by Alma Boykin
The next day she called Lazlo, Annie Lei, Axel, Andrew Sims, and Lady Ann together in the reception room. Her office would not hold that many people. “There’s going to be war this summer,” she told them. “From the north, I’m sure of it.” Lazlo, arms folded, nodded. Lady Ann looked both grim and relieved. The three Donatello Bend residents made warding signs, and Axel began twisting his hat in his hands, looking even more morose than usual. “We need to start getting supplies ready for a mobilization, repairing the transport wagons, and preparing to send as much as we can when the time comes.”
“His majesty wouldn’t strip us of all the livestock, would he?” Axel protested.
The two soldiers both nodded. “Yes, he would and will if the need is great enough.” Elizabeth thought for a moment, adding, “Probably not the breeding stock, or the shahmas if they have been sent to the high country, but everything else that can pull a cart, carry a sack or a soldier, or be eaten.”
“What do you need from us, my lady,” Annie asked.
“Camp bread, as much as we can bake. Add it to the cooking rotation, and start sewing sacks for it. I knew we’d intended to replace the mattresses this year, but that will have to wait. And bandages,” she decided. “Soap, bandages, medical supplies and herbs. Both to keep here and for the men to carry with us when we are called north.”
The horse master frowned. “My lady, you seem very certain about this.”
“Master Andrew, I can’t tell you why, but yes, I’m certain. There are things moving around the edges of the Empire. Godown has given us a respite for a reason. I fear this summer will show us why.”
At Elizabeth’s shoulder, Lazlo nodded. “Things are moving. We’re tired from last year, against the Frankonians near the Bergenlands. It’s been a mild winter on this side of the Dividing Range. That bodes ill, from what my brother says.”
“His grace Archduke Lewis and Prince Gerald André say that as well.” At those words, Lady Ann blanched, raising a hand to her throat before regaining her composure. Prince Gerald André had taken over the Imperial espionage system, freeing his uncle Archduke Gerald Kazmer to focus on diplomacy. “Now you know what I know, and what we need to do.”
Axel took a deep breath and nodded, determination replacing worry. “It shall be done, Colonel Lady Elizabeth.”
Godown had mercy on them. The summons came just as planting finished. “North,” Elizabeth told Lazlo. Like Ann Starland, he looked relieved. His family would be, at least for the moment, out of the line of attack. “And we’re under Quill’s command.” He looked even happier and Elizabeth had to agree. She had great respect for Duke Grantholm, but she’d do almost anything for Quill Starland. “Facing what appears to be the main Turkowi army, with Frankonian artillery.”
“I trust you do not want me to tell our men that.”
“No, there’s no need.” She leaned back in the chair. “And who knows? Perhaps Godown will answer all our prayers and one of those legendary waves will arise, crash onto land, and sweep the Rajtan’s forces into the deeps.” Lazlo gave her an odd look, as if he could not decide if she were joking or not. “More likely, we will have battle, and the Donatello troops will be skirmishers and flankers again.”
She wondered about the rest of the orders. Should she tell Lazlo about her meeting with Jan Peilov and Duke Theobald Peilov’s actions? “Lazlo, tell me, if you were the heir, untried and unbloodied, with a new brother, how would you react to being called to war?”
“Huh.” He looked at the wall. “How old?”
“Oh, mid 20s, maybe a touch older.”
“I’d either be champing at the bit, eager to do whatever I could to prove myself and to show their majesties just how good I was, my lady, or I’d be cowering and trying to get a staff position so I would not be in danger of having the succession changed.” He shrugged. “Probably the first one more than anything. Especially if I’ve never seen battle.” Lazlo looked back to Elizabeth. “Are we going to have one of those, my lady?”
“At least one, probably with a very well-honed sense of rank and precedence. But we may be pleasantly surprised.” If so, it would be a very great surprise, and further proof of Godown’s ability to perform miracles even in this fallen age.
“I can see why the Landers had a professional army, instead of depending on conscription and mercenaries, my lady,” he opined, catching her off guard.
“Hmmm, yes. According to what little survives, the survivors tried that, but there were not enough people.”
“We still need more people.”
She almost blurted out, “And why haven’t you done your part to take care of that,” but caught the words and swallowed them. For all she knew he did have a child, or children, and was just very discreet about it. Instead she agreed, “We do. And I suspect nine months after this mobilization is announced…” She stopped before she embarrassed both of them.
He just grinned. “Indeed, my lady.”
They returned to the maps, considering routes and times. “I’d like to plan on twenty kilometers a day, but that’s not possible this time,” she said after an hour.
He leaned back, stretching. “No, my lady. Fifteen a day is more realistic, given the baggage and supply train we’ll be needing. We’ll still reach the lowlands in less than a month, barring surprises and bad weather.” He leaned left and right, and Elizabeth flinched at the sound of cracking joints. “My lady, who else is mustering with us?”
Now it was her turn to stare at the wall. She looked at her father’s portrait, wondering what he would do in this case. She imagined him taking Jan Peilov over his knee and thrashing him. The mental image brought a little smile to her face. “The contingent from Peilovna will be with us, or so the orders read. Do not plan on that, Lazlo. Plan on the Donatello troopers moving on their own. Even if the Peilovna forces join us, anticipate that we’ll have to take the lead, seniority and rank be damned.” She was not going to disappoint Duke Starland if Jan proved to be as incompetent as she guessed he might be. She scolded herself. His antipathy to you may have nothing to do with his real abilities. He’s also ridden with Aquila and Quill said nothing about him being unskilled. You don’t have to like him in order to work with him. She murmured a silent prayer for patience.
That evening she called Lady Ann into her chamber. “Is there anyone on the manor who can make up medicines specifically for women’s problems?”
Ann frowned and played with a corner of her handkerchief. “Yes, but it… ah, what sort of problem?”
“I need to stop my courses.”
Ann blanched as white as her and Elizabeth’s head covers. “Who?”
It took Elizabeth a moment to realize what Ann was asking. “Oh for the love of St. Gerald’s bridge, it’s not that, Ann,” Elizabeth snapped, planting her fists on her hips. “You think I take my vows so lightly?”
Red replaced white in Ann’s face. “No, ah, no, my lady, I just, it’s just, I’m sorry, my lady.”
“If you must know, it’s the pain. I can barely ride, and I can’t go into battle while I’m drinking salibark tea four times a day. I’d bleed to death from a minor injury before anyone realized the problem.” And I can barely think, let alone make command decisions for the first three days of my cycle, the pain is so bad at times, but that’s between me, St. Sabrina and Godown.
Ann heaved a sigh of relief. “I know who and she’ll recommend a pessary of the inner bark of red cheeches, followed by pastilles of cheech bark and kumora. At least, that’s what the herbals recommend,” she declared. “And you won’t believe this, but the pastilles? They don’t taste foul. My aunt used them to stop Mistress Destefani’s bleeding after Lazlo’s birth, and she had me help her make them, later.” Ann nodded once. “And they won’t stop your cycle completely, but they make it milder. Only one herb will stop it, and I assume you know what that is, my lady.”
“Golden horn smut.” Ann looked as grim as Elizabeth felt. Oh yes, horn smut from the wild key grass would stop a woma
n’s cycles, assuming she survived the side effects. I’d rather trust myself to a churigon and have everything removed. The survival rate is higher and the pain shorter.
The herb wife’s concoction worked, much to Elizabeth’s relief and delight. Ann had been right about the taste of the pastilles, as well. She wouldn’t serve them as dessert, but even the first day she took them, Elizabeth felt the grinding pain in her legs and back fading into something bearable. She rubbed her forehead and studied the map, deciding on the best route to take once they crossed the Plate River. I’m glad my body hurts less, because Peilov is making my head hurt more.
In some ways, his unwillingness to work with her came as a relief. She’d done no planning with the Peilovna officers or their commander, had made no logistical arrangements with them or for them, and while her company carried as many supplies as they could, they couldn’t feed themselves, their animals, and the Peilovna forces as well. In fact, Elizabeth had already had to start buying additional food and fodder outright, despite the soaring prices, trying to spare the field supplies for when the reached the marshes. Two weeks, she reminded herself, only two weeks and Duke Starland would be in charge and he’d see to Peilov. She bent over the map, noticing a detail she’d missed before, and barked a quiet laugh.
“My lady?” Lt. Hans Sparli asked, his expression half concerned and half curious.
“Sorry.” She straightened up, frowning a little at the twinges in her back. “I fled Frankonia when Laurence V tried to confine me to a convent in the southern marshes, an area known for its high rates of swamp fever. That order has a house here,” she tapped the northern edge of a marsh on the map, near the hills at the south end of the Tongue Sea. “Godown has a sense of humor.”
“Indeed He does, my lady,” Lt. Alex Todd agreed. He leaned back from the table, shifting around in his seat as he tried to find a less painful place to rest his broken arm. The cast would come off before they reached the muster point, and he’d insisted on coming despite both his wife and the medic’s protests.
“My lady, any word on what the heretics are doing?” Sparli refused to call them anything else in her presence.
“Not yet. I don’t expect to hear any news, unless it is very good or very bad, before we rendezvous with his grace.” She waved away a fly that had bumbled into the tent.
The men nodded or grunted. She stepped back from the table. “Any problems today?”
Lt. Will Krehbiel, in charge of the non-combatants and teamsters raised a hand. “We’re missing two men, my lady. I suspect they’ve deserted, unless they irritated some farmers and will stagger in later.”
“Make a note of it please, especially of when you found them missing,” she ordered. “And all of you, remind your people to be careful around the farmers and others. They are getting angry about soldiers marching through. There are rumors that some soldiers have been liberating supplies and valuables, and I won’t have it in my company.” She met each officer’s eyes, making certain they understood and agreed with her. “I suspect we’ll have more than enough loot at the end of the season.” Of course they would, once they got into the Turkowi camp after defeating them in battle.
“Not our men, my lady,” the youngest officer, Matt Bonaventure, offered. “I heard it was Peilov people, making up for what they didn’t bring with.”
If that’s true, it doesn’t surprise me in the least. “I don’t care who else is doing it, but it had better not be any of our troopers. Any problems with sickness yet?”
None yet, but she knew the time would come. War meant pestilence. It always had and probably always would, especially up in the lowlands between the mountains and the Tongue. “Then you have the route for tomorrow and are dismissed.”
Where was Lazlo? He’d gone to check on Krehbiel’s wagons, to see if they needed to try and requisition or buy some more, and should have been back. She pulled her tent flaps down and tied them shut, giving herself a bit of privacy to remove the pessary and change her padding. Chore done, she opened the flaps again. As much as she detested living in the open, no one could ever claim she’d hidden a lover in her tent!
Not ten minutes after she’d sat down to read about the siege of the swamp city of Gorlak, she heard a growing commotion. Yelling, swearing, and other sounds of fighting erupted from the southern end of the camp and she yanked on her boots, grabbed her saber, and stormed out of the tent. She caught Molly, the mule she rode around camp, and hauled herself onto the bare back. “I am not in the mood for a balk,” she warned the brown beast, pointing her to the south. Molly set off at a brisk walk, head bobbing, and the troopers streaming towards the commotion parted, letting Elizabeth through. She found the problem by ear and rode into a vicious confrontation.
“What is going on here?” She pitched her voice to carry but did not yell.
“They’re stealing our horses!” One of the Donatello men called out, shaking a blue and green clad soldier.
“We’re here on orders from Col. Peilov and his grace Duke Starland,” a stranger on a large brown horse informed her. The man tried to look down his nose at her, something the large bend in his proboscis made rather challenging.
“Indeed. Let me see those orders,” and she held out her hand.
“They are verbal orders.”
She kept her hand extended, waiting, eyes locked on his. He shifted, his horse sidling beneath him, and looked away. She repeated, “Give me your orders.”
“His grace Duke Starland sent a messenger to my lord Colonel Peilov, ordering him to take whatever animals we need from other units,” the Peilov officer repeated, starting to sweat.
“Show—Me—The—Orders.”
Captain Destefani appeared on her right side, worse for wear, shirt torn. “There are none, my lady Colonel.”
“He’s lying!”
Elizabeth nudged the molly forward until she could reach up and grab the startled officer by the collar. Caught by surprise and off-balance, the larger man didn’t resist as she hauled him down until he was at eye level with her. She hissed, “Return to your camp and tell my lord Peilov that we have no animals to spare. That is an order. I will even send it in writing. And inform him that if his grace is angry, I will inform his grace myself that I personally am the reason you could not obtain mounts from the Donatello company.” She shoved him back upright and the molly sidled away from the larger horse.
“No Donatello animals are to leave camp with Peilov troops, or any other troops, unless I receive orders in writing from his grace Duke Starland, Archduke Arpad, or Prince Thomas,” she called, still not yelling or losing her temper. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Understood, Colonel,” and other assurance rumbled from the Donatello men. The soldiers wearing Peilov green growled but, outnumbered and surrounded, decided not fight.
“My lord will have you disciplined, flogged, for this outrage and disobedience,” the mounted officer warned, his square face now flushed red.
“So be it. Please give my lord Peilov my greetings and my hopes that he is in good health. However, we have no spare animals at this time. You are dismissed.” She watched, waiting, as the Peilov requisition party regrouped and marched out of the camp. A few Donatello men tried to harass them but their NCOs and officers put a stop to it. Once they had departed, Elizabeth looked around at the men. “Anyone not assigned to the baggage train is also dismissed. Lt. Krehbiel, double the guard on the remuda tonight and tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She rode back to her tent, Lazlo walking beside her and sporting the beginnings of a spectacular black eye. “Don’t tell me you tripped,” she warned. “Or fell down the stairs.”
He managed to laugh at the caution. “No, my lady. I got into a fight. It seems the Peilov troops tried to waylay a messenger from his grace with letters for you and lord Peilov.” She inhaled sharply. He continued, “I got our letters, but not without a little trouble.”
They reached her tent before Lazlo replied. He held the molly as Elizabeth dismounted, then gave the mule to a groom to curry and settle. “Yes, my lady, it is. I did not ask if they had orders to intercept the messages, or if the idiot thought he could gain favor with Peilov by taking them along with the horses.”
She waved him into the spare chair and sat in her own. “You have them?”
He handed her two letters, one from Aquila Starland and one from Archduke Arpad, the emperor’s youngest brother. She opened that one first and to her relief found a general order to pick up the pace if possible, and a warning about not alienating the farmers and villagers en route. Quill’s letter repeated the orders and warned that he would have no patience with disputes over rank and precedence. She frowned at the last part of the message. “Captain do we have any feverbark drops?”
“No. We’ll get them as we go farther north, my lady. Feverbark trees grow where swamp fever breeds,” he reminded her. “Godown put the cure and the ill together.”
“Hmm.” She handed him Quill’s message. He read and returned it. “You need steak for that eye.”
He touched the bottom of the bruise and flinched. “Horse liniment would be better, but not this close to my eye.”
“And sober, too.” She teased him, “Captain, only a Destefani could get into a tavern brawl in a dry road camp.” He smiled, humoring her, or so she guessed. “Any other injuries on our side, that you saw?”
