At the Queen's Command

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “It could be worse.”

  Nathaniel smiled. At the end of his sermon, Bishop Bumble announced that he would accompany Lord Rivendell and his army. This appeared to surprise his wife, who began crying and had to be comforted by Lilith and Mrs. Frost. Mrs. Frost appeared a bit weepy, too, but she put on a brave face when she said her good-byes to Caleb.

  “True enough, Major.” Justice Bone, who got himself elected Corporal in charge of the third squad, had picked Beecher as part of his squad. The other men split up his heavier gear, leaving him with a knife, his Bible, and his blanket pack. The squad would eat their way through his supplies first, then let him

  carry his empty canvas pack until they resupplied at Hattersburg.

  “I reckon I will head back and see to the first squad.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Forest had deployed his hundred and forty men well for traveling. A pair of men headed out in front of the column, a pair flanked it either side, and two followed it, rotating the duty through all the men in whichever squad had that particular assignment. Since the northerners knew the area better, they got the honor of guaranteeing the unit’s safety.

  The Bookworms had won the job of rearguard for the march from Temperance. As Nathaniel fell back, he greeted men and pet a number of the dogs traveling with the column. A few men had fitted their dogs with packs, but most just muzzled them. Dogs made sniffing out ambushes much easier, and the muzzles prevented a lot of barking from alerting the enemy to their location.

  The Bookworms appeared to be in high spirits by the time Nathaniel reached them. They clearly were enjoying their new clothes—they had outfitted themselves in buckskins head to toe, having bartered clothes from Norisle in some cases for soiled and ratty skins. Nathaniel was pretty sure none of them had killed any of the animals whose skins they’d pulled on. They walked with a swagger the long miles would burn out of them. He expected half would remain in Hattersburg, but it pleased him to have them along.

  Makepeace had dropped all the way back to school whichever Bookworm marched beside him. Nathaniel fell in beside Caleb, who traveled with his fellows despite being in charge of the fifth squad. Caleb, himself wearing a black felt, slouch-brimmed hat, gave Nathaniel a nod.

  “How does it look up front, Captain?”

  “Moving right along.” Nathaniel acknowledged the Bookworms with a nod. “How are your boys holding up?”

  “We’ve barely gotten a mile, Captain. They will be fine.”

  “Going’s easy now.”

  Caleb nodded. “Most all of them know it.”

  “Way I see it, you have two jobs, Lieutenant Frost.” A long line of men walking two abreast wound its way down the road. “First is to see to the fifth squad. Makepeace will see to your Bookworms.”

  “I understand.”

  “Second, don’t be preaching no glory and duty.” Nathaniel smiled. “Leave all the preaching to Mr. Beecher.”

  “I don’t believe I understand your point, Captain.”

  “Men will talk themselves into all manner of stupid things. See it mostly when they been drinking. But speechifying, that will make some men drunk. And glory-seeking is stupid. On this here long walk we will be wet, bug bit, snake bit, thorn-scratched, hot, cold, hungry, thirsty, sore, shot at, and just plain tired. A man what figgers he’s doing all that for glory, he’s a man who will run when he learns there ain’t no glory. Man who won’t run is one who looks on down inside and knows he’s doing this for himself and his kin, the ones he loves.”

  “My men won’t run.”

  “I will accept your word on that. Just soes you know that you need to treat them like men. Make ’em believe they can do it and they will. Tease them with a reward that don’t mean nothing, and they won’t.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “And you can get through this, Caleb.”

  The younger man smiled. “I know. Captain, I hope you won’t mind, but I did something for you, back in Temperance.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I know you didn’t get a chance to see Rachel before we marched. So I told my sister to tell her that you wished Rachel well.”

  Nathaniel nodded slowly. “You know you oughten not poke your nose into a man’s affairs.”

  “I know, but…”

  “And you know your sister ain’t going to cotton to delivering that message.”

  “Yes, but…”

  Nathaniel looked at him. “I appreciate it, Lieutenant Frost. Might be, as we go along, you could scratch down some words for me. You’ll be sending things back to Temperance from Hattersburg, most like.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “I would be obliged.” Nathaniel smiled easily. “And just to ease your mind, I did sit a spell with Rachel, making my good-byes.”

  Caleb stared at him, mouth open. “But Rufus’ Foxtails, they were guarding her. How could you sneak in to see her?”

  “I reckon that’s something for you to be thinking on for the nights the boys in them fox-caps is having sentry duty.” Nathaniel nodded and started working his way back up the line. “Or be happy about when we come to Fort Cuivre and we need me to take a peek inside.”

  By the end of the day the column made camp on the banks of the Benjamin River, several miles east of the Prince’s estate. Nathaniel had gone ahead with the Summerland boys to pick out exactly where they would camp. The eldest of them, Thomas, had been in logging camps for a few years, so he laid out where the privies would go, while Nathaniel placed sentries.

  Before darkness had fallen, Kamiskwa appeared from the river along with twenty Shedashee braves. Half were Altashee, the other half Lanatashee. They’d brought down the river large war canoes suitable for carrying thirty men each.

  Nathaniel looked the Shedashee party over. “That’s a powerful lot of canoes.”

  “The Lanatashee made two more than we did, though ours are better.”

  “I reckon. None of the other Confederation tribes sent warriors?”

  Kamiskwa shook his head. “They see this as a white-man’s war.”

  “Probably wise to stay out of it.” Nathaniel sighed. “Seven Nations?”

  “They’ve heard the Ryngians are dealing with wendigo. Only the Ungarakii are crazy enough to act for them.”

  “Better only one tribe than all seven.”

  Nathaniel took Kamiskwa around through the camp, introducing him to the various officers. Most of the men had met Shedashee before and, despite the fact that the men of Fairlee had fought a couple wars against the Chokashee and Ishannakii, they mostly accepted the Twilight People. Their dogs sniffed and yelped, as they had been trained, but their owners held them back.

  Major Forest greeted Kamiskwa warmly and invited him to dine at the Major’s tent along with the unit’s captains and lieutenants. Forest’s enthusiastic acceptance of the Shedashee silenced most protests, save those from the Foxtails. Rufus, who had been elected as their Corporal, bristled at serving under Caleb and Nathaniel, so nothing would make him happy.

  Nothing shy of my dying. Nathaniel laughed. So they is just going to go on being disappointed.

  After supper the Shedashee made their own camp on the far side of the river. It gave the dogs a chance to settle down and saved Forest from having to post a guard across the water. Forest set his sentries up in units of six, with a pair of men chosen from various companies. He posted them far enough away from the main camp that discovering a sentry post would not put an enemy on top of his force. Two sentries would be awake at all times at each post. If they heard anything, they would wake others who would alert the main camp.

  A runner found Nathaniel and asked him to report to Major Forest. He found Benjamin Beecher with the Major. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “Mr. Beecher has a problem. I cannot seem to make him understand our situation.”

  Nathaniel nodded to the minister. “Reverend.”

  “With all due respect, Major Forest, I’m not certain
Captain Woods can help. He never attends church and is, well, how can I say this? He is a notorious fornicator.”

  Nathaniel eased his shoulders back and his spine slowly popped. “That sounds like something bad, Mr. Beecher.”

  “It is, and you know it.”

  “I reckon that if you’re gonna damn me for that, there’s more than half the men here would be in the same boat.”

  Major Forest held up his good hand. “That is immaterial to the problem at hand. Mr. Beecher, if you will.”

  “Yes, Major.” Beecher frowned mightily, his expression mocked by the face of the raccoon staring down from his cap. “These Twilight People are unbaptized. We cannot have the godless on this expedition.”

  “Would you be caring to make sense, Mr. Beecher?”

  Beecher clasped his hands behind his back. “The Tharyngians have rejected our God. They are our enemies. The Shedashee have not embraced our God. It is the same in His eyes.”

  “Well now, Mr. Beecher, being as how I am a notorious fornicator and hain’t never stepped into a church where you was able to see me, ain’t I just as bad as any Ryngian?”

  “You, I have been told, were baptized. Your foot has been set on the road to redemption. Those men in our company who have not been baptized will be baptized tomorrow morning, right here, in the river. I should like the Shedashee to join them.”

  “Iffen they don’t, they’s enemies?”

  Beecher looked skyward. “It’s God’s judgment, not mine.”

  Nathaniel could see where Beecher was headed, and it wasn’t good. “Well, I don’t reckon you need to be crying your eyes out over all this. The Altashee live in the village of Saint Luke.”

  The minister blinked. “They do?”

  “I ain’t lying. Their Chief Msitazi declared it so after welcoming missionaries. Your fears is just silly.”

  “I didn’t know.” Beecher frowned. “Why didn’t you just tell me this?”

  “Why did you go and call me a fornicator?” Nathaniel looked at him hard. “Some folks don’t take kindly to be being judged.”

  The man glanced down. “I see. I beg your pardon, Captain Woods.”

  “Forgiven and forgotten. But now don’t go a-mentioning baptism to the Twilight People. They’s strong in their faith, but silent about it. Probably over there in a prayer circle now.”

  Beecher turned and looked over across the river. “God bless them.”

  “I reckon he has.” Nathaniel nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m thinking I could use some saving, and I’ll be over there getting it. Sir.”

  Forest held his hand up. “Wait, Captain. That’s all, Mr. Beecher.”

  The preacher withdrew.

  Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Major?”

  “There might be a problem when Beecher finds out you’ve lied.”

  “From who? The Shedashee?” Nathaniel shook his head. “I reckon they’ve had more experience dealing with men of the cloth trying to save them than all the rest of us combined. I don’t expect they’ll have a problem. And if Beecher does, well, I hear tell the Good Lord done spent forty days and forty nights wandering the wilderness. Mr. Beecher might find hisself doing the same thing, doing everyone some right powerful good.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  May 31, 1764

  Government house, Temperance

  Temperance Bay, Mystria

  "You’re up very early, my lord.” Prince Vlad greeted Count von Metternin happily. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Almost none.” The Count bowed his head. He wore his complete uniform, including spurs and a cavalry saber. The boots had been polished until they glowed, the same with the gold buttons and the sword’s silver scabbard. He wore white leather gloves, white breeches, and a waistcoat that matched the gold facings on his light blue coat. He’d even added his sash with medals. “And, yes, I know I look as ridiculous as you do.”

  The Prince laughed. “Well, you see, these are the clothes I wore on the jeopard expedition. A gift from Msitazi.” The buckskin shirt, with fringed sleeves, had been decorated with a beadwork wurm curled over his heart. The red loincloth had a similar design woven in black, and the leather leggings repeated the design at the shin. “They were auspicious on the hunt.”

  “One can never have too much luck at war.” Von Metternin nodded. “I am sorry to come to you so early…”

  “No matter, I am awaiting Duke Deathridge.”

  “Very good. There is a disciplinary matter which I feel must be referred to you. An individual was caught leaving…”

  “A deserter?” Vlad shook his head. “I should have thought…”

  “Please, Highness.” The Count walked back to the door and ushered in a slender young man in homespun with a slouch-brimmed hat. The youth looked at his feet, the brim hiding his face. The Count nodded and exited, closing the door behind himself.

  Vlad approached the deserter. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The deserter shook his head. Tears dappled the floor.

  The Prince sighed. “There is no shame in being afraid, you know. I will admit to being afraid myself, but we have duty to do, and we will do it.”

  The deserter looked up and Vlad caught the flash of familiar eyes. He reached out and tugged off the hat. “Gisella!”

  She nodded, her lips pressed flat together. She’d raggedly chopped off her hair and had smudged her face with soot. Tears had worn tracks through it.

  Vlad cast the hat aside and gathered her into his arms. “You weren’t deserting—you were coming with us?”

  She nodded, sniffing.

  He stroked her hair and cupped the back of her neck. “What were you thinking?”

  “I do not want to lose you.”

  Vlad laughed. “You have no fear of that, my darling.” He kissed the crown of her head, and hugged her more tightly. “I am no military man. I have no place in battle.”

  “But you will bring your wurm on the expedition.”

  “Only because I must.” His hands on her shoulders, he eased her back. “Most of our men have never been to war. Having the wurm come along will give them heart. More importantly, Mugwump is stronger than any five teams of oxen. He will be invaluable getting us there.”

  “You must promise me: no heroics.”

  He studied her face, her resolution, then slowly shook his head. “I cannot make that promise.”

  “You must, or with God as my witness, I shall join your army. Joachim caught me because he suspected, but he will not find me again. If I do not march today, I go tomorrow, or the next day. I will ship with your supplies to this Hattersburg. Your army will have a long tail. I will travel unseen.”

  There was no denying the validity of her claim. Forty Norillian women— wives of officers and enlisted men—had sailed with their husbands. Another twenty Mystrian had fallen in with them, all intent on following their men to war. Almost twice as many women, a few with children in tow, had joined the Mystrian militia units. In addition to them would come tinkers and other tradesmen, tailors, seamstresses, and laundresses to tend to the soldiers needs. Teamsters and skinners along with a ragged gaggle of other people would follow all of them.

  “Princess Gisella, I cannot promise I will remain constantly out of harm’s way. I do not know the enemy’s mind. I do not know God’s mind. I could as easily be struck by lightning as I could a ball fired from ambush. Such a fate would be a matter of chance. But I also cannot tell you that if a man is wounded, I will not run to help him. Those decisions are made not with the mind, but the heart. While I promise you I shall always think, I do not believe you wish me to close my heart.”

  She brushed a lock of brown hair out of his eyes. “No, I would not have that.”

  He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “I need you to promise me that you shall remain here. I need you, though you are not yet my wife, to act bravely and give others courage. You and Mrs. Frost, Mrs. Bumble, Owen’s wife: you will be the heart of Temperance. Others
will look to you for hope. They will need you as much as I do.”

  Gisella nodded, then pulled her hands back over her head. “I shall be quite the sight with my hair so short.”

  “No. You will tell them you cut a lock for me. You wished it to be the most beautiful lock, and found none suitable until the last.”

  She glanced up at him. “You have the soul of a poet, my love.”

  “No.” He turned from her and pulled a small pair of thread snips from his desk. He handed them to her. “Take a lock of my hair, please.”

  She slipped behind him and snipped one. Then she ran her arms around his middle and hugged him fiercely. “You will come back to me, Vladimir, a hero, I am certain.”

  He turned within her arms and kissed her. “I will count the days, the hours, the seconds. I love you, Gisella. Nothing will stop me coming back.”

  Vlad finished sealing the second of two letters as Chandler showed Duke Deathridge into the office. He rose and smiled. “Good to see you this morning, Duke Deathridge.”

  “And you, Highness. And when it is just us, please, call me Dick. So much easier, don’t you think?”

  “Quite.” He handed the man the two letters. “One to my father and one for my aunt. The letter to my father is just our normal correspondence. The letter to my aunt is requesting immediate permission to marry Princess Gisella.”

  Deathridge raised an eyebrow. “She’s not…?”

  “No.” Vlad shook his head. “Despite our affection and attraction, neither of us wished to spark an international incident by proceeding without sanction.”

  “Very wise, Highness.” Deathridge tucked the letters inside his frock coat. “I shall see these are delivered immediately upon my landing.”

  The prince’s eyes tightened. “You’re determined to go, then?”

  “I really have no choice. I would much prefer to go with you. Since Rivendell will most likely not fight your troops, you should use them to build the fort at the Tillie outflow. He can retreat to it and winter there. I will argue in Parliament that we need more troops to smash the Tharyngians. And you can gather proof of these pasmortes which even the most obstinate minister will have to recognize.”