The Guns of Empire

by Django Wexler

  “Giforte. Send word to all the division-generals that I wish to speak to them at once.” There was no putting it off any longer. “And find Sothe. I don’t care how.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Giforte hurried off, taking the trooper with him. Raesinia waited by the side of the road, watching the endless stream of ragged men flow past. Few of them looked up at their queen, though they could hardly fail to recognize her. Joanna and Barely, her two bodyguards, stuck to her side like ever-present shadows.

  Sothe arrived, materializing out of the snow so quickly that Raesinia guessed she’d heard the news on her own.

  “Your Majesty,” the assassin said.

  “Go to Polkhaiz,” Raesinia said. “Find Dorsay. Tell him I need to speak with him, now.”

  Sothe shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like leaving you here—”

  “You know this is what I need the most,” Raesinia said. “Go, please, and return as soon as you can.”

  “Understood.” Sothe bowed. “Be careful.”

  To Raesinia’s intense irritation, it took until that evening to gather the generals. Their excuses were, she had to admit, not unreasonable—once it became generally known that they were marching toward an enemy and not friendly depots, it took every officer’s careful attention to keep the column from dissolving into a confused mess. As it was, they’d reached their planned campsite, a few miles on the north side of the Syzria. Raesinia had hoped they’d have a feast, brought out by the troops they’d left behind in Polkhaiz. Instead, she sat at the head of her inadequate map table, waiting for the officers theoretically sworn to her service.

  Cyte arrived first. If she hadn’t known better, Raesinia would hardly have recognized her as the student radical who’d helped storm the Vendre. That girl had been pudgy faced with baby fat, eyes ringed with dramatic dark makeup and fashionably unfashionable tomboyish clothes. It had all spoken of insecurity, a desperate desire to prove that she deserved the place she occupied. The young woman who faced her now was gaunt from the rigors of the march, dark hair grown ragged, face unadorned, but utterly comfortable in her rumpled blue uniform. She bowed, not the least overawed by the presence of her queen.

  “Captain Cytomandiclea.” Raesinia had looked up the correct pronunciation.

  “Cyte, if you like, Your Majesty,” Cyte said with a very slight smile. “I know it’s a mouthful.”

  “Cyte, then,” Raesinia said, offering a tentative smile in return. “How are things with the Second Division? Have you had any trouble with the colonels?”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Colonel Giforte has been helpful.”

  “Good.” Raesinia hesitated. “I know there’s been no word of General Ihernglass—”

  Cyte opened her mouth, paused, then said, “He will make it back. I’m certain of it.”

  Raesinia nodded, taking the meaning. She knew about Winter’s gender, and Cyte obviously did as well, but it was best to be cautious when expecting others. Sothe said that camp gossip claimed Winter and Cyte were lovers, and watching her face as she spoke, Raesinia could believe it. There was a deep heartsickness there, buried under an iron core of faith.

  “I’m sure General d’Ivoire will return as well,” Cyte added.

  “Indeed,” a new voice drawled. The tent flap opened, and General Kaanos came in. “So many wayward generals. Let’s hope they all make it home safe.”

  Kaanos was a big man, though thinned like all of them by the light rations. His face was framed by wild hair, a bristly mustache, and thick muttonchops, with his actual features nearly lost among all the whiskers. He scratched the back of one big, hairy hand with the other and sketched a bow in Raesinia’s direction. He acknowledged Cyte when she saluted, and folded himself into a chair on one side of the table.

  “Division-General Kaanos,” Raesinia said. “Thank you for joining us.”

  “Yer Majesty,” Kaanos said, with an insolent slur. “Someone has to figure out how to get us out of this mess.”

  Raesinia kept her features calm, but frowned inwardly. Sothe had warned her that Kaanos would not be friendly, but he seemed downright hostile. Before she could probe him further, the flap opened again, admitting two more officers.

  Division-General Valiant Solwen was a man who seemed designed for horseback; on the ground, his short legs and broad shoulders made him look a bit like an ape in a tailored uniform. The remains of a fashionable pencil mustache were just about visible on his upper lip through a week’s growth of stubble. Christopher de Manzet, in contrast, had managed to maintain his grooming. He was not out of his forties, but already bald as an egg, with a fringe of brown hair at the back of his skull and a neat goatee. Alone of those present, he didn’t give the impression that he’d slept in his uniform.

  Giforte was the last to arrive, muttering apologies. He looked even worse than he had the night before, dark circles under his eyes like spreading bruises in a pale, haggard face. He shuffled over beside Raesinia, clutching a sheaf of paper.

  “Gentlemen,” Raesinia said, after they’d settled themselves. “Thank you for joining me. I assume you all know the situation?”

  “Dorsay’s taken Polkhaiz and dug in across the river,” Solwen said. “Which puts us in quite a pickle.”

  “A bit more than a pickle,” de Manzet said, looking disapprovingly around the table. “We are in grave danger.”

  “I think we all understand that,” Raesinia said. “The question is what we’re going to do about it.”

  “Only one thing to do,” Kaanos said. “We attack at daybreak.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Attack?” Solwen said. “Over the bridge?”

  “Forget the bridge. The river’s still frozen solid.” Kaanos leaned forward. “We’ll fix Dorsay in place with a frontal attack and encircle the town on both sides. He’ll have to pull out of his defenses or be cut off.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Cyte said. “Dorsay’s had time to prepare, and he’ll have anticipated something like this.”

  “Besides,” Giforte said, “we don’t have the strength.”

  “We have more men than he does,” Kaanos said.

  “In theory. I don’t have accurate roll calls for the past week.” Giforte shook his sheaf of paper. “Our cavalry is badly depleted and our artillery is a wreck. Our men are exhausted, and Dorsay’s are fresh.”

  “Fortunately,” Kaanos snapped, “I don’t have to ask for opinions. I’m the one in command here. You’ll all get your orders by dawn.”

  Damn. Raesinia took a breath. “I think we need to consider alternatives.”

  “All due respect, Your Majesty, but I don’t need to ask for your opinion, either.”

  De Manzet looked aghast. “General Kaanos—”

  “I don’t work for you,” Kaanos continued, looking at Raesinia. “I work for the people of Vordan. They appointed the Deputies-General, and the deputies tapped the First Consul to run the army. He set up the chain of command, and since he and General d’Ivoire are gone, that leaves me at the top of it. What you want doesn’t come into it.”

  “I say,” Solwen said weakly. “That’s a bit . . . well, harsh, isn’t it?”

  “Do you disagree?” Kaanos said.

  “Not as such. But . . .”

  “But nothing. If she doesn’t like it, she can take it up with the deputies.”

  “I’d like to open negotiations with the Borelgai,” Raesinia said, looking away from Kaanos. “I have reason to think they will be receptive.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’d listen,” Kaanos said. “They’ll keep talking for as long as you want. You know why?” He thumped his fist on the table. “Because we’re starving, while they have plenty of our supplies to eat! Every day they can keep us jabbering is another day’s food gone.”

  “I fear Gener
al Kaanos is right,” de Manzet said, polite but patronizing. “They have little incentive to bargain.”

  “Better to try, at least,” Giforte said. “I’m telling you we are not strong enough to attack.”

  “We’re not going to get any stronger,” Kaanos said. “And they’re not going to get any weaker. As I see it, we have two choices. We can strike now, or we can give up and throw ourselves on the Duke of Brookspring’s mercy. Anything else is just idiocy.” He shoved his chair back. “I, for one, am not ready to give up. Thank you for your advice, Your Majesty. The rest of you, expect your orders in the morning.”

  A breath of cold air flooded in as he ducked through the tent flap, and the lanterns flickered. Slowly, de Manzet also stood up, and gave Raesinia an elegant bow.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “General Kaanos could have put that more delicately, but I believe he is correct. An attack is risky, but we have no choice. If you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare my men.”

  He departed, with another bow.

  “An attack would be a disaster,” Giforte said to Solwen. “You see that, don’t you?”

  “Dorsay’s not a fool,” Cyte said. “He’ll be ready for a simple flanking maneuver.”

  Solwen sighed. “You’re probably right. But what can we do? He’s in command.”

  “I am Queen of Vordan,” Raesinia said, not entirely without petulance.

  Solwen flushed. “Of course, Your Majesty. But . . . military matters, you know. They can be very complicated. Best left to the experts.” He got up. “Speaking of which. I have things to attend to. But it will all turn out for the best, you’ll see.” He bowed. “Good night.”

  “I’ve seen street beggars with more spine,” Giforte said when he was gone.

  “He’s in a difficult position,” Raesinia said.

  “He’s a coward.”

  “For wanting to attack?”

  Giforte’s face twisted. “There’s more than one kind of cowardice. Some people would rather die gloriously than face a hard truth.”

  “Well, I for one would prefer not to die at all,” said Cyte. “And I think I can speak for everyone in my division on that point. What are we going to do?”

  “What would happen,” Raesinia said thoughtfully, “if I ordered Kaanos arrested?”

  Giforte sucked breath through his teeth. “Nothing good.”

  “You think he’d actually try to fight back?” Cyte said. “Against his own queen?”

  “I think he’s backed into a corner, and he can’t see a way out,” Giforte said. “That makes a man dangerous.”

  “What about de Manzet?” Raesinia said. “He was Royal Army.”

  “Hard to say,” Giforte mused. “He strikes me as someone who looks after his own interests. Right now that seems to mean following orders, if only to avoid responsibility.”

  “And Solwen won’t stand up for himself,” Raesinia said. “So it all comes back to Kaanos.” She indicated the papers in Giforte’s hand. “Is the situation really that bad?”

  He nodded. “We’re down to the dregs. If we issue everything that’s left tomorrow, it’ll be maybe a half ration. After that, we’re boiling our boots.”

  “Saints and martyrs,” Raesinia swore, the profanity drawing an approving grin from Cyte. “Then it’s tonight or nothing.”

  “Do you really think Dorsay will negotiate?” Cyte said. “I hate to say it, but Kaanos might be right. He’s holding all the cards.”

  “Only here and now.” Raesinia glared at the tent flap for a moment, willing Sothe to appear with an answer from the Borelgai. Nothing happened, and she let out a sigh. “But there may be a few more tricks left to play.”

  —

  It was nearly midnight when the scratch at the flap came. Raesinia, who had been studying the maps for the hundredth time for lack of anything better to do, jumped out of her chair in her haste. She threw the tent open and found Sothe waiting beside a cloaked and hooded man.

  “I hope we didn’t wake you, Your Majesty,” the man said. The voice was Whaler’s. He stepped inside, limping badly, and pulled back his hood. A fresh, livid cut marred his scalp, held closed with gut stitches.

  “I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight,” Raesinia said, completely truthfully. “Are you all right?”

  He grinned. “Souvenirs of my last attempt to reach you, thanks to our northern friends. I tried to explain to them that we’re supposed to be allies, but they didn’t seem inclined to listen.”

  Sothe, kicking snow off her boots, let the tent flap fall closed behind her. “I took the liberty of bringing him here at once,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I thought it best not to delay.”

  “Of course,” Raesinia said, then hesitated. Whaler was technically an enemy. “My generals are . . . making plans.”

  “They will attack at first light,” Whaler said, limping a few more paces and collapsing into a chair. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. The ride was not kind to my hip.”

  “Why do you say they will attack?”

  “Because it is the obvious thing to do.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is it true that the First Consul was lost at the Kovria?”

  “Yes. Which you obviously already know.”

  “I apologize for my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I must be clear on this point. Is he dead?”

  Raesinia paused. “He was wounded by a Murnskai assassin. Later, he and Column-General d’Ivoire were with a division that was cut off by the tribesmen. We hope they’ll be able to win free and join up with us, but as to whether Janus will recover, I don’t know.”

  “That’s certainly a delicate state of affairs.”

  “Now you must forgive me for being blunt,” Raesinia said. “Does Dorsay’s offer still stand?”

  “The situation has grown delicate on our side as well,” Whaler said. “Orlanko’s faction has gained strength as Vordanai fortunes have turned. There is some sentiment that we should . . . ah . . . kick you while you’re down.”

  “The Grand Army is not Vordan,” Raesinia said. “Even if we all die here, the war will go on. Indeed, at that point, it may be impossible to stop.”

  “His Grace agrees,” Whaler said. “Given time, I think the difficulties can be overcome.”

  “We haven’t got time. Kaanos will attack in the morning, and I can’t stop him. I don’t even know if I should try. The men are starving.” There has to be something. What they needed to do was preserve the status quo—not forcing the issue with an assault, but still avoiding an outright surrender. Raesinia blinked as an audacious idea occurred to her. “We left depots full to bursting in Polkhaiz. Is the food still there?”

  “We are well supplied, yes,” Whaler said.

  “Tell Dorsay I need a gesture of good faith to give to my people before we can negotiate.”

  “If you’re going to suggest we withdraw from Polkhaiz—”

  “No, of course not. But if you were to ship food to our side of the river—not much, say enough to supply the army for a day . . .”

  “Then that would buy us a day.” Whaler frowned. “We’d be in the same position tomorrow.”

  “And you’d provide another shipment. And so on. Until we either strike a deal or decide to fight it out after all.”

  “Hmm.” He tipped his head. “It’s unorthodox, I’ll say that much. But it may work. Orlanko will scream bloody murder, but he doesn’t actually have command over military operations. You realize, of course, that this won’t hold for long.”

  “It doesn’t need to.” Just long enough. “But I need your assurance tonight.”

  “Damn.” Whaler levered himself to his feet, wincing. “And here I thought I was done with riding for a while.”

  —

  “Stay here,” Raesinia told Barely.

  “Your Majesty . . .” The woman hesitated. “Are you sure?”
/>
  “I think I’ll be safe visiting one of my own generals.”

  Joanna raised an eyebrow eloquently, but as always said nothing. Barely scratched the side of her head and nodded. Raesinia left them at the intersection and followed the aisle down the row of Third Division tents. The rest of the camp was a good deal more ragged than it had once been, but here, within sight of their commanders, standards were still kept up.

  Two sentries waited in front of General Kaanos’ tent. They looked down at her curiously, and then she saw recognition in their eyes. Both bowed deep.

  “I need to see the general,” Raesinia said.

  “He’s sleeping, Your Majesty.” One guard looked at the other.

  “It’s important.”

  If Kaanos had given them specific orders, they still might keep her out. Then we’ll have to wait until morning and toss the dice. But she wanted to talk to him, at least, and see if there was a way to avoid a confrontation.

  “One moment, Your Majesty.” The guard turned and rapped, hesitantly, at the tent pole. After a moment a sleepy voice answered.

  “What?”

  “The . . . ah . . . queen is here to see you, sir. She says it’s important.”

  Silence for a long moment. Then, “Let her in.”

  The guards stepped aside. Raesinia pushed through the tent flap, blinking as a lantern flared. Kaanos sat at a folding table, shaking out a match. He wore his underclothes, with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. With his hairy face, it made him look even more like a bear.

  “Forgive me if I’m not properly dressed, Your Majesty,” he said. “But you didn’t give me much warning.”

  “I don’t stand on ceremony.” Raesinia crossed the tent and stood in front of the table. “You have to call off the attack.”

  “This again?” Kaanos shook his head. “You said it was important.”

  “I’ve exchanged messengers with Dorsay. We can come to an agreement—”

  “I told you,” Kaanos said wearily. “He’ll string you along until we’re so weak we’ll have to surrender. Didn’t they teach you politics at Ohnlei?” He cocked his head. “Or was it all just dancing and smiling?”