by Alma Boykin
Lewis’s closing comment chilled her to the marrow. “You will be interested to learn that the Frankonian government recognizes the Turkowi claims to the area formerly known as the County of Scheel. The low population of the area justifies the Turkowi advance into the region, or so the Frankonian ambassador avers. Yours, Lewis, by Grace of Godown Archduke of the Eastern Empire,” and so on and so forth. Elizabeth stared at the page, horrified. That area had the highest population of any land south of Tivolia between the Triangle Range and the Greene Sea. Was there a plague? Did the Turkowi murder everyone? A dozen appalling scenarios flashed through her mind before she corralled her scrambled thoughts. All you have is what the Frankonian ambassador said. Laurence could well be lying about the conditions in order to justify his support for the Turkowi’s advance. And advance it was, because it put them on the west side of the Dividing Range and gave them a direct path to Morloke, then Tivolia, and then the entire Donau Novi basin and the heart of the Eastern Empire; a well-watered and grassy route that stayed open in winter.
The messenger from Colonel Marcy found her staring at the thick letter paper, lost in thought. “Col. Sarmas?” She blinked, struggling to remember where she was.
“Ah, yes?”
“A message from Col. Marcy. You are to join him at Duke Grantholm’s tent at the fourth hour after noon tomorrow.”
“The fourth hour after noon, Duke Grantholm’s tent. Very well.”
She and Lazlo compared notes early next afternoon. “I show thirty five missing and unaccounted for,” and she held up her list.
“I counted thirty four, my lady. They found Lt. Mike Scott’s body this morning. It had gotten mixed up in the Frankonian pile on the other side of the valley.”
She made the note, shaking her head as she did. “Damn. He was one of the better officers.” It hurt, knowing every one of her men as she did.
“So, thirty four missing.” She leaned back in her chair, frowned, and flinched as the cut on her forehead pulled and stung. “How many do you think are headed for Donatello as fast as their beasts can manage?”
He shrugged.
“I’ll sort that out if we find any of them,” she decided, thinking aloud.
Lazlo nodded, then leaned forward and rubbed his knee and shin. “Glad I’m not infantry, my lady.”
“Agreed. Short of an armored apron, there really is no good way to protect our knees, is there?”
He laughed at the idea. “Not as long as we have to either bend or straighten them out, my lady. I’ve seen a few attempts, but the cost of jointed plate armor…” Both soldiers sighed.
An hour later they rode in companionable silence up the Imperial line to Grantholm’s current location. He’d moved away from the battlefield to avoid the stench and flies as much as possible, but the sickly-sweet smell of rotting men and horses followed the army, a malevolent presence after any battle. The scent made Elizabeth taste a bitter, metallic flavor in the back of her mouth. At least the farriers had finished killing the wounded horses and mules. Equine screams and moans had haunted the first night after the battle, robbing many of Elizabeth’s men of their sleep.
They found the other colonels except for Col. Lang waiting. He loped up a few minutes later, the bulge of bandages on his shoulder answering some of the others’ questions. Grantholm nodded, a curt, abrupt jerk of his head and commenced the briefing. “I’ll go straight to the target, gentlemen. Rohan-Roi and the Frankonians retreated overnight, and continued moving west over the past three days. Our irregulars are harrying them and collecting whatever of value gets left. I don’t know why they are retreating, but Godown be thanked, they are.” Elizabeth suspected the rumor about glitterwings had something to do with it, but stayed quiet.
“Well done, gentlemen. I have the list of your shares,” and he pointed to the pages stacked on the table beside his portable camp desk. “Sarmas, you get a smaller portion but we’ve made allowances for your orders and inability to pursue.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
“Excellent work, even with untried troops, Sarmas. I’m pleased that the rumors about your loyalty were unfounded.”
She bowed a little to him. “I stand by my oaths, your grace, and I will pass your commendation to my men, with your permission?”
“Granted. In light of the current situation, you and your men are dismissed back to,” and he stopped, head tilted, studying her as if seeing her for the first time. “What is that place called now? Not Windthorst?”
“No, your grace. Donatello Bend, the older name. His majesty felt it better to expunge the name along with the traitorous apostate.”
“His majesty is wise. You are dismissed to Donatello Bend, then, and Godown be with you. Here are your orders, Col. Sarmas. You may go.” She took the pages, bowed to him, saluted the others, and strode out of the tent, head high.
7. Justice
“I’m here because Vindobona in late summer is beastly hot, stifling within the walls, and stench-laden outside them,” Archduke Lewis informed his very surprised property manager. Elizabeth, etiquette forgotten, stared down from Ricardo’s back at the tall, dark-haired nobleman. “I see you failed to get my message. I’ve been here for over two weeks.”
She struggled through her exhaustion to find a coherent answer. “Ah, no your grace, that is, yes, I failed to get your most recent message.” She and her men had begun riding before sunrise, eager to get home and return to their lives as farmers and craftsmen. The setting sun cast long shadows, turning the dust of their arrival into a cloud of gold that hung in the still, hot air before settling slowly back onto the dry grass around the road. Elizabeth untied her riding apron and folded it, then dismounted and bowed properly, staggering as her weary legs threatened to quit. Ricardo ignored the apron for once, content to stand hip-shot, his gaunt exhaustion telling the welcoming party just how tired their friends, fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers were.
“Dismiss your men, Sarmas.”
“Your grace.” She turned, facing the loose group of horsemen and teamsters. “Thank you. You are dismissed.” The men looked at each other, saluted Elizabeth and the Archduke, and dispersed, some to the stables, some to the wagon depot, and the rest to their homes. She waited until the last of the men departed, leaving her and Lazlo standing in the road before the manor house.
“Come in, get cleaned up, and tell me the news tomorrow,” Lewis ordered, leading the way.
“Yes, your grace.” She and Lazlo led their horses up the slope to the manor, turning the beasts over to the grooms. Elizabeth felt an overwhelming wave of relief. Ricardo was not her horse, no matter how much she rode and trained with him. The stud belonged to the Imperial stables. Snowy and Braun, they belonged to her, and she slowed her steps, tempted to detour by the stable and visit the mule.
“The man-eating mule is in the paddock, Lady Elizabeth,” Lewis announced, not breaking his stride. “He has started singing at sunrise.”
“Singing at sunrise.” Her voice sounded flat to her ears. “Lovely.”
Before she could think of a defense for Snowy’s new behavior, Lady Ann and Annie Lei bustled out of the manor. “Not on my clean floors you don’t my lady,” Annie announced, brandishing a pair of slippers and a bootjack.
Lazlo managed a dusty, tired grin before fleeing to the shelter of the barracks now wedged into the courtyard opposite from the stables. Elizabeth braced against Ann’s shoulder as the housekeeper helped pry the riding boots off her feet. Safely slip-shod, Elizabeth followed Lewis into the building. She caught sight of Annie, holding the boots at arm’s length and heading off down the main hall to have some unsuspecting soul clean the offending footwear.
“Good night, Lady Elizabeth,” Lewis told her. He turned in the direction of the dining room as she stared after him, brain and body numb. What should she do?
Annie Lei returned with two serving women. “You need food and a hot bath, my lady,” the housekeeper informed the much younger woman, as Lady Ann, arms fold
ed, nodded.
“There’s nothing that won’t wait, Elizabeth,” Ann agreed. “Except a bath, with all due respect. You smell like horse.”
Of course I smell like horse, Elizabeth thought, too tired to protest as the women chivvied her up to her chamber. I’ve been on or around horses for… three months? She fell asleep during the bath, still trying to decide how long exactly she’d been away.
She found Archduke Lewis waiting for her at breakfast the next morning. “You look more nearly human,” he observed from over a plate of eggs.
She curtsied. “Thank you, your grace.” I think. “Rest does wonders for body and soul.”
“Indeed it does.” He waved to the seat across from him, almost upsetting his cup of chokofee. She sat, digging into the bread, salty meat and eggs, and fresh berries. They’d been buying what they could from farms and towns on the return route, but camp cooking never quite rose to the level of the manor. Probably because the merchants and farmers fobbed the worst of last year’s harvest off on us, too. She was not certain, but she had a hunch, given the amount of weevils in the army’s emergency bread ration.
“So, after we inspect the manor, I want to look at the books,” Lewis informed his hostess. “Turn Ricardo out with the mares. He deserves a reward after his time with the army.” Elizabeth felt her face starting to flush but Lewis continued, “Do you have any more of the shahma meat?”
She smiled, chewing with deliberate care before she swallowed and replied. “Yes, your grace, but not for this meal. You ate it already.”
He blanched, green eyes flashing wide open as he stared down at his empty pewter plate. “That was shahma?” He whispered as if choked, one hand going to his throat. “I thought it was pig ham.”
Elizabeth covered her mouth with her napkin, trying to conceal her enormous grin. “Yes, your grace. That was shahma ham. We use a brine much like for pork, but with a touch more alwin,” the peppery native herb. “The alwin brine cut the gamey taste of adult shahma, so the final smoked ham tasted more mild. It seemed a shame to waste pfeekan-nut wood on a strong-flavored meat.” She took another bite of her shahma and egg mixture.
Lewis, who had eaten horsemeat without blinking, turned a faint green. His color returned to normal by the time she’d finished the last of her fresh bread, but he gave her a hurt look, as if she’d betrayed him in some way. Should she mention the lovely sausage shahma made? Probably not, given his current distress. “Would your grace care to go riding now, while it is cool?”
“Yes,” and he bolted from the table.
Kloee, the under-cook and table servant, stared after Lewis in alarm. “Is something wrong with the meal, my lady?”
Elizabeth swallowed the last bite of her berries as she fought to keep a straight face and preserve a little of Lewis’s dignity. “No, Kloee, and please give Master Kim my compliments. I think his Grace prefers to know in advance, and in detail, what he is eating. He was surprised at how good the shahma ham is.”
“Oh. I’ll tell Master Kim, my lady.”
“Please do.” Elizabeth pushed her chair back and got up. “Thank you.”
She managed to stay quiet until reaching her chambers. Once safely behind the heavy door, she could no longer hide her mirth. She grabbed one of the pillows, buried her face in its thick fluff, and laughed until her ribs ached, tears flowed down her face, and her nose stopped up. “Oh, I needed that,” she gasped at last, recovering her aplomb. “Godown bless, I needed that.”
As soon as he saw her, Snowy let Elizabeth know that he’d been pining away for lack of attention and how dare she leave him alone! She gave the mule’s new layer of lard a hard look as she let the girth out a hole. “I don’t believe you,” she told him. He snorted and tried to eat her hat. “Quit.” He leaned against her. “I said quit!” and she poked him in the chest with the butt of her riding stick. He settled down, at least for the moment.
Oh, it feels soooo good to be out of uniform. Her riding habit of sturdy shahma wool and threadleaf fabric felt like silk compared to the nigh indestructible material of Imperial uniforms. And it didn’t smell of dye, either, she noticed. Ensconced in her favorite sidesaddle, she scratched Snowy’s crest and wondered which direction to take Lewis.
“I want to see the work on the bridge first, Lady Elizabeth,” a voice called from behind her. Snowy spooked and she checked him, turning to face the archduke on his high-bred mare. The beautiful grey Appaloosa danced under the thin man, impatient to be out.
“Certainly, your grace.” She bowed in the saddle and led the way. Two soldiers fell in behind them, just in case someone decided to be stupid. And to act as chaperones, of course, Elizabeth grumbled. I wish he’d get married. My life would be so much easier.
Lewis looked around as they rode to the river, not asking any questions. He seemed very interested in the wheat fields, and detoured into the wet forest near the river. Elizabeth waited on the road. He could find the bloodflies without her help. Indeed, he returned much faster than he’d gone in, his mare tossing her head and slapping her tail at everything within reach. “It’s been too wet to inspect. There are some black beech trees in there,” he explained, waving a hand in front of his face to chase away a few of the biting insects. “Don’t let anyone cut them for firewood or building timber.”
“Yes, your grace.” To her delight, the foundations for the new bridge stood in plain sight of the road, the first set well above the spring high-water mark. She dismounted, tying Snowy to a small tree so she could inspect the work. The stones looked strong and the mortar clung tight. The new piers required a longer approach to the bridge, and she could see the dirt piles for the ramps ready and waiting. “Hmm.” She peered across the river. As Lewis made his own inspection, she pulled her binoculars out of Snowy’s saddlebag and studied the opposite bank. Where are the rest of the foundations? Surely not… The miserable… have they done any work on their half? She pivoted and walked closer to the bank, still looking across the river, trying to see any trace of construction on the Peilov side. “Grrrr.”
“Problem, Elizabeth?” She handed him the binoculars and waited as Lewis in turn studied the opposite bank. “They’ve turned their side into a water meadow. That’s inconvenient.”
“Indeed, your grace. I wonder.” She tried to see downstream. “Do you see anything down by the ford?”
“I see what looks like a pile of wood.” They mounted and rode past the edge of the woods and marsh to the ford. Indeed, the Peilovs had stockpiled wood. A few surveyors’ stakes poked up from the lush meadow grass on the far side of the rocky shallows. Lewis shook his head, making the plume on his hat flutter. “Not acceptable. We need the ford and a bridge both, not a bridge over the ford.”
“That does explain the unhappy letter they sent me, complaining about the lack of work on this side of the river.” She studied the opposite bank. “How should I approach them, your grace?”
He shrugged and returned her binoculars. “Tell them to move back to the original location and make the ford the water meadow.”
“They outrank me, your grace.”
“How can they?” He turned his mare and rode back upstream, leaving Elizabeth to stare from him to the lumber and back.
Snowy took the opportunity to leave a pile of road-apples. “I heartily concur,” she sighed before urging the mule forward.
The rest of the day passed without undue excitement. Despite Axel’s fears, the wheat and other small-grains appeared healthy. The harvest would not break records, but it exceeded the previous year’s yield by at least twice. “Assuming we don’t get a bad storm, or heavy rain during harvest, your grace,” the bandy-legged, red-cheeked man moped. “And assuming the cows don’t get into it, or the shahma if they come down early, and Godown forbid, if the glitterwings cross the Triangle Range.”
“How are the fruit trees and bushes, Axel,” Lewis interrupted, trying to stem the flow of imagined woes.
“Oh, your grace, they’re fair and fine. Too heavy, y
our grace, we had to start harvest early and prop up limbs. That means a hard winter, your grace, terrible hard.” He did not quite wring his hands, but he wiped them over and over on his heavy canvas pants. “The berries are fine, your grace, if the children don’t eat all of them and get sick.”
Don’t ask about the cows, she thought at Lewis. She didn’t want to hear two hours of sick-cow stories. Snowy ducked his head, pawing a fly away from his nose, tack jingling.
“Good to hear, Axel, thank you. Godown willing, harvest will go well.” Lewis started to ask something else, but stopped when Elizabeth leaned as far over as she could, peering at a horse behind the wood and brick farm building. She turned Snowy so she could get a better view. “What is it?”
“Axel, who found that horse?”
The farm manager stopped wiping his hands and walked over so he could see. “The gray one, my lady?”
“No, the blood bay with the white stocking.” At her words one of the soldiers rode up beside her so he could also see.
“I don’t know, my lady. All the other horses are supposed to be out, my lady. The gray is recovering from colic.”
Anger chilled Elizabeth. “Marko, find out who brought the horse in and bring the rider or riders to the manor.”
“Colonel, last I saw, Tom Suttler had that animal. Same Tom as didn’t come back with us.” The man sounded confused at first, then angry.
