Rivendell sulked for a while, then returned to high spirits when reunited with his school chums from the cavalry. The fact that their horses had not yet arrived did not seem to cause him much concern. Nor did the more distressing fact that the supplies that were supposed to be in Hattersburg had not made it in the promised quantities. The cavalry had done its best to eat their way through much of what had arrived—save for the horse fodder, which had come upriver in abundance.
The evening of the ninth consisted of two basic operations. The troopers—Mystrians and Norillians—reported to the warehouses to draw rations. By Lord Rivendell’s order, rice, beans, and other staples were doled out by a curious formula by which each Mystrian was only counted as two-thirds of a person. His rationale had been that since official ration tallies were set for Norillian fighting men, and that the Mystrians were not of that caliber, they should not need a full ration. This rationale also got applied to supplies of brimstone and shot, prompting one Mystrian to wonder how it was that his musket would be less hungry, being as how it was bigger than the cavalry carbines.
The Mystrians did not complain too loudly, however. Hattersburgians learned of the injustice and opened their larders to their fellow citizens. Word circulated quietly, along with a guarantee by Prince Vlad in which he indemnified all Mystrians for the supplies they gave the troops. He even sent an order down-river with the Bookworms to send more supplies to Hattersburg to cover the donations.
The supply barges had been able to bring the dozen light artillery pieces, their powder, and shot up to Hattersburg, but the horse teams needed to haul them still had not made it. Local farmers, again with an agreement through the Prince, supplied teams of oxen to drag the guns along. Given the painfully slow pace of the column, the oxen’s lack of speed was not an issue.
While the troopers collected their meager rations, Lord Rivendell invested Gates’ Tavern and demanded a feast to celebrate his reunion with the cavalry. Two steers and a dozen chickens, a cask of whisky and a tun of ale, three dozen loaves of bread and a dozen puddings laden with sugar—sugar drawn from the warehouse before rations were issued—went into the meal. As an afterthought the Prince and Count were invited to join the festivities.
Music, laughter, and cheers lasted late into the night.
Owen didn’t mind not having been included. Seth Plant had found him shortly after his arrival. He’d filled Owen in on the details of what had happened when Nathaniel and the others had come through two weeks earlier. He’d also managed to snag two letters that had come upstream from Temperance and presented them to Owen.
“Thought these should get to you first thing.”
Owen thanked him and turned the first over. It had been addressed in a clean, feminine hand. Catherine. He read it quickly, the scent of her perfume rising from the page.
She told him she missed him terribly. She felt so horribly alone since his uncle had departed—leaving his loathsome servant behind to help her—but Mrs. Frost had come to the rescue, having all but adopted her. Catherine said that her sewing skills had progressed admirably and that she had been appointed, along with Mrs. Langford, to the Citizen’s Committee for the Homecoming of the troops. All the women were planning many festivities and she could not wait for his return because she had wonderful news.
He had no idea what she meant, and she promised more details in her next missive. He glanced at the date, which was 15 June, almost a month previous.
The second letter had also been addressed in a feminine hand. It bore a faint resemblance to Bethany’s writing. He opened it. Hettie Frost had written it on 21 June.
Dear Captain Strake,
Two days ago your wife had quite a fright. One of the Twilight People spied in the window of her room. Your wife screamed and fainted, but Rachel Warren heard and ran to her aid. She got your wife into bed and we, the women of Temperance, have been seeing to her care.
I am writing you to let you know that she is well, if a bit weak. She promises to write you when she is able. She says you should not worry about her, that she will be fine, and should not cause you the least bit of concern.
We all hope you are doing well and we look forward to your homecoming as soon as the Good Lord permits.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Archibald Frost
“Seth, no other letters?”
“Just orders to the cavalry and some things to local folks.”
“How often have supplies come in?”
“Some here and there. Bargers say normal traffic coming in and out of Margaretstown. Horses is waiting on a boat to bring them up from Temperance.”
“Why didn’t they just use the Bellepheron?”
“Heard tell she got loose of her moorings in the bay. Ran aground.”
Tharyngian agents or… Owen shook his head. His uncle wouldn’t have engineered the ship running aground. It was unnecessary. Rivendell already had insufficient troops and the cavalry were the least of them. In fact, since the Fortress of Death would be especially difficult for the cavalry to attack, having them on foot made them better.
Or is he hoping that Rivendell will see the impossibility of the attack and just build Fort Hope? Any other commander might have done that, but Rivendell? His grasp on reality was tenuous at best. If he went ahead with the attack, using dismounted cavalry as infantry, he would kill off the scions of many noble houses. This would poison their blood against Rivendell. The lack of horses did play to the outcome his uncle desired, no matter what Rivendell decided.
“Seth, I will have two letters to head back in the morning. Will you see to it they get to Temperance?”
The man nodded. “Be needing some time to myself after all the doings here. Glad to, Captain.”
“Thank you.” Owen sighed. “First, I have to talk to the Prince. He needs to know what’s been going on. Then, my friend, we have to pray he can fix it.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
July 24, 1764
Fort Cuivre
Lac Verleau, New Tharyngia
Nathaniel handed Major Forest back his spyglass. “I reckon that is near the damnedest thing I have ever seen.”
“It is, and us with a hundred and then some men and no cannon to destroy it.”
“Least ways we got here.” Nathaniel smiled. “Mayhap that’ll have been the toughest part of it all.”
Forest snapped the spyglass shut. “It will be as nothing to what comes. Tough as that journey was, cracking this nut will be tougher.”
“Has the looks of a jeopard lair to it, does Fort Cuivre.”
The Tharyngians had built Fort Cuivre on Lac Verleau’s eastern shore, at the outflow of the Argent River. The river was two hundred yards wide at the outlet, and flowed strongly as well as deep. The fort’s wharves had two corvettes and numerous canoes moored there. To the west, the lake’s blue-green waters stretched on as far as the eye could see.
The fort itself had been dug down into a small hill. The hill’s west and south sides had been faced in stone. A tall palisade wall protected the fort on the north, east, and south side. The west remained open toward the wharves, but had a small stone wall with two cannon placements and two other stations where small swivel-guns had been rigged. The guns had been set up to discourage Shedashee raids.
The fort itself ran fifty yards on a side, with walls rising on average a dozen feet above the hilltop. A minimal amount of work had been done to prepare glacises to the north and east. Trees had been cleared for approximately sixty yards around the fort. Undergrowth remained save to the north where some fields had been plowed. This far north, the maize crop was barely waist-high compared to being over a man’s head down south in Bounty.
Fort Cuivre boasted a dozen more cannon neatly split into three groups of four on the north, east, and south walls. Towers at the corners gave lookouts good vantage points, but the men on duty appeared to be bored. A dozen men who were off duty, and not assigned to farming or gathering wood, spent their time fishing. When one of them lande
d a big salmon, a general cheer went up. The fisherman cleaned it, kindled a fire and, in short order, was parceling out steaming filets to his friends.
To prevent a ship of the line getting into the lake, a smaller stone tower had been built on the southern bank. That put it on ground claimed by Norisle. A heavy chain stretched between the two buildings. Two Ryngian soldiers stood guard in the small tower and Nathaniel guessed two more were crowded in below. Around the tower the woods had been chopped back only twenty yards and no one had made an attempt at clearing brush.
Forest rubbed at his eyes. “The troops are wearing blue coats, green facings with gold trim. They’re part of the Silicium Regiment, probably Second battalion. They outnumber us by a company.”
“I reckon we can even them odds.”
“No doubt about it.” Forest pointed with his hook. “The cannon can fire into the woods all around, but muskets can barely reach. The fort’s cannon can cover the small tower, but musket-fire cannot. The small tower is ours when we want it, but taking it gives us no advantage.”
“I reckon they might want to recover it.”
“They might, but a commander with half a brain would just knock the tower down, and us in it. Set out pickets. Let them know I want no shots fired.”
“I’ll be picking men with sharp knives.”
“Good, and it will be a cold camp. Can’t afford fires alerting the Ryngians. If we are to take that fort, our only ally will be surprise.”
They studied the Ryngians for a full day and learned some useful facts. The tower garrison consisted of six soldiers. To change the garrison, six men paddled a canoe across the river at dawn and the garrison hopped into it and paddled back. The exchange took ten minutes at a landing a mere twenty yards from the woods. During the exchange the tower remained unoccupied.
Fort Cuivre sent out hunting parties and wood-gathering parties several times a day, beginning at dawn. The hunters carried muskets, but the soldiers sent to gather firewood only carried axes. Both groups disappeared into the forest in the course of executing their duties.
At noon on the twenty-fifth, Forest gathered his officers together. “Fort Cuivre’s garrison probably has three men for every two of us. Tomorrow morning we’ll capture a dozen of them. From them we’ll learn more about the garrison’s condition. They look a bit scrawny, but no less so than we.”
Nathaniel smiled. He’d always been on the lean side, but Makepeace had complained he could see his own ribs. Most everyone else had clothing hanging looser on them. Benjamin Beecher had become positively skeletal. He sat quietly and looked as if he’d stop breathing at any time.
“Now we really can’t lay a proper siege to the fort because of those corvettes. They can sail on down, get supplies, and come back. There’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
Thomas Hill—one of the Summerland boys—raised a hand. “Me and some of the others sailed a mite. Get us aboard one and we can deal with the other.”
“Getting your ship out of the docks before the landward cannons and the other corvette sink it? I would not want to risk your life on that.” Forest frowned. “Unless the Ryngian commander is a complete idiot, he has no reason to come out and engage us. He has the fort and we have to come take it.”
Caleb raised a hand. “Permission to speak, Major.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
Caleb stood, picking up a stick. “What if we give him a reason?”
Forest nodded. “How would we do this?”
Caleb drew a diagram in the dirt. “Fact is, we have one advantage. All of our men are sharpshooters. Over half of us have rifles. They’ve left us plenty of cover to shoot from. We could, fairly easily, snipe sentries and gunners.”
“Interesting, but he can just keep his people under cover.”
“The point, Major, is that it’s like the Battle of Ajiancoeur, when King Henry defeated the best of the Ryngian knights. His Kyr longbowmen peppered the Ryngians at long range. That made them angry, so they had to come out. If they don’t come after us, more of them will die.”
“I suspect, Caleb, the Ryngian commander has read many of the same histories as you. He may have learned from them.” Forest nodded kindly. “Still, this idea might work.”
Benjamin Beecher roused himself. “You cannot possibly consider that strategy, Major!”
Confusion flashed over Forest’s face. “You have an opinion, Reverend Beecher?”
“That is not how warfare is waged, sir.” Beecher climbed unsteadily to his feet, one of his holed-hose slipping down to mid-calf. “I may be Mystrian, but I have been to Norisle. There are rules to warfare, proper rules and proper conduct. You should form up and offer the Ryngians proper combat.”
Nathaniel snorted. “And what if he ain’t about accepting our invitation?”
Caleb shook his head. “What if he declines it by blasting us with his cannons?”
“Well, then, he would be in violation of the rules. The moral victory would be ours.”
Makepeace laughed. “I don’t reckon that would stop us from bleeding.”
“Gentlemen, please, Reverend Beecher’s argument deserves respect.” Major Forest took the stick from his nephew. “Many of you have killed other men, but not in cold blood. And that’s what it will be. You’ll be laying in wait, timing that sentry as he walks his watch. You’ll see him come to the end, pause and turn. Right there, right where he slows down, you’ll make his wife a widow, his babies orphans. Chances are he’s just hungry, lonely, and scared—and would have surrendered given the chance. Are you ready to murder men who would rather be an ocean away?”
A chill ran up Nathaniel’s spine. He’d killed his share. Hell, I’ve killed enough to account for all the Bookworms and double for Beecher. Damned few were the ones he’d regretted. All the men he’d killed needed killing, but some of them only needed it a little bit. If someone had talked sense into them, they might be on the green side of grass even today.
What surprised Nathaniel was that while Caleb had been speaking, he’d been looking at the problem the way Prince Vlad would have. It was all a matter of angles and powder, elevation and wind. Nathaniel even figured that wounding a man was better than killing him, since there wasn’t quite anything like a grown man shrieking to take the steel out of other men’s spines.
He hadn’t been thinking about morality. Sure, the men were men, but they were men whose existence threatened his. The connection might be slender, but if the Ryngians had their way, they’d sweep all Mystrians off the continent. What he was doing might have been pre-emptive, but there wasn’t any denying the Ryngian threat.
Nathaniel stood. “Well now, Major, you done given me something to be thinking on for a bit.”
“Good. I don’t want any men who aren’t willing to think, and who aren’t willing to take responsibility for their actions.” Major Forest nodded slowly. “I want you all to think about it. We’ll reconvene at dusk but, in the meantime, get crews together to make canoes to get us across that river.”
Kamiskwa, the Altashee, and Lanatashee worked with the Mystrians to shape canoes. The Shedashee had lost four warriors, two from each tribe. In entering Seven Nations territory, Kamiskwa had met with representatives of the Waruntokii, whose land they were moving through. The Waruntokii were wary of du Malphias because of his close association with the Ungarakii. The Waruntokii would do nothing to help the Rangers, and demanded four hostages against any hostilities by the Rangers on the Waruntokii.
As evening fell they completed five large war canoes that could carry ten men each. The plan was to move downriver, out of site of Fort Cuivre, and string a line across. In an hour or two they could ferry their complete force north.
Major Forest studied the faces of his officers as they met in a hollow. A few logs burned in a fire pit, casting red illumination that made everyone appear as if dwelling in Hell. “Your thoughts, gentlemen?”
Makepeace nodded. “I done me some cogitating and praying, more one than the other, truth
be told. Begging the Reverend’s pardon, but seems to me that the Good Lord done used a lot of trickery in war in the Good Book. Now iffen He wanted to give one of us a horn what would bring down the walls of that there fort, we’d be counting it a miracle, nothing more be said. Just because a bunch of men put laws to warfare don’t go amending God’s Laws. I reckon as long as we treat honorable what surrenders, I’m willing to drop those as don’t.”
Beecher blinked several times. “But, gentlemen, this will put your immortal souls in jeopardy.”
Rufus Branch spat into the fire. “Ain’t like it ain’t there already. I’ll kill those opposing me. If they’re gonna surrender, best do it right quick, or I’ll kill them, too.”
Nathaniel stood and ran a hand across his jaw. “I reckon you all ’spect me to be agreeing with Makepeace. I ain’t saying I don’t. I also ain’t saying Reverend Beecher don’t have a point. Seems to me that iffen we all agree on shooting all the Ryngians we can, we still got us a problem. As the Major said, ain’t no reason the Ryngians cain’t all just stay hunkered down. And, see, here’s where Caleb and Reverend Beecher has their points.”
He got a stick and redrew the fort. “Now iffen they keep their heads down, they cain’t see what we is doing. That works to our advantage. And if they’s angry with us, they ain’t gonna be thinking straight if they do see something. And they is Ryngians, so they is going to be worried about their honor. Iffen we did form up, they might come out after us, accepting that battle when they see how pitiful we is.”
Major Forest watched him, a smile fighting its way onto his face. “You have something in mind, Captain Woods?”
“I do, sir. Glimmerings, anyway. I reckon that in three days we can have them Ryngians so confused they ain’t got no idea what’s happening. I reckon that’s when surrendering will sound good. One quick trick, and that fort will be ours.”
At the Queen's Command Page 46
