In fact, the closer they’d come to Vordan City, the more she’d found herself wishing the voyage could last forever. No sooner had the thought occurred to her, though, than she banished it. I’m still the queen. My people need me. And we’re going to win, damn it, and then Marcus and I will marry and the hell with anyone who tells me it’s inappropriate. Then, at least for a few years, they could be together. Until people start to wonder about me.
The boat hit the water, and the rowers pushed it away from the Dominant, breaking Raesinia’s reverie. The big ship was anchored just below the row of pilings that were Vordan City’s first line of defense against a seaborne attack from the south. The huge stone pillars were anchored to the bottom of the river in a line from the north bank to the south, and mammoth iron chains could be threaded through metal loops atop them to close off the river.
All the contrast of Vordan City was on full display here. On the south bank, a small creek emptied out of a swampy stretch of land known as the Bottoms, a dumping ground for the very poorest of the city’s rejects, those who couldn’t find a place in even the cavernous, crime-ridden streets of Newtown. Shacks built out of scraps and driftwood stood on the few bits of solid ground.
On the north side, the riverbank below the pilings was home to what the public had dubbed the Fairy Castles, products of a trend among the Vordanai nobility to build their palatial homes in a style that suggested medieval fortresses. They had crenellated walls, big stone keeps, and tall, slender towers too thin for anyone to actually live in, combined with decidedly unmartial touches like huge colored glass windows and wide, well-tended gardens. Having recently been in the Keep, which had been an actual fortress, Raesinia found herself raising an amused eyebrow at these parodies. They were dark and shuttered, for the most part, the nobility having fled the city for country estates during the revolution and not yet returned.
Above the pilings, on both sides of the river, were the water batteries, brick-walled embrasures stocked with heavy cannon. The last time Raesinia had been there was when they’d boarded the Rosnik, sinking the Thousand Names in the river under the noses of Maurisk and his Black Priest allies. It hadn’t been an entirely successful expedition, since Raesinia herself had been captured by Ionkovo. Temporarily. She permitted herself a small smile. I got one up on him in the end.
The longboat was rowed between two pilings where the chain had been lowered; it passed into the harbor proper and headed for the docks on the north side, beside the battery. Behind them were the South Docks, the riverbank lined with quays and piers that ought to have been bustling with traffic but were instead nearly empty. Obviously, the news of Janus’ approach was not inspiring confidence. To the east, Raesinia could see the ugly spire of the Vendre, the prison where the revolutionaries had won their first victory. Which I managed to fall off the top of, after Faro shot me in the head. In terms of memories, coming into the city like this is a seriously mixed bag.
A short pier had been cleared for their arrival. At the foot of it were a score of blue-uniformed soldiers accompanying several civilians. When they got closer, Raesinia recognized Deputy d’Andorre, still in his blue suit with silver piping, though he was now wearing both his deputy’s sash of office and a wide belt that glittered with gold thread.
A dockhand, looking overawed, rushed forward to tie the longboat up and then hurried out of the way. The Borelgai stayed put—Raesinia had talked to Duke Dorsay, and they’d agreed that she and Marcus should handle this on their own. Barely hopped nimbly out of the boat and lent her hand to Joanna, and then the pair of them assisted Marcus and Raesinia. The rest of the soldiers followed. D’Andorre and his men waited until they approached, and then the deputy offered a shallow bow, while the men behind him saluted.
“Welcome back, Your Highness,” d’Andorre said. “The entire kingdom rejoices to see you safe.”
“It’s good to be on Vordanai soil again,” Raesinia said. Her eyes went to the gold belt, which had the look of a badge of office. D’Andorre caught her gaze and smiled thinly.
“In your absence, the Deputies-General have done me the honor of naming me chief minister. They felt that the ministries required a... guiding hand, in the crisis.”
“I see.” Raesinia kept her face blank. Is that a grab for power? Or just a reasonable precaution? “Very well, Chief Minister. Our Borelgai allies require access to the harbor, so we can unload General d’Ivoire’s army.” She glanced at Marcus. “General d’Ivoire is hereby appointed to command of all Vordanai armed forces and particularly the immediate defense of Vordan City.”
D’Andorre shifted his attention from Raesinia to Marcus. “Welcome, General. How many men are in your force?”
“Twenty thousand, give or take,” Marcus said. “If you’re worried about quartering them, rest assured we don’t plan to remain in the city long—”
“It’s not quartering that concerns me,” d’Andorre said. “Are you aware that Emperor Vhalnich’s approaching army is said to number nearly a hundred thousand men?”
“I seriously doubt that,” Marcus said. “My information puts it closer to sixty thousand.”
“Either way, it seems clear that we are not strong enough to engage him with a hope of success,” d’Andorre said. “At least from my admittedly civilian viewpoint.”
“There are more troops gathering in the city, are there not?” Marcus said.
“And the Borelgai are our allies,” Raesinia added. “The fleet is here, and an army will join us as soon as it’s able.”
“Which will be too late,” d’Andorre said. “The men in the city amount to perhaps ten thousand, and they are the sweepings of the depots and the greenest recruits. That brings the odds to a mere two to one. It’s not enough, General.”
“Unless you have a suggestion for securing more men,” Raesinia said, “then I suggest you leave military matters to General d’Ivoire. He has already considered alternative plans—”
“The alternative is not a military one, Your Highness. It is political.” D’Andorre had the grace to lower his head. “The Deputies-General has dispatched representatives to Emperor Vhalnich to request terms.”
“Terms?” Raesinia blinked. “You’re going to surrender?”
“It seemed to the representatives of the people to be the prudent course, for the good of the Vordanai nation,” d’Andorre said.
“Obviously the situation has changed,” Marcus said. “The Borelgai alliance—”
“Will not be enough,” d’Andorre said. There was real emotion in his voice. “The emperor will be here before aid can arrive. Do you know what will happen if he takes Vordan City by storm?”
“Do you?” Raesinia said. “I don’t know what he’s promised you, but you can’t be naive enough to imagine that Janus will let you keep your fancy new title. Or that he’ll pay any mind to the Deputies-General once he’s crowned himself by force.”
“He hasn’t promised me anything,” d’Andorre said. He blinked, and Raesinia was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “Your Highness. Please believe I do not expect to benefit from this. Once we surrender, I would be a threat to the emperor. Exile is the best I could hope for, along with many of my colleagues.” He paused to collect himself. “But I will not allow this city to be destroyed. The revolution and the coup were bad enough. If we surrender, the emperor will be merciful. If we force him to fight, God alone knows what he will do.”
“Janus wouldn’t destroy Vordan City,” Marcus said. But there was a note of uncertainty in his voice that Raesinia well understood. I would have said Janus would never turn against us. But maybe it’s not Janus in control anymore.
“The Deputies feel that the risk is unacceptable,” d’Andorre said. “I will not demand that you surrender yourself, Your Highness. But we will not spend more Vordanai lives to save your crown. Take your fleet, return to Borel, and let the people of Vordan have peace.”
*
“The hell of it is, I think he’s sincere,”
Marcus said, when they were back on the Dominant. Raesinia paced the short length of the chart room, while he sat at the table.
“He is,” she said. “At first I thought he was reaching for power, but it’s worse than that. He thinks of this as a self-sacrifice. He’s doing what has to be done for the good of everyone else.” She ground her teeth.
“It is noble, from a certain point of view.”
“Leave it to the Deputies to finally do something for the right reasons when it’s totally the wrong thing to do.” She looked up, heart pounding. “It is the wrong thing to do, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Marcus said.
“I’m serious,” Raesinia said, rounding on him. “Should we be considering d’Andorre’s point? Am I such a better ruler than Janus that it’s worth sending people to die for me?”
“Raes.” Marcus stood up and came over to her. She leaned forward against his chest as he put his arms around her shoulders. “It’s not just about you. You said it to d’Andorre—do you think Janus would put up with the Deputies-General? If we give in, everything the people fought for in the revolution will be lost.”
“The people were willing to make Janus First Consul,” Raesinia said.
“Because he was good at winning battles,” Marcus said. “That doesn’t make him a good king. And we both know that’s not the important point here. It’s not just Janus we have to worry about.”
The Beast. Whatever that is. She imagined a vast monster descending from the north to swallow Vordan whole.
After a few moments of silence, she pulled away from him and took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to... I don’t know. I just thought...”
“I understand,” Marcus said quietly.
And he does, Raesinia thought. On a battlefield, soldiers followed orders, and officers gave them, but they didn’t decide whether to fight, whether it was worth it. That was reserved for queens and generals.
“All right,” she said. “So d’Andorre and the Deputies are wrong. What are we going to do about it?”
“We could probably take the city, if we had to,” Marcus said with a frown. “Unload the troops downriver, storm the water batteries from behind. Once we have men-of-war in the harbor, the Deputies would have to give in. But...”
“That would be worse than surrendering to Janus,” Raesinia said. “If I have to take my own capital by storm, then I’m the usurper. Besides, between losses and desertion, we’d have no chance against Janus when he got here.”
“Agreed,” Marcus said. “So we have to get d’Andorre to change his mind.”
“There are troops already in the city,” Raesinia said. “What if you appealed to them, asked them to arrest the Deputies?”
Marcus sucked a breath through his teeth. “It’s... possible. But I think they’d be just as likely to arrest me. These aren’t veterans from the Murnskai campaign who know me. They’re fresh recruits.”
Raesinia nodded. “And if they split, then there’ll be fighting in the city, and we’re back to the first option.”
“I doubt we can unseat d’Andorre in the Deputies,” Marcus said. “Not in the time we have. And someone that self-righteous isn’t going to take a bribe.”
Raesinia thought about Cora and the mountains of gold she’d conjured in Borel. A shame we used it already. Even if they’d brought along a spare fortune, though, Marcus was probably right. Honest men are the most frustrating.
“We’ve done this before,” Raesinia said slowly. “Forget about d’Andorre. We have to go over his head.”
“Over his head?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that mean appealing to the queen?”
“We appeal to the people. He can’t have made his plan for surrender public yet. The people of Vordan wouldn’t give up so easily. If we turn them against him...”
“That might lead to fighting, too,” Marcus warned.
“It won’t,” Raesinia said. “D’Andorre isn’t Maurisk. He honestly believes he’s doing what’s right, and that means, as a Deputy, he can’t stand against the people’s will. He’ll back down.”
“That’s... possible,” Marcus said. “Are you certain you’ll get enough support? The people of Vordan may not give up easily, but some of them were on Janus’ side to begin with.”
“No guarantees,” Raesinia said. “But I think it’s the best chance we’ve got.” She looked down at the maps on the table, seeking inspiration. “How do we get the message out, though?”
“I think I may be able to help with that,” Marcus said. “Let me see if I can talk to Alek Giforte. He was Vice Captain of Armsmen for years. He’ll know how to whip up a crowd.”
“You think he’ll help?”
Marcus nodded. “He’s a good man, and I guarantee he won’t be happy about the surrender. We’ll put the word around that you’re going to speak tomorrow in Farus’ Triumph.”
Raesinia grinned. There was something appropriate about that; it had been in Farus’ Triumph that Danton Aurenne had given the speeches that launched the revolution.
“Do it,” she said.
“The only trouble is going to be getting you there,” Marcus said. “D’Andorre’s no fool. Once he figures out what we’re up to, he’ll keep a watch on the ships and be ready to stop you when you land.”
“I have an idea there,” Raesinia said. She sighed. “Now all I have to do is work out what I’m going to say.”
*
Raesinia hit the water with a splash that set her skin to tingling. It was warmer than she’d expected, heated by the sun on the Vor’s long progress south, murky with suspended dirt. She kicked downward, well below the surface, and let out all the air in her lungs in a stream of silver bubbles. Her chest started burning as she began to swim, her body screaming for air, but she had long since grown used to ignoring its importunate demands. She kicked steadily, feeling the slow tingle of the binding as it worked to repair the damage she was doing to herself. At least I’m not impaled on anything this time.
It was a long way to the south bank, and Raesinia wasn’t the strongest swimmer. She tried to keep herself oriented, swimming diagonally against the current, but it was impossible to stay on a consistent heading in the muck. That was all right, though. D’Andorre couldn’t watch the entire riverbank, and he’d expect to have plenty of warning to intercept any boats the Dominant put out.
For a while, suspended in featureless swirls of brown water, she felt like she wasn’t making any progress at all. Then the riverbed came into sight, gradually getting closer as she approached the shore, until her feet started to stir up great clouds of river mud. Raesinia drew her legs in and stood up, her head breaking the surface of the water, and she finally let her body draw the breath it needed.
She stood there, chilly and dripping, while the binding worked its way through her and fixed whatever her suffocation had broken. When the tingling behind her eyes went away, she waded up the shore. It wasn’t clear where the water ended and the land began, here. The Bottoms were a sucking, rotting bog, without much to distinguish between muddy ground and muddy river. By trial and error she found a patch sturdy enough to support her, then turned in a full circle. She oriented herself on the Dominant, easily visible at the head of the fleet. From there she traced the line she should have swum, and found the bone white dead tree Marcus had given her for a landmark. It was about a quarter mile up the shore. The current must be stronger than I thought.
She squelched in that direction, stumbling through mud that came up to her ankles and through occasional pools of stagnant water. As she got closer, she was relieved to see a one-horse coach waiting, with Marcus sitting on the driver’s box, looking uncomfortable in civilian clothes and a high-collared coat. Raesinia waved to him, and he looked her over, then did a double take.
“Raes?” He jumped down from the box. “Good God. You look like...”
“Like I just swam the river and then walked through a swamp?” She w
iped a glob of mud from her face and grinned. “I hope you found me a change of clothes. I don’t think I want to address anyone looking like this.”
“Of course.” He opened the door to the carriage, and Raesinia was pleased to see a stack of towels sitting on the bench. “Alek should have everything ready.”
Raesinia stepped up, and Marcus hurried to get the carriage turned around. He was an inexpert driver, but the horse was old and tired and they weren’t in any hurry. They were on one of the many winding paths through the Bottoms, twisting and turning to stay on dry ground, and occasionally crossing an impromptu bridge of planks and logs. Before long they pulled out onto the River Road, a more official thoroughfare, which roughly paralleled the riverbank as it ran north toward the city.
The road passed just under the bastion of the southern water battery, which made Raesinia a little nervous, but there was no reason for anyone to suppose that a cheap one-horse cab held the Queen of Vordan and her highest-ranked general. Armsmen were out in force, with their green uniforms and tall staves of office, though traffic in the markets they passed through seemed to be sparse. The city felt like it was holding its breath, Raesinia decided. She couldn’t guess if that boded well or poorly.
While they drove, she cleaned herself up a bit, utterly ruining several towels in the process. By the time they turned north to cross the Grand Span to the Island, she was merely grubby rather than dripping with mud, and she’d detached several leeches. The binding flared to life again, and the coin-sized holes they’d cut in her skin began to fade.
The road led directly from the foot of the Grand Span into the Triumph, but Marcus turned left, along a street of high-class hotels. He stopped in front of one called Montarn’s and came around to open the door.
The Infernal Battalion Page 47
