by Alma Boykin
“They are. I checked before supper,” Lazlo assured her. He got up and peered out the open flap. Elizabeth stuffed the papers into her camp box and made certain that the tent’s side flap ties had been locked and cased, to keep them from pulling and coming loose. She’d already checked the extra ropes and tie-down outside, before supper, as well as dismissing the guards who usually watched her door. Lightning flashed purple and the air sizzled, cracking as an enormous “boom” echoed overhead. Without further warning, a wall of rain poured down onto their heads, as if Godown had turned on a waterfall. Lazlo quickly tied the door flaps shut, then weighted the bottom with a sack of coins. “I trust you don’t mind if I stay for a while?”
“No. It would look bad if you drowned walking back to—” and she jumped at the deafening “crack-boom” rolling over them. Lazlo caught her, holding her close. Their eyes met and she felt herself smiling despite the storm. She tipped her head in the direction of a stack of blankets and her field mattress. “Ah, would you care to sit?”
An answering smile appeared in his eyes. “I think I’d be more comfortable lying down. It’s been a long day.”
The storm outside the tent lasted the better part of an hour.
Once the rain stopped and the fire-tongues quit licking the ground, Colonel Sarmas and Major Destefani inspected the camp. Only two tents had collapsed, and the hostlers kept the draft horses circling, so the already-tired beasts ran without escaping. But the oxen had stampeded west, into Col. Montgrey’s camp. Montgrey’s men turned most of the cattle south, but a few had torn down tents and trampled people in their panic. One ox, with a broken leg, Elizabeth gave to Montgrey for his men to eat. The rain turned the ground into ankle-deep, boot-pulling muck, slowing fleeing animals as well as people. As she conferred with Capt. Krehbiel, Elizabeth observed, “It’s a good thing we are not scheduled to move for three days. I doubt the streams will be down before then.”
“Aye, my lady.” He heaved a soggy sigh. He’d been out in the storm with the animals and wagons. “And we need to rest the horses and mules, and find the oxen.”
Once back at her tent, Elizabeth hauled off her boots, hung her jacket on the stand, and fell into her cot, after remembering to put the mattress back on it. She and Lazlo had tidied up her sleeping area before going out, in case anyone came looking for her.
Everyone spent the next day drying out, finding missing livestock, and filtering water as the creeks and streams ran high. Breakfast had been camp-bread and watered wine, and Elizabeth had offered a quick prayer to St. Brennen of the Fires that the cooks could get their fires going. They’d brought some coal just in case, and it seemed as if her over-preparation had paid off.
Once things settled down, Elizabeth and her officers planned their scouting routes. “There’s no need to move as a body,” she’d decided. “We can’t harass Gen. Michelet until we find him, and we’ll find him faster if we operate in groups of fifty.” She’d prefer even smaller squads, but with the peasants and townsfolk already angry at the Frankonian raiders, she didn’t want her people chewed up by angry farmers.
The second day after the storm, everything changed.
She’d finished breakfast and was having a quick wash in her tent when she heard the sound of a commotion, men’s voices growing agitated as they grew louder. “Make way, make way,” someone called. “Let his grace through.” She froze as the words registered, then grabbed her blouse and pulled it on, fastening every other button and tucking the tails into her breeches. She’d gotten her vest on but not her wig when the guard poked his head in.
“My lady, his grace,” and Grantholm and another man, exhausted and covered in dirt, pushed into the tent.
“Your grace,” she bowed.
“Tell her,” Grantholm boomed.
The courier nodded and unslung his message pouches, tossing them to her. She caught them without thinking as he began. “My lady, the Turkowi are moving north from Tivolia. The main army has crossed into the empire and is moving up the Donau Novi. His majesty needs you and others to return to the Donau Novi immediately.”
Vindobona. They’re going to attack Vindobona. She knew it in her bones.
“Go, Sarmas,” Grantholm growled. “I’ll send the infantry after, as many as I can spare.”
“I hear and I obey, your grace.” She bowed and turned to the courier. “Have you eaten?”
“No, Colonel. My horse,” and he gestured in the direction of the now-open tent flaps.
“Stay with her, she’ll need you more than I do,” Miles Grantholm ordered. “Godown be with you, Sarmas.” He left before she could reply.
“Sit,” she told the worn-out man. He sagged into her chair. She walked to the door and into a milling herd of curious soldiers. She grabbed the closest warm body. “You, go get food for the courier, bring it here.” She released him and pointed to another trooper. “You, find Destefani, Krehbiel, and Lt. Black. Send them here.” She raised her voice. “The rest of you report to your officers and begin packing. Weapons and rations, as much as you can carry. We’re going to Vindobona to fight the Turkowi.”
5
The Road East
“Who is commanding the defense of the city?”
That question nagged Elizabeth as she made her plans for the cavalry to return to the Donau Novi Valley. She doubted that Duke Starland would let himself be ordered to take charge. He’d told her as much several times over, to the extent of admitting he’d much prefer Lady Marie command the defense of Starheart if, Godown forbid, it came to that. No, Elizabeth thought, Starland would be outside, in charge of the blocking or relieving army. Probably his majesty Emperor Rudolph would have Crown Prince Thomas command the defense, under the careful guidance of someone more experienced, like Major Wyler.
“We need to get to the Donau Novi, but not without some supplies and weapons,” Elizabeth told Capt. Krehbiel and Maj. Destefani. “I anticipate restocking at the depot at DonauPlaat, but we still need food and forage, along with our weapons in case Turkowi raiders are operating ahead of the main army, or we find that someone’s snuck down from the north.”
“Fast with food and firearms, my lady,” Krehbiel repeated. “No oxen then, not at first. Or mules. I’ll shift what I can to the horse wagons and plan on foraging if we need to.”
“We have some cash, but I don’t want to use it until we have to.” Lazlo nodded his agreement, expression grim. She looked down at the map. Something nagged at her and she could not sort out what it was. “What am I missing?”
Both men shook their heads. “Food, beasts, firearms and other weapons, shelter and thank Godown it is high summer,” Lazlo counted off. “The courier will take our routes with him, so we can get news. I can’t think of anything else, my lady, unless you want to bring the churigons with us?”
She considered the idea. “No,” she decided, thinking aloud. “They will need supplies and want shelter and equipment, and that will slow us. They can catch up, will catch up.” They needed to rest, but the Turkowi had taken that option away. “Axel and Lt. Sparli have their orders and Count Peilov approved them already.” She looked up, admitting, “I can’t think of anything else right now.”
“My lady, it will come to all three of us tomorrow at the second hour after midnight,” Lazlo assured her with a crooked, all-too-aware grin.
“That it will, my lady,” Krehbiel agreed.
The idea struck a little earlier. That evening, as Elizabeth finished counting off the units that might be available to defend Vindobona, she realized what they needed. “Shock troops,” she blurted.
Lt. Black and Lt. Andrew Bonaventure startled. “My lady?” Bonaventure asked.
“What is missing are shock troops to use to break through a siege line—heavy cavalry, fast-moving artillery, that sort of thing. What we do not have at the moment.”
“My lady, you seem very certain about there being a siege somewhere,” Black ventured.
She nodded. “Consider what is going on, gentleme
n. The Turkowi have not mustered an army in four years. If they intend to conquer and hold territory, and are coming up the Donau Novi, what will they encounter?”
“Starland and the castle at Starheart, my lady, Esterberg on the Tivolia border, Geraldspont at the grey cliffs south of Vindobona,” Black replied counting the major forts off on his fingers.
“Correct. Assuming they’ve taken Esterberg already, that means they are going to have to take at least Geraldspont if they intend to secure their supply lines. That means siege. And it is easier to find a besieging army than one that is roaming, spread out and foraging.”
The men nodded. “That makes sense, my lady, looking at it from the south instead of the north,” Bonaventure said, a thoughtful look on his pale, angular face.
She’d not mentioned Vindobona again and did not intend to. Logic dictated that the Turkowi would only invade as much territory as they could hold over the winter, but Elizabeth doubted that her logic and Tayyip the Invincible’s logic ran on the same road.
The cavalry and fast support group rode east the next day. Despite protests from some of the other commanders, she insisted on using the East High Road, an ancient Lander track. “We need speed, gentlemen. The High Road is above the marshes and floodplains, and is paved, and goes the way we need to go.”
Count Andy Jones complained, “It’s Lander work, Sarmas, and cursed. Godown will not help us if we take the Lander road.”
“Godown left the road so it could be used, Jones. And you will be under my orders, so any blame falls on my head.” She planted her fists on her hips, tired of arguing. “We’re fighting the self-proclaimed enemies of Godown. I do believe that cancels the taint of the Lander ways. There are other routes open, and you are free to use them so long as you can reach DonauPlaat in three weeks.”
The younger man backed down, unhappy but no longer challenging her. To her mild surprise, the others, with the exception of Col. Boris Brody, a devout follower of St. Mou, followed her lead. Well, I am more experienced, if not older. There’d been a near-epidemic of successions among the third-tier nobility over the past decade, leaving the military dukes with less experienced officers.
With Brody and Jones taking a secondary route, it relieved some of the pressure on Elizabeth’s and the others’ supply officers. It also reduced the number of men, horses, and wagons crammed onto the long, straight, but not entirely intact road. Elizabeth made note of the worst spots, or at least the worst ones marked on the map. None of the ancient bridges remained completely intact, although parts of them still stood.
The land looked good as they rode east, away from the marks of Grantholm’s foragers. The forests seemed healthy, as did the town woodlots. Ripening wheat and oats waved in the summer wind, their grain heads full. “Time for a hail storm, my lady Colonel, ” Major Destefani observed in a mournful tone. “And drought could still ruin everything, my lady, unless we get too much rain and the plants drown or blacksmut sets in.” His perfect imitation of Axel, Donatello Bend’s pessimistic farm manager, sent her into gales of laughter.
“Oh, but I’m sure that’s exactly what he’d say, Major. And then he’d be unhappy if nothing happens, because then there’s no room in the grain-bins and barns and it will sit out and ruin.” A few of the men, who either knew Axel or who had met people like him, chuckled at their comments.
A few others eyed the standing crops with envy. Elizabeth had overheard Lieutenants Montoya and Nicholson complaining about the free towns and wishing that they could relocate their manors to take advantage of the land up here. Since they’d only complained, she had not said anything at the time. The imperial free cities brought a great deal of tax revenue into the Babenburg’s coffers. And the cities were not immune to dearth. Three years before, this land had been under water from late rains well past planting time, and the winter-sown grains had been weak from the excess water. And now the rinderpest threatened from the north.
Elizabeth listened to the sound of the horses’ hooves on the black pavement. The same material covered the roads south and west of Vindobona. It had lasted at least four hundred years, and she marveled at it. Oh, it was not perfect, and in winter people shunned the stuff—it iced and got snow pack that defeated even caulks. And already she could see the heat shimmer rising from the dark surface, even a few hours after dawn, with the air still somewhat, almost, cool.
“My lady, is there anything in the commentaries on the Holy Writ about Godown running out of hills as he finished making the world?” Lazlo asked after some hours. The land running north and south on either side of the High Road lay as flat as the top of a table. In the far distance to the south they could see the low blue ripple of some hills, and in a few days they’d come within sight of the edge of the Donau Novi lowlands. But now the sun shone down on nothing but plains, interrupted by a very few watchtowers and a scattering of church spires.
“No, not that I have read, although there is an amusing story that He tripped and dropped the Dividing Range. He’d planned to use it to fill in the Tongue Sea, but decided that He liked it better where it is now.” She’d read the tale in a book of children’s stories, from a long-vanished sect of heretics.
“That’s blasphemy!” Lieutenant Nicholson gasped, horrified.
She covered a smile with a cough. “It is an old tale from long-dead people, Lieutenant. If you read enough commentaries and saints’ lives, you may encounter even stranger accounts, such as those of a large group of early worshippers on the home planet who believed that He was actually three gods in one.”
“They should be destroyed, so people are not corrupted.” He sounded so much like her old supervisor, Sister Amalthea, that Elizabeth wondered for an instant if the Sister’s spirit had spoken through him.
“Those who believe in error, or their works, Lieutenant? Because if you kill everyone who disagrees with you, Godown will have no worshippers left.” A shadow flashed across the road and she glanced up to see a hawk-lizard soaring overhead. “And before you start to argue theology, Lieutenant Nicholson, remember that I trained for the sisterhood and was a sworn postulant for fifteen years,” she cautioned as he started inhaling to continue the argument.
He seemed to deflate, at least for the moment. “Oh. I was not aware of that, my lady Colonel.”
Lazlo, riding at her left hand, changed the topic. “My lady, what are your plans once we reach DonauPlaat?”
“That depens on what news we have of the Turkowi position and what his grace Duke Starland and their highnesses and his majesty have decided. If they are south of Geraldspont, then we cut overland, bypassing the bend in the Donau Novi, and join his grace wherever he is. If he’s pushed them down to Esterberg, I suspect his grace will want us to sweep through the valley looking for sworn acolytes and other, shall we say, strays?” She and Lazlo exchanged hard looks. “And there may well be something else under way, and we might be ordered north, or east to stop the passes.”
Someone riding behind her added, “And we may be told that his grace has rolled them back to Sheel and we are to rejoin Duke Grantholm.” A chorus of groans and “Godown forbid,” and “don’t even think that,” erupted from the soldiers. Elizabeth paid close attention to Braun’s ears, struggling to keep from laughing, although she felt the exact same way.
They made forty kilometers that day, and camped in the water meadows near Wheatville. Elizabeth, Lazlo, and a few others found rooms in an inn just outside the town walls. She was careful to pay in advance. Otherwise she just might wake up to find her throat cut or her horses gone and her baggage missing. The beer was passable, the bread hot, and the bed seemed free of additional occupants. She stared up at the ceiling beams and wished Lazlo were sharing the bed. On the other hand, she giggled as she rolled over and heard the ropes and frame squeaking, I suspect everyone in the building would know what we were doing, which would destroy the rumor that he follows St. Jenna.
She woke to a gray sky. The air felt wet and very heavy dew coated everything,
making the grass slippery. The soldiers carried their rain gear with them, those who had it, and Elizabeth reluctantly removed the feathers from her hat, wrapping them in oiled linen and slipping the package between her pistol holsters in her saddlebag. If the wet turned to rain, black powder would be well nigh useless anyway.
The horses felt the heavy air as much as their riders did. Everyone plodded along, and by the fourth hour after what should have been sunrise, the mist turned to drizzle. Two hours later drizzle became a cold, slow, steady rain that found every weak seam, open cuff, or gap in their clothes. The wet muted any conversations, and the cavalry rode in near silence, the only sounds the clink of tack and the constant steady “clop, clop, clop, clop” of hooves on pavement.
Lazlo twisted around to look at something and was rewarded with water down his collar. “Ugh. Remind me about the dashing glories of the cavalry life, my lady?”
“I’m trying to think of them myself, Major. Hoof iron or shoe leather, which wears out first?”
He snorted at the ancient joke. “We could travel the stars but we can’t keep ourselves dry. Somewhere, something went terribly wrong, my lady.”
“Agreed.” Braun shook his head, sending more water flying. “That was uncalled for,” she told the horse. Braun ignored her.
They reached the first bridge two hours before dark. The water had risen to cover the first depth mark. The brick piers of the bridge seemed sturdy, and as she watched the structure did not move, despite the brown and white water churning ten meters below. Braun fidgeted. He did not care for bridges. “Easy,” she patted his neck. She took a deep breath and pushed him into motion, walking over the heavy timbers and around a few patches. She wished the bridge builders had put higher walls on the sides. The guards only reached a man’s waist, allowing horse and man to see over and down, into the rolling deep.
