The Price of Valor

by Django Wexler

  “Sevran!” she said. “Give Bobby twenty men, and you’re in command until we get back. Bobby, come with me. I need to see this.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  * * *

  Winter attached herself to the truce party by the simple expedient of turning up and offering to provide the general’s escort. Fitz, who was coming along as translator, made no objection, and though a sour look crossed de Ferre’s face at the sight of Winter, he didn’t bother to overrule her. Bobby arrayed the twenty Royals in two lines, on either side of the party of senior officers, and they walked out from the waiting ranks of the Colonials. Antova’s main gate was directly ahead, a road passing over the ditches by two removable bridges, leading to a stone gatehouse with massive, iron-banded doors. A white flag waved from the parapets, and a moment later the doors swung ponderously outward, revealing a group of elaborately uniformed Hamveltai officers followed by a dozen yellowjackets in tall shakos.

  The two groups met halfway between the Vordanai lines and the fortress walls, within easy cannon-shot of both sides. Winter didn’t know how to read the Hamveltai insignia, but judging by the amount of gold braid and decorations pinned to his chest, the white-haired man in the lead was di Pfalen himself. His right arm hung limp in a sling, and his face was tight and puffy from pain and lack of sleep. Carrying himself with obvious effort, he looked over the Vordanai party and spoke in Hamveltai. Winter could more or less decipher this, but de Ferre was obviously in complete ignorance.

  “Which one of you is Vhalnich?” di Pfalen said.

  Fitz took a step forward, bowed, and asked in Vordanai, “Do any of you speak Vordanai?”

  There was a bit of muttering and head-shaking from the Hamveltai officers. Fitz nodded, switched smoothly into Hamveltai, and went on. “Then I will translate for the general. Is that acceptable?”

  Di Pfalen grunted approval. “Then this is Vhalnich?”

  “He wishes to speak to General Vhalnich,” Fitz said to de Ferre.

  “Tell him Vhalnich is no longer in command here. I’m the one he has to deal with now,” de Ferre said.

  “General de Ferre has replaced General Vhalnich in command of the Army of the East,” Fitz repeated dutifully.

  Another round of muttering. Winter’s heart leapt when she heard one of the officers say, “It’s true, then!” Our message must have gotten through.

  “The terms presented in your note,” di Pfalen said, “go against every principle of civilized war. I must protest in the very strongest terms.”

  “He isn’t happy we’ve asked them to surrender,” Fitz said to de Ferre.

  “He’s not meant to be happy. Tell him I want to get this over with one way or the other,” de Ferre said.

  Fitz turned back to the Hamveltai. “The general says he meant what he wrote. We demand your immediate surrender, or else you face an immediate assault.”

  Di Pfalen’s mustache twitched. “You’re bluffing. You’d lose thousands just getting to the walls.”

  “He thinks you’re not serious,” Fitz said to de Ferre.

  “Not serious, am I?” De Ferre advanced a step and waved a finger under di Pfalen’s nose. “Tell him to turn around and step back inside his little castle if he wants to see how serious I am. And if he insults my courage again, I’ll slug him, white flag or no white flag.”

  “The general says,” Fitz translated for the wide-eyed di Pfalen, “that casualties mean nothing to him. Ours, or yours. He says he is quite prepared for the battle to start right here.” Fitz swallowed, and did a good impression of someone who was terrified. “I suggest you don’t test him on this point. He has quite a temper.”

  Di Pfalen spun and spoke to his officers, voice low and urgent. Winter caught, “Mad! The man must be mad!” and “Can’t be bluffing. We heard their men marching in.”

  “Eh? What’s going on?” de Ferre said.

  “I think you’ve disconcerted them,” Fitz said. “They’re considering your offer.”

  Finally, looking a bit ashen, di Pfalen turned back to the Vordanai.

  “If we surrender,” he said, “we require guarantees of safety for all ranks, as well as for the personal property of officers.”

  “Agreed,” Fitz said. “Your men will surrender their arms and all equipment within the fortress intact, and give their parole not to fight against the Vordanai for a period of one year. All who agree will be permitted to depart immediately, with provisions and personal property.”

  “What?” de Ferre said.

  “Done,” di Pfalen said, looking pained. “But you should know that as soon as I return home, I intend to publish an account of your tactics. The world will know of your infamy.”

  “Is he insulting me again?” De Ferre raised a fist. “Tell him to step up, if he’s half a man.”

  “The general accepts your surrender,” Fitz extemporized to di Pfalen, “and, if you are unhappy with the terms, extends an invitation to personal combat, armed or unarmed, as you choose.”

  “Mad!” one of the other Hamveltai officers said. “A bloody mad dog!”

  Di Pfalen himself bowed at a shallow, correct angle and turned away. The other Hamveltai fell in behind him, leaving de Ferre looking deeply confused.

  “Warus? What happened?”

  “They offered their surrender, sir,” Fitz said. “The fortress is ours.”

  “Surrender? Really?” De Ferre looked back at the waiting ranks of Vordanai troops. “Well, I suppose it’s for the best, but you wouldn’t catch me giving in so easily.” He sounded almost disappointed.

  “Fitz,” Winter said when they were back in the safety of their own lines, “I could kiss you. That was fucking brilliant.”

  “I think di Pfalen was ready to topple,” Fitz said. “I don’t blame him, with what he’s been through. I just gave him a little push.”

  He smiled modestly. Winter, bouncing on her heels with released tension, fought a strong urge to hug him.

  Around them, cheers and shouts were spreading, and the formations were breaking up as the news spread. Men less reticent than Winter tossed their muskets away and hugged one another, or sat down heavily in the brown grass, or professed disappointment and boasted about what they would have accomplished. Across the way, white flags were rising from other places along the fortress walls.

  “I’d better get things organized,” Fitz said, watching the Colonials celebrate. “There’s several thousand men in there who need to give their parole, not to mention all the equipment.”

  “Go ahead. I’m going to give my people the news.”

  A surging crowd was forming around them, and Fitz turned away and started shouting orders against a background of cheers and backslapping. Winter fought her way through the press and found Bobby and her escort of Royals waiting, all of them grinning from ear to ear. They jogged back to where they’d left the rest of the regiment, only to find that the news had outrun them. Girls’ Own and Royals had mixed into a single joyous cacophony of self-congratulation.

  Cyte hurried up to her, pushing through the close-packed soldiers. “It worked?”

  “It fucking worked!” Winter shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Di Pfalen was a little angry about our ‘infamy.’”

  “He’s going to be even angrier when he finds out we don’t have half the men we said we did,” Cyte said.

  “Fitz is already working on it. By the time they figure out they’ve been tricked, we’ll have all the guns.”

  “Thank God,” Cyte said. She let out a long breath, looking up at Winter, then shook her head. “You should see Jane.”

  Winter nodded, patted Cyte on the shoulder, and moved off through the crowd. Abby and Jane were together in the middle of a knot of cheering Girls’ Own soldiers, but the press melted away as the women caught sight of Winter, shoving each other aside to clear a path for her. Winter trotted past,
and they closed up again behind her, cheering.

  Jane’s face was drawn, and there was something odd in her eyes. She tried to say something, but even leaning close Winter couldn’t make it out above the tumult. In lieu of speech, she simply drew Jane close, wrapping her arms around her. Then, with sudden mad elation—everyone already knows, even if they’ve got the genders wrong—she tugged Jane’s head around and kissed her, prompting another wave of cheers and whistles from the women in the crowd.

  Jane’s lips were soft and warm, but Winter could feel a reluctance in her that made her pull back.

  Are you all right? she mouthed. Jane blinked, and shook her head.

  “Colonel! Hey, Colonel!”

  Winter turned to find the tall form of Jo beside her, accompanied by the diminutive Barley. The latter’s voice was louder than it had any right to be, as though to make up for her companion’s silence.

  “Yes?” One did not normally address a superior as “Hey, Colonel!” but at the moment Winter was willing to forgive the lack of etiquette.

  “What about Anne-Marie?” Barley shouted. “Is she back yet?”

  “Not yet.” Winter felt her elation deflate a little bit. She’s okay, I’m sure she’s okay. Even if the Hamveltai discovered her now, they’d hardly dare harm her while they were at the mercy of their enemies. “I’ll tell Fitz to be on the lookout when he sends men into the fortress.”

  Barley nodded and Jo fixed Winter with a meaningful look. A moment later, they were swept away by the crowd, and the celebration went on, but Winter felt more than a little subdued. She was thinking beyond Anne-Marie, to what would come next, and was not at all sure she liked what she could see. This isn’t over yet.

  * * *

  Winter meant to corner Jane and get her in private so she could vent whatever was bothering her, but Fitz arrived before she got the chance. The crowd was breaking up, lieutenants and sergeants herding their soldiers back to the camps to impose some kind of order. From the general mood, Winter guessed a few carefully hoarded bottles were going to be breached tonight, and she wouldn’t be surprised if there was quite a bit of “fraternization” between (or within) the two battalions. There’s nothing quite like having mortal danger suddenly called off to put a new edge on living.

  Fitz drew congratulatory shouts from those who recognized him, though only a few did. He waved Winter over, and his expression was worrying.

  “Something wrong?” she said.

  “Not sure,” he said. “The occupation is going all right. Janus and I have everything laid out. But he sent me away and said I should tell you he wants to see you as soon as possible.”

  That did sound ominous. “Where’s de Ferre?”

  “Last I heard, planting our flag on the battlements and personally receiving di Pfalen’s sword. If he follows the plan I laid out for him, he’ll be busy for hours.”

  “That’s something.” Winter looked around. Abby and Sevran seemed to have things well in hand, so it was unlikely her presence would be urgently required in the near future. “I’ll see what he wants, then.”

  “Good luck. Tell him to send for me if he needs me.”

  Winter trotted through the long arc of the camp, bending around the periphery of the looming, defanged fortress. Janus’ tent was near the area occupied by the Colonials, but slightly apart from it, as befit the army commander. No one was on watch outside, so Winter rapped at the tent post. The gesture reminded her of the old days in Khandar; colonels didn’t do much standing at the door of other people’s tents.

  “Colonel Ihernglass?” Janus said.

  “Yes, sir. You wanted to see me?”

  “Come in.”

  The tent was the same as before, except that someone had erected a tall lacquer folding screen in one corner, behind which Janus was changing. Winter let the tent flap fall and stood, somewhat awkwardly.

  “I’m sorry,” Janus said. “It’s been a busy day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I understand I have you to thank for our triumph this afternoon?”

  “No, sir. I mean, only a little bit. Colonel Warus did the clever part.”

  “So I heard. But the idea, I think, was yours. I will happily admit that this time I thought the game was up. I owe you my thanks, and many of the men and women in the army owe you their lives.”

  Winter flushed a little and shook her head. “Anne-Marie—that is, Ranker di Wallach, sir—volunteered for an extremely dangerous mission. We couldn’t have done it without her.”

  “I’ve heard that as well. I would nominate her for a decoration, except that we haven’t got any at the moment. The Deputies-General got as far as abolishing the old royal orders, but a set of new Republican commendations appears to have bogged down in committee.”

  “Have you heard anything about Anne-Marie, sir?”

  “Not yet. But it’s a bit chaotic in there. We’ve made it clear that nobody is to be harmed, and they haven’t admitted to mistreating any of our prisoners.”

  Winter nodded, realized Janus couldn’t see her, and said, “That’s good, sir.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and the leathery sound of a belt being drawn tight.

  “Have you read Goekhol, Colonel?”

  Winter blinked. “I can’t say that I have, sir.”

  “You should. There was a time when I thought that one could learn everything one needed to know about the military arts from his On War. My perspective has expanded a bit since then, but . . .” He sighed. “In any event, in On War, Goekhol describes the perfect battle, the perfect victory.”

  “Is there such a thing, sir?” Winter thought about the aftermath of some of her victories.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Janus emerged from behind the screen. He was wearing his dress uniform, crisp regulation blue with gold braid and silver stars on his shoulders. A dress sword, so small Winter doubted it was functional, swung at his hip. “Goekhol wrote that just as war is the last resort of statesmen, combat should be the last resort of generals. A great general would only fight when the outcome is a foregone conclusion. And a perfect general would outmaneuver his enemy so utterly, leave the position so completely hopeless, that the futility of fighting would be obvious to even the most dim-witted foe. The perfect victory is the battle that is decided before it is even fought, and therefore never needs to be fought at all.”

  “I see,” Winter said. “Certainly to be preferred from the perspective of the soldiers in the ranks.”

  “History is a strange beast, Colonel. Goekhol is remembered as a warmonger, because he wrote about how to fight wars efficiently and with as little suffering as possible. Voulenne wrote The Rights of Man, in which he says that men are born with a right to happiness and self-determination, and is remembered as a peacemaker even though his words have caused God knows how much death and destruction.” He cocked his head. “Do you wonder what they’ll write about you?”

  “Nothing, if I’m lucky,” Winter said. “Or maybe, ‘She died at age ninety-nine, a wealthy and comfortable woman.’”

  Janus grinned, just for an instant, gray eyes sparkling. “Well said. We should all be so lucky.”

  “I think you’re more in danger from historians than I am, sir.”

  “Probably.” He stared into the distance, as though he could see through the walls of the tent and the detritus of the camp, all the way to the horizon. “Would it surprise you if I said I don’t particularly care?”

  “Nothing you say is going to surprise me, at this point.”

  “If they knew . . . if the historians knew what I know, I think they’d be appalled. So much blood, for such a small thing. One raindrop in the river of history.” He sighed. “Fortunately, I don’t plan to tell them. No doubt they’ll spin many entertaining theories, once we’re all dead and gone.”

  He was silent a moment, adjusting the
hang of his sword, and Winter felt compelled to speak.

  “Sir? Is something wrong?”

  “The next battle, Colonel. It is . . . not perfect. I have done my best, but I do not know if I see the way clear, and I find it lies heavy on me.”

  If it was anyone else, Winter would have said he sounded nervous. But this was Janus bet Vhalnich. “Nervous” didn’t apply to him. “What battle, sir? With Jindenau?”

  Janus laughed. “Oh no. No, the great field marshal will no doubt scuttle back to Hamvelt with his tail between his legs. The campaign in the east is over, though I doubt anyone yet realizes that but you and me. The next battle will be quite different.”

  “Then—”

  “Vhalnich!” It was de Ferre’s voice, loud and imperious.

  “He’s not supposed to be back yet,” Winter said. “I should probably leave you alone, sir—”

  “I suspect,” Janus said very quietly, “that if you were to step outside you would be very unpleasantly surprised.”

  “Sir?”

  “I recommend you take cover behind the dressing screen,” Janus said. “And be very quiet.”

  “I—”

  “Now, Colonel.”

  “Yes, sir.” His tone of authority was such that Winter only barely managed to stop herself from coming to attention and saluting. She dodged around him and put herself behind the lacquered screen, using the edge of the camp bed to conceal her feet where a gap at the bottom might make them visible from the tent flap. She could see, just barely, through a crack between the sections.

  “Yes, General?” Janus said, once Winter was concealed.

  “So you are in there.” De Ferre pushed the tent flap aside and straightened up. Two men accompanied him—not officers, Winter was surprised to see, but musket-bearing Patriot Guards. De Ferre looked over Janus’ dress uniform with suspicion. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Janus shrugged. “I was expecting . . . something like this. Although not quite so promptly.”

  “Ha! I can tell when I’m being run around the bush.” De Ferre ran a finger along his mustache. “Did you put the Warus boy up to that?”