Chapter Fifty-Nine
July 24, 1764
Fort Cuivre
Lac Verleau, New Tharyngia
N athaniel 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 landed 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 al
l 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."
"I await your plan, Captain Woods." Forest chuckled. "Let's hope your trick saves a lot of blood."
Beecher shook his head. "Duplicity is not honorable! I forbid this."
Forest's expression tightened. "You need to understand two things, Mr. Beecher. The first is that you are here as a courtesy to Bishop Bumble. Your duties consist of providing spiritual comfort. Second, war itself is not honorable. There is no honor in slaughtering men. Moral right, perhaps, especially when your family and your freedom are under attack, but never honor. Dying with honor is a myth promulgated to ease the grief of survivors, nothing more."
Beecher stiffened. "I shall write the Bishop about this."
"Please do. Do it now, in fact." Forest nodded to the cleric. "My men and I have a war to plan."
Chapter Sixty
July 25, 1764
On the Shores of Anvil Lake, Mystria
T hough it remained high summer and Prince Vlad had pulled a blanket around himself, he could not shake the chill. The Mystrian contingent arrived at Anvil Lake by mid-morning. The whole of the space in which he had considered putting Fort Hope had already been cleared. Stumps had been pulled, holes filled, and ground leveled. The lumber had been trimmed and stacked neatly, waiting for construction.
The Tharyngians had even supplied a sign proclaiming the site to be Fort Hope. Prince Vlad had not confided that name to but a handful and the enemy already knew it. The Ryngian's skill at ferreting out information impressed the Prince.
And it explains why we faced so little harassment on the way here.
Clearing the site of Fort Hope was not the lone improvement the Ryngians had supplied. They cut a fifteen-foot-wide road to the southwest, presumably running all the way past the Roaring River outlet and right up to the Fortress of Death. Count von Metternin and Owen had already traveled a ways upon it and returned to report that excess wood had been split into firewood and stacked for their use.
Vlad had immediately sent runners back to fetch Lord Rivendell. He dispatched work parties to clear campsites well away from the foundation of Fort Hope. While it would have been easier to let the men set up camp there, it was also possible that du Malphias had positioned mortar emplacements in the woods and had them angled to drop explosives on the cleared ground. Vlad organized hunting parties to scour the hills looking for those sites and set pickets out along the road.
He wished he had Nathaniel or Kamiskwa on site. Either of them could have told him how long ago the work had been done. He was guessing, given that bare shoots were the only undergrowth at Fort Hope, that the ground had been prepared two weeks previously. He also suspected the road had been cut at fifteen feet to mock their meager eight-foot effort.
The Prince left Mugwump to Baker's care and found Owen. "Why would he do this?"
Owen frowned. "Winter slowed the pasmortes down. All this work means they are revitalized. I would bet that the winter's dead from Kebeton City never made it into the ground. He will have the Platine Regiment, and whatever dead he could ship west."
Count von Metternin joined them. "This is a foul business. The road extends fifty miles and is twice as wide as ours. In two weeks he has cut what it would have taken us a month and cleared this space. When we come to the Roaring River, I am certain there will be a bridge."
Lord Rivendell and Colonel Langford rode up. Rivendell surveyed the area and smiled broadly. "Bravo, Highness. This is splendid. Splendid. Your men have outdone yourselves."
"Not our work, Lord Rivendell." The Prince nodded toward the sign. "Du Malphias did this. He even cut us a lovely path to his domain."
"Doubtless thinking I will be merciful in my gratitude. Excellent. A broad boulevard-that's their word, ain't it-for our victory march. Even Harry's men won't be too sad to march it."
"I believe you are missing my point."
"Trying to think like a soldier, are you, Highness? Leave that to the professionals." Rivendell stood in his stirrups and looked at the road. "He's not the sort to ambush us."
Vlad frowned. "But he did send the Ungarakii to attack you on the road."
"He's not responsible for the actions of his heathen allies, Highness. They don't understand our ways of war. But we showed them." Rivendell turned to his aide. "Make a note of that, Langford. Du Malphias showed me the honor due for
my actions at Villerupt. We'll have an entire chapter about such honor in my book."
"Yes, sir."
"Canoe approaching, under a white flag."
The Mystrian sentry's shout brought all eyes to the shore. A birch-bark canoe glided over placid water reflecting the blue sky and high clouds. A soldier in the Platine Regiment's uniform held a white flag aloft, while two civilians provided propulsion. Sentries ran knee-deep to help drag the boat ashore, but only the soldier alighted.
He marched stiffly up the beach, then saluted. "I am Major Lebouf. Do I have the honor of addressing Prince Vladimir?"
"You do."
Rivendell rode forward. "I am the commander of this expedition. Anything you have to say you should address to me."
The Major smiled politely. "And you would be Lord Rivendell?"
"I would."
"Then my master has a special greeting for you. He says he looks forward to meeting you face to face, since the last time you met, he only saw your back."
Rivendell blanched, then lashed out with his riding crop. He caught Langford across the chest. "Do not write that down, you idiot."
Langford snapped the journal shut.
Prince Vlad waved the sentries back to their posts while they could still contain their mirth. "You have a message, Major?"
"Yes. The Esteemed Laureate Guy du Malphias requests the pleasure of your company, under a white flag, for dinner this evening. If you proceed up the road for ten miles, you will find the pavilion he has created. He asks that you join him by seven. He said he would be pleased if you brought Lord Rivendell, Colonels Langford, Thornbury, and Exeter with you. With apologies, he did not include Count von Metternin."
"I see."
Rivendell swept off his hat. "Please convey to your master that we accept his invitations. We shall be pleased to discuss terms of surrender as well."
The Major smiled. "He has anticipated you, sir. He said he would decline your kind offer, as he is not prepared to accept your surrender yet."
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