At the Queen_s command cc-1

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Nathaniel grabbed a musket and shoved the foot-and-a-half of spade-shaped steel through a man's chest. The soldier, who had already knocked Caleb down and stabbed him through the thigh, opened his mouth to say something, but blood replaced words.

  The man slid off the bayonet with a shove.

  Nathaniel dropped to a knee beside Caleb. He pulled a sash off the dead Ryngian. "Wrap it tight, Lieutenant Frost. I ain't losing you."

  Nathaniel never head Caleb's reply.

  The sloop's cannon thundered. Heavy iron balls ripped through the headquarters roof, shattering the main beam. The roof collapsed, but the balls carried on into the fort's eastern half. Hardly spent by blasting through shingles, they caromed through the courtyard. Men screamed and a half-dozen fell when a ball undercut a rampart support.

  A volley of musketry echoed from the east. More Ryngians dropped, falling inside the compound. Recovering his rifle, Nathaniel ran forward. The Bone brothers advanced their squads along the ramparts. Kamiskwa darted ahead, warclub at the ready.

  By the time they reached the headquarters building, the first of the Southern Rangers had gained the wall. Using scaling ladders they'd hacked out of logs, they came through the embrasures. The Ryngians, trapped between two forces, quickly laid down their arms and threw open the gates for Major Forest.

  The Tharyngian commander, Colonel Pierre Boucher, surrendered his sword to Major Forest. Forest, in keeping with Continental etiquette, returned the sword in exchange for a promise of parole and good conduct. The Colonel agreed and at Colonel Boucher's orders, with Major Forest's agreement, the Ryngians formed up details to collect their wounded and then bury their dead.

  Nathaniel slid the deerskin sheath over his rifle. "I reckon, Major, we done surprised you a mite."

  "I have learned not to be surprised by war, Captain Woods. Things never go as one plans and, alas, there is always a butcher's bill to be paid." The older man looked around, his eyes hardening. "Caleb?"

  "Has himself a scar to go with any story he wants to tell." Nathaniel nodded. "Commanded his boys fine."

  "Good. Thank you."

  "And you, sir, for coming to the rescue." Nathaniel sighed, the back of his head aching. "I reckon it's time to figure that bill. Begging your leave, Major, I'll get at it."

  The Summerland boys had two men killed and two seriously wounded in taking the sloop. One of the dead was a Lanatashee. The Northern Rangers lost a total of fifteen men; five more were wounded. A third of the dead had been Bookworms. There would have been a sixth, but a copy of A Continent's Calling stopped a ball at page two-fifty. The Southern Rangers had no one killed. Their only injury came from a man breaking his leg when he fell off a siege ladder.

  Major Forest reunited the Ryngians with the captives, then had each man sign a parole document stating that he would not fight against Mystrians again. The Rangers helped them build rafts and canoes, then sent the survivors down the river to Kebeton.

  Makepeace should have been counted among the injured, but he wouldn't hear of it. He'd never used a cannon before and assumed it was just like a big musket. He invoked the magick and the larger firestone pulled more out of him than he expected. He turned black and blue up to the elbow. He told everyone he was just fine, but he got more quiet than usual, and took to reading Bible verses to Ryngians his shot had wounded.

  Nathaniel reported to Major Forest, meeting him on the wall over the east gate. "Caleb will be good. Packed the wound with mogiqua, bound it up tight. Blade got meat, not anything vital."

  Forest nodded. "I will write letters to the families of the fallen."

  Nathaniel frowned. "Reckon I might have to learn some letters to do that myself."

  "It's not something you will enjoy."

  "Don't expect it is. Needs doing." Nathaniel sighed. "Part of my responsibility to my men."

  "Your men?" Forest smiled. "Strike me, but I never thought I'd hear you utter those words."

  "Ain't saying they come easy, but I reckon you know that. And you knowed this was a-coming when you made me an officer."

  "I might have at that." The Major rested his living hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "I knew you would make a good officer."

  "Not sure your trust is entirely placed right." Nathaniel glanced back toward the wharf. "Truth be told, when they was charging, fear took a mighty hold of me. I could have run."

  "But you didn't."

  "No, sir."

  "Do you know why you didn't?"

  "Got it narrowed down to being too ornery or just a damned fool."

  Forest laughed, an incongruous sound in the fort, but no less a welcome one. "You didn't run because, if you did, your men would have run and died. Their only chance was to stand and fight. And they would do that for you, because of their trust in you. You didn't betray that trust. As an officer, you can never do that. Your men will die and, even if you survive, you'll be dead inside."

  Nathaniel glanced down. "I reckon I need to do some more thinking on that, but thank you, sir."

  "You're more than welcome, Captain." Forest nodded solemnly. "And you might as well rejoice. The Mystrian Rangers have defeated a larger Ryngian force and put a lie to the story of Villerupt."

  "I reckon that's true." Nathaniel smiled for a moment, then his brows arrowed together. "Occurs to me now that didn't nobody tell us what we was supposed to do once we took this place."

  "That's because we weren't supposed to take it." Forest's eyes narrowed. "Colonel Boucher told me that he'd had word from Kebeton that a hundred fifty men were on their way to capture his fort. He refused to believe because the very idea was outrageous. I think he's still waiting for the rest of our force to come out of the woods."

  "I reckon his being warned means Deathridge wanted us dead."

  "Or Rivendell, or their enemies." Forest shook his head. "Perhaps they didn't want us dead, just out of the way."

  "And being here accomplishes that, don't it?"

  "It does." The Major stared out to the east. "If we cut back the woods and use the lumber to give this place a back wall, we could hang on to it for a good long time. And absent other orders, that's as good a plan as any."

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  August 1, 1764

  La Fortresse du Morte

  Anvil Lake, Mystria

  P rince Vlad read Rivendell's brief note again, then looked at the Lieutenant who had delivered it. "Lord Rivendell is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed? And yet he has summoned my Colonel Daunt to his meeting?"

  The Lieutenant, a slender young man who had developed none of an adult's angles to his body or face, shook his head. "I do not know what the message said, Highness. I was told to give it to you and report back to Lord Rivendell immediately."

  "You'll wait here." Vlad stalked from his tent. "Count von Metternin Captain Strake! To me immediately!"

  The Prince ground his teeth. Rivendell had consistently played the fool, but his conduct in the last forty-eight hours had gone beyond the pale. On July thirtieth Rivendell had sent the Laureate an invitation to dine in his headquarters in honor of Tharyngia's Liberation Day. Rivendell had even ordered Blackoak's band to practice the Ryngian anthem.

  Du Malphias declined regretfully, citing a need to celebrate with his men, but extended an invitation for the officers from the other evening's festivities to join him in his fort. Rivendell and his command staff accepted. Bumble did not. Prince Vlad offered Count von Metternin in his place, but du Malphias' envoy had politely declined.

  I knew nothing good would come of that dinner. He half-hoped du Malphias would poison the Norillians. Prince Vlad would then take command, retire and build Fort Hope solidly. He'd add a smaller fort atop the hills on either side, thereby guaranteeing control of the high ground.

  The Tharyngians had celebrated enthusiastically, firing off cannons. Chemicals added to the brimstone produced bright red and green flames. Ryngian mortars launched fused charges that exploded in the air, providing dazzling displays of light. Ever cou
rteous, the Ryngians aimed the mortars over the lake, so no errant charge could explode among the besieging army.

  The Mystrians had worked day and night digging trenches and moving their cannon forward. They'd gotten to within eight hundred yards of the fort. They controlled the battlefield, but the glacises prevented them from hitting the walls. That would require them to be two hundred yards closer. Vlad imagined that du Malphias would use his cannon to discourage those efforts.

  Owen found the Prince first. "Yes, Highness?"

  "What do you know of Rivendell's doings?"

  The younger man shook his head. "Not much. The diners started working yesterday after their hangovers eased. Everyone else was kept away. What has he done?"

  "He's undone us all, I am sure." The Prince nodded as the Kessian joined them. "Come, gentlemen. Lord Rivendell requires a visit."

  Von Metternin's eyes tightened. "Rivendell has taken du Malphias' bait?"

  "I believe so." Vlad had been afraid of trickery ever since the invitation had been extended. Rivendell's contempt for du Malphias would blind him to whatever the Laureate sought to hide.

  The Norillian commander assumed du Malphias was every bit the gentleman he was. Since Rivendell would never stoop to trickery, he assumed that du Malphias would likewise eschew deception. Rivendell and his subordinates would accept the Laureate's word that things were as they appeared to be. They would note things of interest within the fort, and think themselves far cleverer than their host for having gotten inside to take a look.

  They just would never imagine that what they saw was exactly what du Malphias wanted them to see.

  As they marched, Vlad glanced toward the fortress. In no time shot and shell would shred the green, grassy expanse between camps. It would destroy the men fighting their way across it. Though Prince Vlad had never witnessed warfare on this scale before, he'd read enough and talked to enough men, that he had no trouble imagining the bleeding ruin Rivendell's foolishness would foster.

  "I cannot let Rivendell's folly kill men." Vlad stared at the soldier blocking the entrance to the tent. "Stand aside, soldier."

  Stone-faced and silent, the man remained rigidly in place.

  Owen slipped past him and slashed through the tent's wall with his Altashee obsidian knife. "This way, Highness."

  Owen stepped aside as Vlad passed through the slit. He had never seen that level of resolution on the Prince's face before. Count von Metternin followed him, then Owen squeezed through. The tent had been divided into three parts, with the largest-Rivendell's headquarters-taking up nearly two-thirds. The smaller two areas were centered one around a bunk and the other a small dining table.

  Langford abandoned the map table around which Rivendell and three other colonels had gathered, moving to intercept the Prince. "You should not be here, Highness."

  Vlad stopped him with a glare. "Your saying that is precisely why I must be."

  Rivendell's head came up. "Leave us, Highness. You, too, von Metternin. Colonel Langford, place Captain Strake under arrest."

  "What deviltry are you up to, Johnny?"

  "This is a military matter, Highness. I command you to leave."

  The Prince hammered a fist on the table. Colonel Thornbury jumped back, giving Owen a glance at the map. Rivendell and his colonels had altered Owen's original survey map significantly. They'd placed a small sheet of paper over the central stone roundhouse and had drawn flowers and a tree upon it. The gun emplacements remained correctly positioned, but instead of four cannon at each, they'd only placed two. Beside the barracks buildings they'd made notes indicating that only battalions of the Platine Regiment were on station. Other notes indicated that a hundred civilians functioned as laborers.

  "What is this travesty?"

  Rivendell's nostrils flared. "It is the proper map of La Fortresse du Morte. We were given a complete tour. It is woefully understaffed and vulnerable. We will press our attack today and destroy du Malphias."

  Vlad stared, his mouth open. "What did he do to you in there?"

  "He offered brilliant conversation on military strategy. He fully understood that for a defender to be successful, he must have at least a third of the attacking force's numbers under arms. He remained confident that he would be able to hold us off, but he lacked the resources necessary to do so."

  The Kessian studied the map. "You show two cannon at each battery."

  "That is how many there are, sir, no more."

  "But you show a pair at each battery, including the lake wall. Cannot du Malphias just transfer those cannon to the north wall?"

  "He does not have enough personnel to operate them. Six batteries of four, with four men each to serve them. This places one of his battalions at the guns, leaving only two more to man the walls-and he has a great deal of wall to cover."

  The Kessian frowned. "He will strip men from other walls to defend."

  Rivendell shook his head. "We keep Thornbury's cavalry in reserve as a threat to strike at a weak point."

  The Prince leaned forward and tapped the troop estimate notes. "You did not account for the Ungarakii he has under arms."

  "There are no Twilight People in there."

  "Yes, there are." Vlad pointed off toward the lake. "I have had men watching the water. We counted nearly two hundred warriors coming in. I sent you reports."

  "Langford, did I get any such reports?"

  "Yes, sir. You deemed them unreliable and insignificant."

  Rivendell smiled. "Satisfied?"

  "What about the pasmortes. You know they can't be killed."

  Thornbury stepped back to the table. "The civilians were women and children, with a few old men. They are non-combatants."

  Owen couldn't contain himself. "Those civilians attacked your cavalry!"

  "The wurm devoured the bodies, so we don't know what they were."

  Vlad rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Why have you eliminated the central stronghold?"

  "It has trees and flowers on it. It is nothing."

  The Prince tapped another part of the map, where the opening to the underground chambers should have been. "And this building here?"

  "Storage." Rivendell preened. "I demanded to see within. And I did find a chamber dug into the hillside. It was the Laureate's wine cellar. From there I shall choose the vintage with which to toast our victory."

  The Prince stared at him. "And your grand plan is to walk our men up and storm the walls?"

  "Precisely. We have more than three times his numbers."

  Count von Metternin rested a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "My Lord Rivendell, the three-to-one ratio is accepted minimum needed to defeating a foe, but it does not guarantee victory."

  "But, my lord Count, we are speaking of Norillian troops."

  Vlad again hammered a fist against the table. "No, you fool, you are speaking about men! Men who are going to be ripped to bits as they march forward. Grapeshot will rake any siege ladders you create, and blow apart your trench bridging."

  Rivendell laughed. "This is precisely why command of this operation was given to a military man, Prince Vladimir. Anthony, tell him what you saw."

  Colonel Exeter replied with a smug half-smile. "While I was examining one of the batteries, I measured both the carriage height and the height of the embrasures. I did the basic geometry. It is impossible for the guns to depress far enough to shoot anything atop the glacises."

  "My God, man, do you think he doesn't know that?" Vlad thrust a finger toward the fortress. "Do you think he has no axes to cut the embrasures down?"

  Exeter chuckled. "We'll hit him so fast he won't have time to chop."

  The Prince sighed. "Your enemy is not a fool."

  Lord Rivendell smiled proudly. "Nor am I, Highness. I am a genius. Ain't it, Langford, ain't that a fact?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And a genius will win this day, Highness. We go at one."

  Vlad shook his head. "I won't allow it."

  "You are a civilian. I am in
command of your people. Colonel Daunt, you will have your men make siege ladders and bridges. Exeter, give him some of your engineers to help."

  Exeter saluted smartly. "Yes, sir."

  Owen watched the Prince's face deaden. Disaster loomed; there was no getting away from that. Owen's guts twisted. He choked vomit back down. I have to do something. "Permission to be assigned to Colonel Daunt's command, my lord."

  Rivendell's sneer gushed ice through Owen's bowels. "Denied. You are under arrest."

  Vlad's head came up. "On what charges?"

  "Insubordination. Conduct unbecoming an officer. Destroying Her Majesty's property." Rivendell produced a pocket watch, flicked the cover open and then snapped it shut again. "I should convene a court-martial, but we've not enough time. Anthony, have a squad of the Fourth take charge of Captain Strake. Clap him in irons and stick him outside my tent. Let him watch and wish he had his place in the line of glory."

  The Prince snarled. "This is outrageous, sir!"

  "It is necessary, sir." Rivendell slid the watch home in his waistcoat. "Perhaps, in victory, I shall be magnanimous. I think not, but that is the joy of genius-I am unpredictable. Good day, Highness."

  The Prince began to say something else, but the count grabbed his arm and steered him back out through the slit. He took a last look at Owen, but Owen just shook his head. "I will be fine."

  "The prisoner will remain silent!"

  Owen met Rivendell's gaze openly, and the other man smiled. "You have your orders, gentlemen. We have three hours. Please be ready."

  Exeter, Thornbury, and Daunt departed. Langford glanced at Lord Rivendell. "Should I stay, sir?"

  "No, Colonel. The words I have for Captain Strake are for his ears alone."

  Langford retreated quickly. Rivendell began to slowly circle Owen. Clearly he meant to walk with a predatory mien, trying to be intimidating. The fact that he was so thoroughly proud of himself-being unable to hide a smile-robbed the attempt of its intent. He made two circuits and spoke on the third.