At the Queen's Command

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Vlad smiled. “A highwayman?”

  “Quite possibly. He certainly would not be the confidant to a prince. All the forces that could be brought to bear would keep him in his place. Yes, he might enlist in the army and would fight well, but rise to rank even as Captain Strake has? This could not happen. And it could not happen because if it did happen—on merit—men like me, men of the aristocracy, would have to destroy him. His existence threatens the system which exalts us.”

  “It sounds as if you do not hold the nobility to be special.”

  “You mistake me. I think many are. I am, you are, and there are many more examples. But I wonder if a man like Mr. Woods would not be even more special given the opportunities we have had. He is a very smart man, but he does not read. How much more would he understand and be able to offer if he did?”

  The Count pointed at the model. “Do you not think, had Captain Strake not escaped, that Woods and his friends would have made an attempt to free him?”

  “They might have.”

  “Defying a direct order is behavior that would lead one to be declared an outlaw in Kesse-Saxeburg—unless, of course, they were successful. Then they would just never be put in a situation to disobey again.” The Count smiled. “This is not to say that Mystria is free of politics. It is just that the practitioners do not have centuries-long family traditions, memories, and vendettas to guide them.”

  Chandler appeared at the office door. “Prince Vladimir, I am to present Her Majesty’s Military Governor, John Lord Rivendell.”

  Rivendell! Vlad managed to cover his surprise at first, then Rivendell walked through the door. Whereas he had been expecting an older man, stout and balding, using a cane, a much younger man entered, clad in a uniform of red and gold satin, with black shoes and gold buckles, red knickers and waistcoat, white shirt and hose. The man carried a cane, but as a baton, not anything useful. His hat had two feathers, both impossibly long, and his shirt had a lace collar and cuffs.

  The man, long-faced and slender, save for a pouchy belly, paused just past the doorway. He swept his hat off in a grand gesture, bowing very low, his left foot pointed forward. He came back up, his face alight with a grin wide enough to almost touch his ears.

  He barked a quick laugh. “I told you they’d be surprised, Langford. Ain’t I right? Ain’t I? That’s three crowns you owe me.”

  Colonel Langford emerged from his shadow. “Yes, your lordship.”

  “Take it from the whist winnings, mind—no more cheating when you keep score. Love the game, can’t be bothered with the numbers, you know.” Rivendell turned back to the Prince. “You thought of my father when you heard the name. Everyone does. Died January, he did, God rest him. No worries—could have been worse. You could have had Smalling. See the look, Langford, they know how lucky they are having me here.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Rivendell tapped his stick on the floor. “Your troubles are over. I’ve read my father’s book, of course, been part of his command for years. I’m as good as he was. Even better, I dare say. Much of Villerupt, that was me when his gout had him down.”

  “You are most welcome, Lord Rivendell.”

  “Just call me Johnny. All the troops do, even after I flog ’em. Want them to know I care, don’t you know.”

  “I see.” The Prince forced a smile. “I should like to present Count Joachim von Metternin.”

  “Keeping with the enemy, now, are we?” Rivendell laughed aloud. “You keep an eye on him here, Langford, the eye you should have had on him at Planchain. That’s good. You gentlemen know my aide, Colonel Langford. Most useful to me. Bless me, what have we here?”

  Vlad moved aside. “This is du Malphias’ fortress. We built it from the maps and drawings I put in my report.”

  “Oh, very good. Capital.” He glanced back at Langford. “You knew of this?”

  “Yes, your lordship. I mentioned it to you.”

  “Did you? Very good. That’s your job, ain’t it? Ain’t it?”

  Vlad frowned. “Lord Rivendell…”

  “Johnny.”

  “Johnny, you did read the report I sent, didn’t you?”

  “Read it? No, no, no. No time for that.” Rivendell reached around and smacked Langford in the chest with his cane. “That’s what I have Simon here for, ain’t it? He read it. He told me everything I needed to know. We have the situation well in hand.”

  “You do?” Vlad glanced at von Metternin. The Kessian’s expression was completely blank. “Do you have any information about what sort of troops Tharyngia has sent to invest the fortress?”

  “This one, this one here?” Rivendell peered closely at it, then pulled back. “I think we have some documents, don’t we, or are they coming on the other ships?”

  “Other ships, my lord.”

  “Very good, you are right on top of things, Langford. Good to be home, ain’t it? We won’t tell your wife what you’ve gotten up to in Launston, will we? No, we won’t.” Rivendell smiled at the Prince. “All those troop things are coming on the other ships, along with the troops. We came in with supplies, don’t you know. Guns, powder, firestones.”

  Vlad sighed, and didn’t care that Rivendell saw him. “So you’re here to prepare things, but you’re not leading the expedition?”

  “Ain’t I? Ain’t I?” The Norillian noble frowned. “Langford, this is my command, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vlad forced another smile. “No offense intended, Johnny, but I would have thought they would have chosen someone more senior.”

  “To wipe out a Ryngian bugger in the middle of God-knows-where? No. There was some panic at Horse Guards when your report first came through. I must say, Highness, no need to gin up the panic by saying du Malphias is a necromancer who has a legion of the dead to oppose us. Why, everyone knows that can’t be true! Took some talking to make that point, of course, but cool heads prevailed, saw the truth of it.”

  Vlad clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid, Lord Rivendell, the reports were the truth. Du Malphias has at least a battalion of these pasmortes.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  Vlad hesitated. “I have. Men in my employ brought a captive to my estate.”

  “Do you still have it? Heard you were a keen one for studying the Ryngian way. Got it in bottles do you, all pieced out?”

  Vlad looked down. “No. My wurm ate it.”

  Rivendell laughed, holding his belly and doubling over. “Your wurm ate it. Oh, very good. Langford, remember that one. Have to tell it to the others when they arrive. His wurm ate it.”

  The Prince’s cheeks flushed. “That misfortune not withstanding, I do have witnesses. Their statements were in my report. I can bring them before you.”

  “Now, now, Highness, I don’t blame you for being taken in by these rustics. They’re of inferior breeding, ain’t they? Lying is in their blood. They couldn’t explain why they ran from some scruffy Ryngians, so they made them into monsters. That you believe them goes to your heart, sir, and I commend you on it. But no need to worry now Johnny Rivendell is here.”

  He looked back at his aide. “That’s good, Langford, get that down for the book.”

  “Book?”

  “Yes, Highness, I’ll write one just as my father did, once we deal with this fort of yours.” He lowered his voice. “But you are not alone in your concerns. Some at Horse Guards thought I might want an advisor. Richard Ventnor, Duke Deathridge, is following with the troops. And his mistress, right pretty one, she. His niece, too, but don’t let that get around.”

  Vlad blinked. “His niece?”

  “Oh, ain’t like that at all, Highness.” Rivendell smirked. “Niece by law, not blood. Catherine Strake, she’s what keeps him warm all through the night.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  May 13, 1764

  Government House, Temperance

  Temperance Bay, Mystria<
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  "I believe, sir, you are mistaken.”

  Lord Rivendell turned toward the doorway, the wild smile still wide. “No, I ain’t.”

  Owen glanced at Chandler, who withdrew, and stepped into the room. “The woman to whom you refer is my wife. I believe you are mistaken, sir.”

  Langford, who had blanched when he saw Owen’s face, interposed himself between the soldier and Lord Rivendell. “So good to see you again, Captain Strake.”

  Owen spitted him with a stare. “Unless you are going to act for Lord Rivendell in a matter of honor, Colonel, I suggest you give ground.”

  Count von Metternin tugged off one of his gloves and proffered it. “If you require a second, Captain, it would be my honor to attend you.”

  Owen reached for the glove.

  Rivendell’s smile evaporated. “Could be I was mistaken, sir. Could be. The voyage, you see, takes its toll. That’s right, Langford, ain’t it? Ain’t it?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Langford nodded enthusiastically. “Wasn’t Deathridge’s whore some Countess from Alandaluce? Dark hair, blue eyes, fiery temper, big woman.”

  “I do believe you are right, sir.” Rivendell bowed in Owen’s direction. “My apologies, sir, profound and sincere.”

  Owen let his hand drop. “Accepted. The voyage, I understand.”

  As Rivendell responded, his mood entirely changed and ice trickled down Owen’s spine. He’d never met the younger Rivendell, but he had heard stories. Rivendell liked to lead from the rear, hated being in reserve, followed orders when it suited him and appealed to his father for absolution when he caused disaster. He whored on Saturday, prayed on Sunday, and schemed through the rest of the week.

  Rivendell circled the model, forcing Prince Vlad and the Count to give way. Owen positioned himself at the fort’s northeast corner and did not budge as Rivendell approached. The other man slowed, then brought a hand up and tapped a finger against his teeth.

  “Formidable little slice of nowhere, ain’t it?” Rivendell nodded at the small fortress on the southwest side of the river. “First thing, first thing, I say, we take that. Walls give us cover; we can headquarters in the farm here… Something wrong, Captain?”

  “That’s where du Malphias wants you to attack. The whole area can be flooded. He’ll staff the fortress with pasmortes. Your headquarters would be within mortar range of the small fortress.”

  “And you know this how, Captain?”

  “I studied it while du Malphias’ prisoner.”

  Rivendell nodded. “Colonel Langford mentioned that. Heroic escape and all, after he had given you free rein to explore as you wished.”

  “I wasn’t his guest.” Owen’s head came up. “He tortured me.”

  “I’m sure he did, Captain, I’m sure he did. And then he let you escape so you would tell us a tale. He held you in no chains, he gave you a companion who aided and abetted your escape—though I share Langford’s supposition that neither the aide nor escape existed.”

  “I didn’t escape, sir?”

  “No, of course not. You were deposited in Temperance by Ryngian traders. Drugged, I suppose. You believe you escaped. Since no one can verify your story, I must assume it is false.”

  Owen’s face darkened. “You impugn my honor, sir.”

  “Oh Captain Strake, no need to be so sensitive. Not your fault you told the enemy everything under torture. I understand your mortification. Shame is leading you to dissemble about your experience, but you must ask yourself a question: Were you in my position, would you believe such fanciful tales without verification?”

  Prince Vlad drew a step closer. “I have offered to bring witnesses forward, Johnny.”

  Rivendell waved that suggestion away. “A Colonial and his faithful native companion. Proper fodder for hysterical novels, but not to be relied upon for military science. And I know something of military science. I wrote the book. Well, I am writing the book. Langford’s read it. Good stuff, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Langford smiled politely. “It covers everything learned from Villerupt and more.”

  “And more, you see.” Rivendell laughed happily. “This campaign shall complete my work. My crowning achievement, really, until the next one. Oh, that’s good. Write that down, Langford.”

  Vlad bowed his head. “Perhaps, Johnny, you would like to tell us how you read this model.”

  “Of course. Watch and learn, gentlemen. Even you, von Metternin. You’ll be thankful you’re not facing us again.” Rivendell’s cane came up, the tip pointed at the northern wall. “Formidable defenses here, impervious to cannon, much open ground and obstacles. The river, of course, has his southwest flank, but he has overextended with this fortress. That clearly is his weak spot. The lakefront with the cliffs are unassailable.”

  The Prince pointed toward the fortress’ heart. “And the internal defenses?”

  Rivendell shrugged. “No matter. These are Tharyngians, remember. Once we shell them, they’ll surrender. Always do.”

  Owen frowned. That isn’t how I remember Villerupt.

  Vlad nodded, gathering his hands behind his back. “And how many men did you bring to do this job?”

  “Very good question. Two regiments, two capital regiments.”

  The Prince sighed. “1800 men.”

  “No—one regiment of horse, so it’s more like 1350, provided they all make the passage, yes? Oh, and a company of cannon, must have those.” Rivendell smiled broadly. “Handpicked the units myself. Many school chums leading them, you see, all tip-top. It’s more than enough, I assure you.”

  “Your confidence pleases me.” Irritation rippled through Vlad’s voice, but his face betrayed none of it. “I should inform you that I have a regiment of local militia called up—companies from Summerland, Bounty, Temperance Bay, Blackwood, Oakland, and Queensland. In addition, Major Forest is bringing a company of Fairlee sharpshooters and we will supplement that with men drawn from the northland.”

  “Good, we’ll need groomsmen and the like, splendid planning.”

  “If you would allow me to finish, Johnny.”

  “By all means, Highness.” Rivendell began another unctuous bow, but he would have smashed his face into the model, so he aborted it. Instead he waved indulgently.

  “I also have a company of lumberjacks and engineers who will be able to supplement your strength.” The Prince turned and walked to a desk on which he had laid out a map of Anvil Lake. “As I noted in my report, the best strategy is to build our own fort here, at the Tillie outflow.”

  Rivendell smiled, not bothering to approach the map. “That might seem the thing, Highness, but defensive wars are never won. Hit him hard and hit him harder, that’s the way it’s done. By the first of June we’ll be there, and the first of July right back here.”

  Vlad looked over at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Quite.”

  The Prince’s eyes tightened. “Let me understand you, Johnny. You’ve not read my report. Langford read you bits, and you dismissed the pieces you didn’t like. You bring too few men, a third of them being cavalry which is worthless in the wilderness. You expect to make a six-week journey in two weeks, despite a complete lack of roads, lay siege to a fortress staffed with God alone knows how many and what, and be back here before August?”

  “Precisely.” Rivendell held his hands up. “Others thought it couldn’t be done, but I convinced them. With your help, Highness, we could be done sooner.”

  “Without Mystrian troops, you will fail completely.”

  “We might be a little late…”

  “Not fail getting there, fail to win the siege!” The Prince pounded his fist on the table. “You’re not listening at all.”

  Rivendell’s gaiety vanished. “Understand two things, Prince Vladimir. I am, by the will of the Parliament and with your aunt’s blessing, the Military Governor of all Mystria. In the realm of military affairs I outrank you, sir. Do not force me to see how far my power extends in other matters.”<
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  Vlad stared at him, open-mouthed, then slowly closed it.

  Rivendell thrust a finger at him. “Second, and most important, I will not be fighting Mystrian troops. I know very well their meager abilities and their complete lack of military discipline. I will not put them into the field because I cannot trust them. I would not disgrace the Tharyngians by exhibiting such troops before them.”

  Count von Metternin grasped Vlad by the elbow. “Perhaps, Highness, Lord Rivendell should be excused from further discussion. The voyage, after all—he shall be needing to rest.”

  The Prince slowly nodded. “Of course. When can we expect Duke Deathridge?”

  “Two weeks, three. Had a wager on the passage, you know.” Rivendell’s smile returned. “I do feel fatigued. I shall retire, then perhaps we shall dine together, Highness. Over wine and in good fellowship we can make things work.”

  “I am sure, my lord.”

  “That’s the spirit, ain’t it?” The man bowed again with great pomp, and withdrew with Langford trailing in his wake.

  The Prince waited until the door closed behind them, then checked. He opened it, peered out, and closed it again. “I fear, Count von Metternin, that it will take much more than medals to impress Johnny. How the two of you restrained yourselves from challenging him to a duel, I do not know. You, Count, with his remark about the enemy and you, Captain, with that slander about your wife.”

  Owen shook his head. “I have endured asses such as him all my life. My wife would have been disappointed if I had slain him over such a thing as gossip.”

  The Count’s eyes narrowed. “There are times, my friend, when these asses beg to be killed.”

  Vlad smiled. “Agreed.”

  Owen glanced down. “This may be true, but he is not the first to suggest untoward things out of spite and for sport.”

  Both men stared at him, questions on their faces but, mercifully, did not ask.

  Owen hung his head. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. This is neither the time nor the place.”

  “Please, Owen, I would welcome a distraction before I turn around and challenge that insolent fool to a duel.” The Prince turned a chair around from the desk. “Sit. Chandler! Whisky, now, a bottle and glasses.”