by Alma Boykin
The next day the weather began turning. The fall equinox had passed before the Imperials relieved Vindobona, and the grey clouds that appeared in the northern sky around mid-day came as no surprise. The blue-black wall of stinging cold rain under the heavy clouds did catch them unprepared, however. The wind and water found every bare spot, weak patch, hole, and crevice in the soldiers’ clothes and armor. Their horses moped along, tails and manes dripping. “I’m reminded again why it is called campaign season, my lady,” Lazlo observed that night, toasting his hands as close to the open fire as he dared.
“The more we do now, the less we do next year, or at the solstice,” she reminded him. They’d found another burnt out farm, this one without bodies, and made a bonfire in a corner out of the wind. The rain slackened to a miserable drizzle. “I would like to know how the Poloki are faring.”
“Or if they are even still in the field. My lady.” He sounded sour.
“Oh, I’m sure they are. Otherwise our couriers would have found us, no matter what the stories claim about the charms of Poloki women.”
The Poloki, worse for wear, their wounded and dead strapped to their horses, found the Imperials two days ride from the walls of Esterburg. “The bastard fought from cover!” Prince Imre spat, sounding and looking completely disgusted as well as battered. “We found the creatures and tracked them to their camp, near a stream, the Barly your map calls it. They saw us and began retreating down the stream. No wonder, it looked like support troops, scavengers, lightly armed. We formed up and attacked.” He took a long drink of wine.
“Bagh, the bastards. We closed in with them and poof,” he threw his empty hand up. “Light infantry, irregulars or close to it, sprang out of the brush and woods. Cut our horses before we could react. Cut my men as well, before we fought into the open and got away. Godown be praised, we saw their cavalry before it saw us and we got away.” He shook his finger at the listening Imperial officers, “There’s no point fighting superior numbers.”
“Indeed, your highness,” Elizabeth agreed gravely. She wanted to shake him for riding so blindly into such a typical Turkowi trap, but then she’d done almost the same thing four years ago. She’d been lucky. The Turkowi had triggered their trap too soon, and the main body of her troops had broken the ambush, saving her rump (and everything else attached to it). Not so Prince Imre. “You’ll get a chance for revenge once we reach Esterburg.”
“No. We need rest. You’ve pushed us too far, too fast. We will stay here and recover, then join you. Or return home. The year is late.”
Damn it, I need your soldiers. But I don’t need to give you an excuse to break the treaty, either, and I can’t force you to stay. And right now is not the moment to try and persuade you, either, even I can tell that. Seething, she kept her expression and voice calm and sympathetic. “I quite understand, your highness. Good commanders always take care of their troops first, and you know your men and their condition much better than I do.”
Imre’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the rim of his cup at her, as if he suspected her thoughts.
She turned to one of her couriers. “Sergeant, please let Maj. Destefani know that the Poloki will be remaining here, so he can arrange for any supplies or assistance they might need.”
The young man bowed a little. “Yes, my lady,” and he went to find Lazlo.
“Unless you need anything of me, your highness, I will excuse myself and see to my men.”
Imre seemed to consider her offer. He waved his hand. “Go, Sarmas. I will call you if I need you.”
She bowed low. “Thank you, your highness.” She pulled her jacket closer as she left the relatively warm confines of another abandoned farmhouse. The residents had fled only recently, she guessed, since the soldiers had found yard fowl when they rode up. Those fowl had made an excellent supper. Now the house served Crown Prince Imre and his men. Elizabeth shivered as she rounded the corner and the wind bit into her. Winter had arrived with teeth and claws. At least it did not smell like snow yet. Please, holy Godown, please may Krehbiel and the infantry catch up to us before it starts snowing. If the cold rain had been miserable, snow? She shuddered. They’d all be down with lung fever even before the siege began if they had to camp out in snow, and half the men would desert.
Two days later, the Imperial cavalry reached Esterburg, stopping two kilometers from the outer defenses. Elizabeth repeated to herself what she’d read about the place. One of the oldest post-Fire border posts, the city formed the border between Tivolia, Morloke, and the Babenburg lands, through tradition and treaty. South of the city, the Donau Novi flowed through a deep cut in a ridge called the Grey Gates, the only pass in the ridge for almost a hundred kilometers to either side of the defile, making the city a critical place for river traffic and trade. Because of the military importance of the town, all the people at Esterburg had lived inside the walls, leaving the outside open for livestock and gardens, and clear for the guns. Esterburg had been a border defense and trade toll city, with good and generally open relations with the Eastern Empire, at least until the last Duke of Tivolia had ordered the larger guns built into the walls.
Elizabeth studied the city, not pleased with what she saw. The tall, curving walls looked stouter than those at Vindobona, although the lower outer bastions did not seem as closely spaced, and the moat appeared dry, at least for the moment. For the first time since they’d left Vindobona she wondered if she had enough troops for the siege. She’d estimated that she’d need ten thousand soldiers, plus engineers, but the walls looked longer than her maps and diagrams suggested, and she’d had men killed, wounded, or abscond. The number of men required to seal the place skyrocketed once she added in the difficulty of blocking Turkowi relief via the river and attacks across it. It had taken the Turkowi almost five months to capture Esterburg. She might not have that long.
Of course she kept her thoughts to herself. Aloud she observed, “They did a good job repairing the wall.”
“Yes, my lady, they certainly did,” Lazlo agreed, and Count Albinez nodded as well. “I wonder what the range is?” Lazlo caught himself. “Never mind.”
She grinned at the superstition. “We’ll find out soon enough.” She picked up the reins and Ricardo obediently turned. The men shifted, making way for her to ride between them and back to the camp. They’d formed a defensive laager instead of the usual arrangement, and she nodded with approval. The Turkowi garrison might sortie, trying to end the siege before it could begin.
Her troops started trickling into place late the next evening. As soon as she had artillery and enough men to protect it, she ordered them out to form a ring around the city. The gunners began sighting and digging in. At the same time, Elizabeth sent an invitation to the garrison commander to surrender. His reply came three hours later. “To Col. Sarmas. We will uphold the glorious crown of Rajtan Tayyip the Invincible, beloved of Selkow, and of the Turkowi. I invite you to accept the true faith and join us, sharing the riches of Righteousness.” The flowery language continued for another page. When she finished reading, she looked up at the men, puzzled. “Captain of Hundreds Nehket seems to believe that I am a man.”
Irwin Kossuth stroked his mustache and appeared to be thinking about the letter. “My lady, it might be in our best interest not to correct his impression.”
Eulenberg nodded, rocking forwards and backwards on his heels. “They might refuse to surrender to a woman.”
“Hmm. Good points both of those.” Elizabeth stuck out her tongue as she thought about it, weighing her pride against practicality. “We won’t disabuse him, then.” As long as they surrender or we break in before my pregnancy starts to show, I can hide in my armor. I’m certainly homely enough to pass if it comes to that.
Over the next three days she delegated most matters to Lazlo and her subordinate commanders as she rested and planned the details of her encirclement. On the third afternoon, as she sat at her camp desk and tried to decide if she needed to shift more artillery to the
south side of the ring to cover the bridge, the familiar dull “boom, boom” of heavy cannon shook the air. Elizabeth jumped up, knocking her chair over, grabbed her cloak, and rushed for the door, almost forgetting to pick up her binoculars.
She started for the ridge but Lt. Howard Taylor caught her. “My lady, this way. The southern Turkowi batteries are firing.” She grabbed a waiting courier horse and hauled herself into the saddle. Taylor rode with her to the northern end of the hill, stopping just below the crest, still out of sight. Elizabeth dismounted and handed Taylor the reins, then stalked up so she could just see over the scrub remaining on the once-wooded hill.
White smoke wreathed the top of two of the sections of Esterburg’s main wall. She swept her binoculars from the source of the smoke down and away, looking for damage to her lines. A swarm of men told here where the ball had hit. Or had it? She heard another boom and kept her glasses trained on that area. Nothing. The men didn’t seem to run or do more than continue whatever they had been doing. “Well that’s interesting.” Either the soldiers digging the protective trenches had a death wish, or they were cocking a snock at the Turkowi gunners, or they’d discovered the guns’ range and stayed just beyond it. “Boom,” more smoke floated up, drifting north on the light breeze: still no major action from the men outside the walls. She lowered her glasses. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That is most useful.”
Lt. Mitchell Francis, one of the artillery officers, explained things the next morning when she rode out to visit the lines and see for herself how the entrenching went. “Bagh, as well as you’d expect, my lady. Can’t dig too deep for the high water. When the river goes down, it will help.”
“Good to know. Have you ranged your guns yet?”
“Yes, my lady,” and he pointed to the fortress looming over the scene. “So have they, and they are short.”
Better that than the alternative, she thought. “What about the big river guns?”
He shook his head and scratched around under his grimy grey collar. “My lady, they can’t bring them around. I could be wrong, but we’ve been talking and doing some calculations,” he waved in the direction of the artillery mess tent. “The big guns can fire across the river, forty kilo shot. The cannon must weigh a ton, probably more. They’re not going to be able to move those easily across town or around the wall, and there’s no point, really, my lady. Those are in specially built positions. If they try to drag them around, they could damage the walls.
“And if they do drag the river guns around and fire?” He set one hand on top of the other, angled like a cannon. “Boom,” and he slid the cannon back, tipping it off the wall. “Crash, my lady. They’d do better with mortars in the outer bastions, like we use, but it seems they have not brought them upriver yet. Or if they did, they’ve not been using them.”
That clarified a great deal, and Elizabeth nodded as comprehension dawned. “Thank you, Lt. Francis. That answers several questions I’ve had. Well done and carry on.”
“Thank you, my lady,” and he saluted before returning to work.
By the end of the week, two lines of tents, pit trenches, and soldiers surrounded Esterburg. Elizabeth rode the lines, speaking with men, studying the layout and asking questions about supplies and sanitation. She sent a final offer of surrender, and got the exact same response. “Perhaps he has them pre-written, my lady,” Count Kornholt speculated over supper.
“That is certainly possible,” she sat back in her chair and used a bit of broken fowl bone to worry a sliver of meat out from between her front teeth. “It is beautifully written, especially the borders.”
“Have you ever seen one of their books, my lady?” Count Kossuth asked.
She shook her head as she reached for her tea. The wines in the latest load, all reds, turned her stomach even if heated and with spices in them, so she drank tea instead.
“They can be beautiful. I saw one once down in Tivolia. No idea where it came from, or how the trader got it. It was a history of the Turkowi and had decorations around every page, chains of flowers and vines, or elaborate lines and colors. The first page of each chapter had one letter, entirely decorated, as big as the page. It looked a great deal to their hangings and carpets, and I wonder if that’s where it came from. I mean,” Kossuth picked up his wine glass. “They probably had cloth before books, since we all need clothing to survive. Since they like ornate rugs and draperies so much, maybe they just used the same intricate patterns on their books and letters.”
“Fascinating, my lord. Their metal work can be beautiful, or at least what High Priest Mukara had was beautiful. Lots of engraving and punch work on the handles and rims,” she added.
“You noticed the embroidery on the Magvi vests?”
“Yes, although I did not look closely.”
Kossuth nodded. “Probably just as well, my lady, but that embroidery is based on Turkowi work. Ask the traders that specialize in cloth if you want to know more. My lady, Godown be with her soul, taught herself to imitate the Magvi work, and I have a Turkowi carpet. She took a design from the carpet and made it into decoration for a dress.”
“She must have been a very talented woman,” Elizabeth said with honest admiration. “Embroidery is a true gift.”
“She was.” He stared off, perhaps looking into the past. “Childbed fever took her a year and a half ago, after delivering our fourth child.”
Her mouth gone dry, Elizabeth rested one hand on her belly. She drank a large swallow of tea before she could reply, “My condolences, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
After a long silence, broken by a log popping in the portable fireplace, one of the other officers asked about the next wine shipment, and talk turned to safer topics.
Six mornings after the siege lines finished encircling the city, a rider came from Esterburg under a flag of truce. After a quick consultation with Albinez and Destefani, Elizabeth arranged for Count Albinez, as the oldest of her field commanders, to meet with the Turkowi messenger and act in her place. Albinez rode back to her headquarters at a fast trot. “My lady, Captain of Hundreds Nehket wants to surrender, under the terms of the second letter.”
“What?!?” She rose half out of her chair, then flopped back. The light wooden frame creaked ominously but held. She repeated, “He wants to surrender.”
“Yes, my lady.” Albinez sounded suspicious and glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t trust him.”
“Where’s Count Kossuth? Find him,” she ordered, and three aids scrambled out the doorway, almost tripping eachother. One came back all but dragging the half-dressed nobleman. “Irwin, we’ve had a surrender offer. Can we trust it?”
“Yes.”
She churned the air with her hand, encouraging Kossuth to give her more detail.
“Yes, my lady, because they gain nothing by feinting a surrender and then attacking. If he was counting on Mukara’s force coming to his aid, and Mukara can’t cross, then there is no honor in remaining. And from what little I understand of Turkowi thinking and policies, a Captain of Hundreds is roughly the same as our battle counts, so he knows what the politics are and may have decided not to back a losing commander, even if it is a High Priest.”
“Thank you, and I apologize for interrupting you so precipitously.” Elizabeth got to her feet. “Albinez, tell him we accept, per the terms of the second offer. And we will slaughter them to a man if they try anything stupid.” As soon as the men left, she dropped to her knees, eyes full of tears. “Oh holy Godown, thank you. Thank you, for this opportunity. Thank you, great Lord of all.” After several minutes of prayer, she got to her feet, pulled out a page of scrap, and began planning how to stop the Turkowi from turning the surrender into a massacre if Nehket lied.
The gates of Esterburg opened one day later, and the Turkowi garrison marched out, banners flying, trumpets and drums playing a slow march. Elizabeth, in armor and helmet, fully armed with pistols primed, sat on Ricardo and watched, impassive. Lazlo rode at her left side and Count
Albinez on her right, with the other nobles to either side of them. The Turkowi men acted wary, as did the Imperials, and Elizabeth sensed that any fast motion could lead to disaster. The Turkowi officers halted fiver meters from the Imperial commanders. Elizabeth nodded and Albinez rode forward to meet Nehket.
A short, stocky man with a dark complexion, burning black eyes, and grey hair met the count. “You have come to surrender Esterburg?” Albinez asked, speaking slowly and loudly so all could hear.
“Yes. I gave my oath to one who is now foresworn. He will not abide and neither must I.”
“We accept your surrender. You and your men are free to go, unharmed, with supplies enough to reach Donaustrand. After forty-five days, if you have not crossed the hills, you will be declared once again to be at war with his majesty Rudolph of Babenburg.”
Nekara spat to the side of his horse. “Oh, no fear, speaker-for-armies. I and my men are no oath-breakers, as Selkow sees.” He lifted the sheathed saber resting across his thighs and handed it to Albinez hilt first.
Albinez took it, nodded, and backed his horse. “Go in peace.” That was the signal and the Imperial troops parted, forming a wide corridor for the Turkowi to ride and march through. Once the officers seemed well on their way, Albinez rode back to Elizabeth and handed her the saber.
They watched the Turkowi procession for quite a while, and then Elizabeth, Lazlo, and a few others returned to the Imperial field headquarters, leaving Kossuth, Albinez and Kornholt to make certain that the Turkowi departed without doing anything stupid. The Imperial officers had already decided to wait at least a day before entering the citadel, in case Nekara had left a surprise of some kind, like putting a slow-fuse on a barrel of explosives in the powder magazine. Only after they’d secured the citadel would Elizabeth relax.
She sent a messenger to the Poloki, giving them the news. He returned at the second hour after noon, carrying letters from Imre for her, Emperor Rudolph, and Duke Starland. She set the others’ messages aside and read her own, her mouth crooking up into a tired half-smile as she did. “Well, Godown be with them as they travel and that solves a touchy problem.”
