Elizabeth and Empire (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 4)

by Alma Boykin

  Count Euleberg drank some water and gestured with a sandwich at the Donau Novi. “Where do we link up, your grace?” He swallowed and clarified, “Where do you think we’ll link up, and how do we get there?”

  She sipped tea and considered. “Jones, you’re better with numbers. If he’s made it a hundred kilometers, assuming he started thirty days ago, when will he reach the river?”

  Jones’s thick lips moved as he ran the numbers in his head. “In three weeks. He’ll come out of the hills between Terfield and Boehm, most likely.” She peered at the map and he moved his hand out of the way. The two towns were twenty kilometers apart, with smaller villages between them. A few streams ran from the hills into the Donau Novi not far from the towns. Jones tapped the parallel streams before moving his hand again. “Not a great place to fight, my lady, but then nowhere is this year, not near the rivers.”

  “If we meet Javertt we can file a complaint about his choice of battle weather,” Peilov joked. Some of the others snorted, and Jones frowned at the youngest noble. Well, Jones has no sense of humor anywhere in his body. Godown bless his wife, he must be hard to live with. I’m just glad he’s set our differences aside for the duration of the campaign.

  “In three weeks the river will be easy to cross, compared to now,” Elizabeth thought aloud. “But I don’t want everyone piling up on this side. What I propose is we start moving over to the northern bank, still on this side of the border.” She met Jones and Eulenberg’s eyes in turn. “I don’t want to hear about a few patrols happening to cross a kilometer or so into the Bergenlands by accident or due to bad maps.”

  Jones nodded, expression grave, and Eulenberg winked. “We’ll make sure you don’t hear about such accidents, your grace,” Eulenberg assured her.

  What I don’t know I don’t have to deal with, forgiveness versus permission, and so on. St. Gerald, please help persuade Emperor Thomas to let us help the Sea Republics before they collide on their own with the Frankonians, please, please.

  The men discussed the matter while she ate her share of lunch. After they finished comparing regional knowledge and their contingents’ troop strengths, she made her decision. Eulenberg and Jones would take their cavalry across first and secure the northern banks and plain, with Albinez and Peilov following with their infantry and Martin leading the Donatello Bend troops over. Elizabeth and the artillery would cross last, along with the other support personnel, including the medical staff, laundresses, teamsters, sutlers and the rest of the army’s enormous tail. Orders in hand, the nobles scattered.

  Major Don Lucien trundled up just after they left. He always reminded her of a barrel on legs, thick bodied and thin limbed, his dark hair cut shorter than hers. Lucien’s omnipresent pipe spouted a thin trail of smoke, the same color as the water-thick sky. The half-deaf artillery commander removed his hat and bowed before stepping up into Elizabeth’s tent. “Your Grace.”

  She beckoned with one hand, bringing him within shouting distance. She condensed everything into as few words as possible. “We’re crossing the Donau Novi and will move west as soon as we have word of where the Frankonians are. The Sea Republic army will be joining us. They have only light field guns with them, as best I can tell.”

  He grunted. “Can’t share powder, then. Ours will blow their breeches. We’re crossing the river, your grace?”

  “Yes, Major. In two days. You’ll be the last of the regular army to cross, before the support personnel.”

  “Good. We’ll be ready. They’re bringing only light guns, your grace?”

  She thought about it. What would Lazlo have with him? No siege guns, but what else might be fast enough? “Plan for only light guns, but we will know better when we the Sea Republic troops get closer.”

  “Will do, your grace.” He pointed to a leftover sandwich and she nodded her permission. “Thank ye, your grace.” Lucien took his pipe out and set it on the table, then ate the entire sandwich in two bites. She was impressed.

  “How are you for supplies?”

  He swallowed. “We’re good, your grace. Could use more horses, but we’ve got enough for now. Food, rest is good.” Lucien thought for a moment or two. “Thank you for bringing us into the army, your grace. Works better this way.”

  That was a long speech from the artillery commander, and Elizabeth smiled, surprised. “You are welcome and you are dismissed, unless I need to know anything.”

  “No, your grace, we’re good.” He got to his feet, bowed again, and walked out, pipe once more between his teeth.

  Elizabeth folded the map in half to give herself room, then sat down and composed a message to Emperor Thomas and Dominic Montoya. If we cross now, we’ll need three weeks to reach Terfield with everything, given the ground conditions. That puts us and the Sea Republic army arriving at the same time. At best I can expect to hear back in two and a half weeks from Vindobona, assuming discussion of my news doesn’t take too long. It would be much easier if we could lure Javertt across the Whaar. She wrote a second missive to Grantholm and Midland.

  “You sent for me, your grace,” Lt. Neruda’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She sat back. “Yes, Lieutenant. I have a very important task for you.”

  Five days later she crossed the Donau Novi. The river still ran high but smooth, deceptively so. She watched the ferrymen straining to keep the boats going across the fast current and fingered the prayer beads hidden in her pocket. I wonder how many people disappeared downstream this year? Her one swim across a swollen river had been enough for a lifetime. And I was young then, and desperate, and on Snowy. I’d never make it now, especially not in armor. How I made it in all those skirts and spare clothes is still a wonder of Godown’s mercy.

  The next morning she heard a commotion and emerged from her tent to find a camp messenger riding up, panting. “Your grace,” he touched his hat brim. “Count Eulenberg sends his respects. His patrol met a messenger from the Sea Republic army. They’re escorting him now.”

  “Good. My thanks to Eulenberg and tell him to pass the messenger through.” She returned to her breakfast, mentally reviewing plans and the latest supply information. Once she finished eating, an orderly took the dishes away and she hid the most sensitive documents, more out of habit than out of fear for security. Godown knows, all it takes is a lucky Frankonian patrol intercepting a messenger and poof—all our plans are for naught. Stranger things have happened. She also made use of the necessary box and slid it out the flap in the back of her tent, to have someone deal with the contents.

  As she waited, she thought about supplies. Now on the opposite side of the river from her supply lines, they’d have to forage and buy what there was to be had until the river dropped enough to make crossing safer and easier. Already the patrols were reporting abandoned farms and missing livestock as farmers and villagers fled, trying to protect their cattle and grain. Elizabeth sympathized, but she had an army to feed and keep healthy. She drew the line at destroying fruit trees, however, unless there was absolutely no other source of wood. It will be so much easier once we cross into the Bergenlands and can forage freely. Well, relatively freely, since we don’t want to completely alienate the general population, even thought they did bring this on themselves by choosing to ally with Frankonia. Idiots.

  “Your grace?” She looked up from her notes as the lanky corporal appeared in the tent doorway, with a clean-shaven man in an unfamiliar gray uniform. “The messenger from the Sea Republics.”

  “Very good. Come in,” and Elizabeth got to her feet, one hand not far from the handle of her camp knife, ready to dodge or defend herself if the man were an imposter.

  Instead he bowed, removing his hat with a flourish to reveal graying black hair pulled back in a ponytail, a square jaw, and laughing brown eyes. “Well met, your grace,” he proclaimed as her heart leaped.

  “Ah, ah, it is a surprise and pleasure to see you in person, Col—, ah, General Destefani,” she managed to get out, struggling for some semblanc
e of dignity and gravitas. When he did not approach, she invited, “Please,” and she gestured to the table, hoping he didn’t notice her shaking hand. “Be welcome.”

  Lazlo smiled at her shock and took the indicated seat. “Thank you. It seemed that the safest policy would be to discuss matters in person, and I needed to confirm some details of the route conditions myself.”

  “Indeed.” She sat before she fell. She wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to burst into tears of pure relief that he was healthy and whole. Instead she sent for tea, reminding herself: This is no different than when we were on campaign against the Turkowi. You have no relationship except professional.

  That reminder helped her recover some of her aplomb and she inquired, “How may I be of assistance, General?” General. The word feels strange in my mouth, to use it for an ally instead of an enemy. General Destefani, my love, now my equal in rank as well.

  “You can find the Frankonians and help stop them.” He made it sound so simple.

  And how was she to do that? “I have someone looking for them as we speak, and hope to hear news in the near future, Godown willing. You are aware, however, that my options are somewhat… restricted… by my current orders.”

  “How so?” He spoke as if to an equal and she sensed a new confidence about him, a certainty very different from when he’d had detached commands under Grantholm and Starland.

  “In order not to unduly antagonize the Bergenlanders and others, the army is forbidden to move across the border until we know with absolute certainty that the Frankonians pose a direct danger to the Empire.” He started to interrupt and she raised her hand, stopping him. “If they cross the Whaar, we can enter the Bergenlands. Until then, his majesty’s orders confine us to remaining outside the Bergenlands. I have passed on your information and requested clarification of my orders, as well as making an attempt to determine the current location of the Frankonian army.”

  An orderly arrived with the tea, giving Lazlo time to consider her news and her time to recover more self-control. I wonder, she thought as she poured for both of them, how much of the camp already knows that he’s here? I’d guess thirty percent, assuming that Eulenberg’s men recognized him and talked. It always amused her to try and predict how long it took a given rumor to spread. And now it distracted her from her feelings.

  “Map?” he asked. She pulled the area map out of the bundle and he cleared the papers off her worktable, tisking as he capped her ink jar. “My lady, you know better,” he sighed under his breath. She spread out the map and they brought their refilled teacups over to the worktable. He looked around, as if concerned about observers, before traced a route with his finger from the northern edge of the map, along a series of streams, and tapped the area between Terfield and Boehm.

  Playing along with his excess caution, she pursed her lips, eyebrows raised, and nodded. “As my staff anticipated, General.”

  He tipped his head to the side, curious. “Indeed?”

  “It seemed a logical option, but there are others.” I can be just as obtuse as you can be, love, she silently reminded him.

  “True, and much depends on the other side, and on the weather.” He straightened up and drank some more. “A decent moderation would be nice, instead of drenching cold alternating with baking steam bath.”

  “From your lips to Godown’s ear, General,” she agreed. He smiled at her vehement tone. “With a quick freeze tonight, to kill the flies and biting gnats.” With that she set her cup aside and folded her arms, still looking at the map and considering his proposed route of march. “What artillery do you anticipate having, General?”

  “Nothing more than medium field guns. The council voted against any sieges. Their interest is the Frankonian army, not capturing the Bergenlands. In fact,” he met her eyes. “They are quite concerned about any possible changes in the Empire’s intentions toward the Bergenlands.”

  Now she was on safe ground. “The last word is that the Empire seeks to return to the status quo ante, with the Bergenlands as a neutral buffer and trading partner but not a possession or protectorate.” She quoted the latest report from Dominic Montoya, “His majesty Emperor Thomas, in his wisdom, has decided that the Empire’s interests will not be served by expansion at this juncture.”

  Relief suffused Lazlo’s features before he caught himself. “Ah, thank you for that confirmation, your grace. The council will be much relieved by the news.”

  She covered her sudden discomfort by putting her empty teacup away. Who are you serving Lazlo? You’re supposed to serve the Empire, but you sound as if you answer to the Sea Republicans. She returned to the map table, searching his face for some hint of an answer. All she found was intense interest in the problem at hand, and she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in what was becoming a habit.

  “Is there a problem, your grace?”

  Eyes still closed, she shook her head a little. “No, General, just thinking about artillery capacities and trying to recall what Javertt might have with him, since the Bergenlanders, if memory serves, favor fixed defensive weapons.”

  “I doubt he’ll have much that is larger than, oh, thirty kilos.” Her eyes snapped open and her jaw dropped before she closed it with a snap, horrified. They’d planned on the Frankonians having nothing larger than ten kilos at best. Lazlo continued, still looking at the map, “And at that he’ll probably leave those near the cities, or with his reserve, especially if this rain continues. Assuming he brought the big guns at all,” Lazlo amended. “Officially, this is still assisting an ally and not an annexation, unlike Louvat.”

  “So it’s official, then, General?”

  He shrugged, the gray of his hair blending into the gray of his coat. “No, but by the time the heir comes of age, if he lives to the age of majority, the Frankonians will have been in control of Louvat long enough to claim the valley by de facto possession.” Lazlo started to yawn and hastily covered his mouth. “Excuse me, your grace. This is usually the time of the morning pause in the march, and I tend to nap.”

  “You are excused, General. I quite understand, and I apologize for not asking if you needed anything.”

  He ignored the offer. “No, thank you, your grace.” He removed some pages from his inside pocket. “This is a summary of our troop strength and estimated supply levels. You have the code key already. I need to be returning to the army and my guards before they start getting overly nervous.”

  She took the pages and slid them into her trouser pocket. “Overly nervous?”

  “They are perpetually nervous about my safety, for some reason. One reason why I left my guard outside your patrol range.” He smiled, as if making a joke. She failed to get it.

  Instead she made a note to extend the patrols farther, and be more careful. You can’t truly hide an army, not completely, but obviously we’ve been remiss in our security. “A good point, General. Thank you for coming in person. This clarifies many matters, and we will adjust our plans accordingly. Would it be an imposition if I sent a messenger with you, so you will have someone who is familiar with my plans and who can find me quickly if the need arises? I was thinking Lt. Esposito.”

  “He’ll do.”

  Elizabeth scrawled a quick message and sent the corporal on runner duty to find Esposito and have him, and a set of field kit, come to the command tent forthwith. She and Lazlo confirmed that their maps matched, and she briefed him on the terrain conditions downstream, both of them commiserating over the wet spring and early summer weather. Esposito arrived and she briefed him as well, before Lazlo sent the young officer to wait with his horse.

  As Lazlo collected his hat and prepared to depart, she added, “As soon as I have word of the Frankonian locations, I will see that it reaches you.” One eyebrow raised, she drew his attention back to the map and tapped a small town at the head of one of the streams flowing between Terfield and Boehm.

  “That will work, your grace,” he agreed. “And now I shall be on my way. Thank you for yo
ur hospitality,” and he bowed, taking her hand and kissing it. When he looked up, she read the love and hunger hidden behind his official manners, and felt her heart and body starting to ache yet again.

  Iron discipline kept her own feelings at bay. “You are most welcome, General, and Godown be with you on your journey.” She saw him off as far as the edge of the central camp, before returning to her tent to draw up a briefing for her staff officers.

  They were not pleased to have been left out of her discussion with General Destefani, but she rode over their complaints. “There was not time to call you all in. General Destefani needed to return to his command, and he left the critical information for us. As you surmised, we will meet between Terfield and Boehm. I’d like to get there first, if possible, although given the speed of the Sea Republic army’s advance, that might be impossible to do without killing our horses.”

  “I’m in favor of that, you grace. Not killing our horses, I mean,” Count Jones clarified. “I’m not in favor of crossing the border and risking his majesty’s anger, as well as provoking the Frankonians.”

  “We’re not moving yet, Gerald. I want you to reorganize so we can move, as quickly as possible without exhausting ourselves, when the time comes.”

  T.G. Peilov leaned back in his chair, balancing on one foot and two chair legs. “Your grace, not to be critical or disrespectful, but you seem awful certain that Javertt will cross the Whaar. He might decide to stop where he is and consolidate.”

  “But if he does that, then Laurence loses all pretense of this being a mission to assist an ally,” Tim Albinez protested. “Even he’s not that stupid.” He stopped, thinking. “Isn’t he?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Tim, the last time I crossed paths with Laurence V, I was twelve years old and he was nine or ten. I have no idea what he’s thinking, or what orders he’s given his generals. I would guess that they are not as limited as we are.” She rocked back and forth in her seat. “Someone refresh my memory: what sort of defenses did the Bergenlands have prior to their unification?”