crossed the Shelly and are at the edge of the Roamer Hills. Smaller decoy forces are keeping Rohan-Roi distracted.”
“They’re mad,” Eulenberg stated. “There’s no way on Godown’s planet for them to reach the Donau Novi before harvest. Their supply train will stop them if the roads don’t.”
Elizabeth shook her head, fighting back a spate of tears. Don’t you dare, not here, not now. Buck up and act like a man, damn it. “They have almost no supply train. They set out depots in advance, along most of the line of march. I would guess the plans were finalized last winter and the logistics arranged as soon as it was safe to do so, in which case my hat is off to them for keeping it quiet for so long. They’ve already covered a hundred kilometers, the entire army.”
Count Jones whistled. “By St. Mou, I’ve never heard of an army moving that fast.”
Not since after the Great Fires, we haven’t. Oh, to have those vehicles that could travel over 200 KM per day! And the roads to go under them. “He’s doing it, which says a lot for the quality and discipline of the armies of the Sea Republics. They have some hired cavalry and infantry companies with them, but not much artillery, as you would suspect. Light field pieces I’m guessing, although the field commander says he’ll send more information as they get closer and direct communications become safer.”
“My lady, who is the overall commander?” Martin looked up from the map, confusion in his pale blue eyes. “You said that Marischal Van Looie is here?” He tapped the Shelly River.
Marlow Eulenberg ran a hand over his red hair. “Ah, that puts command under Jan DeSmoot, if I recall correctly.”
“You do, Marlow, but something has changed.” She glanced up at the ceiling before meeting the men’s eyes. “Overall command of this army,” she tapped the Roamer Hills, “belongs to Imperial Colonel, now acting General, Lazlo Destefani.”
The men boggled at her, as dumbstruck as if someone had dropped rocks on their heads from a clear sky. It was all she could do not to giggle at their wide-eyed shock. Jones blurted, “But Destefani’s never held a field command!”
“Your pardon, my lord,” Lt. Esposito ventured, “but he has, several times, against the Turkowi. He’s also served as aid to Duchess Sarmas and Dukes Starland and Grantholm, so he’s seen how both northerners and Turkowi fight.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Elizabeth waded in before Jones could chastise the junior officer. “Esposito, go give my regards to Major Lucien and ask him to come here at his convenience. Then find Counts Peilov and Albinez and have them come here. And I want Lt. Neruda when he can get free.”
“Your regards to Major Lucien and he’s to come here at his convenience, yes, your grace. Then Counts Peilov and Albinez, and Lt. Neruda when possible.” The half-breed gave a crisp salute and trotted off on his errand.
Eulenberg hesitated, expression troubled. “What about Destefani’s oaths to the Emperor? How can he command the Sea Republic forces and still serve the Emperor?”
That’s between him, Emperor Thomas, and Godown, isn’t it? But that’s not the answer you need, we need, to hear. She chose her words with deliberate care. “I did not see Col. Destefani’s orders, Marlow, so I do not know what latitude they granted, and obviously, we,” she waved to include everyone around her, “have no idea what the Sea Republics leaders and Marischal Van Looie agreed to. I hope we will find out in due time, but for now I do not believe that it is our problem to worry about.”
Jones started to speak, then stopped. She waited but none of the three had anything to add. “I believe it is time to bring in the rest of the contingent commanders.” She turned to the door, calling to the trooper lurking outside the tent flaps. “Corporal?”
A shaggy head appeared, followed by a long drink of water in Babenburg blue. “Your grace?”
“I need more water and tea, and lunch for seven, here, soon.”
“Lunch for seven, water and tea, soon, yes, your grace.” He waved a loose salute and vanished again.
“I’m glad he’s not in cavalry,” Martin muttered. “We’d never find a horse long enough for his legs.”
Once all her sub-commanders had assembled, Elizabeth outlined her plan. “As you know, we are not supposed to move into the Bergenlands unless the Frankon
ians cross the Whaar River. With the army of the Sea Republic coming south, I’m not certain Javertt will continue east. If he does, we can attack, but if he turns north, we’re in a bit of a bind.”
“You are going to ask for clarification of our orders in light of new developments, your grace?” Tim Albinez drawled.
“Yes. I’m also going to see if there is a way to get more information about the Frankonian army’s movements, and sooner. In a perfect world, we and the Sea Republic army would link up, pivot, and hammer the Frankonians against the mountains until they crawl home, swearing on the collected sermons of St. François never to cross the Louvat River again.” One end of her mouth quirked up in a humorless smile as she finished, “I doubt Prince Rohan-Roi and General Javertt will be so cooperative.”
“Your grace, will we be fighting both Rohan-Roi and Javertt?” Martin looked nervous at the prospect, and Elizabeth knew why: the Imperial army had come close to being the iron between Javertt’s hammer and Rohan-Roi’s anvil down near Florabi.
She exhaled a long breath. “That’s what Marischal Van Looie and Col—,” she caught herself. “Ah, this is going to take some getting used to. Marischal van Looie and General Destefani are trying to prevent. Van Looie is making as much noise with as few troops as he can up here,” and she pointed to the Shelly River. “If Javertt backs up to meet that threat, which is flaming unlikely, then the Sea Republics will have their hands full but for us it will be the end of the season and we will return to the status quo ante. More likely is Rohan-Roi will guess that he’s been had, but too late, and we can defeat Javertt first, then fight Rohan-Roi, if he pushes it that hard. He may wear himself out chasing ghosts instead, Godown willing.”
