The Price of Valor (50 page)

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?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Doesn't matter, I suppose.” De Ferre drew himself up. “Count Janus bet Vhalnich Mieran, you are hereby summoned to testify before the Directory for the National Defense, to answer charges of high treason.”

“Ah,” Janus said, showing no sign of surprise. “I'm to be permitted a defense, then?”

De Ferre grinned nastily. “The president always lets his generals have their say before he sends them to the Spike. You'll be joining Hallvez and the others who got too big for their boots, while I clean up the mess you've left behind.”

“I think you'll find the Army of the East in excellent condition.”

“Really?” De Ferre snorted. “You've got a battalion of
women
, for God's sake. I'll send
them
home where they belong. And the proper soldiers are mixed up with the hangers-on and vagabonds. Sorting all that out is going to take weeks.” The general paused. “You're awfully calm, for a man who's just been told he's going to be spiked. Have you got ice in your veins? Or do you not think I mean it?”

“I'm sure you mean it.”

“I hope you're not counting on any of your men to help you. That would be high treason for all concerned.” De Ferre leaned forward. “Not to mention, they're all too busy getting drunk, which is why you're leaving tonight. Didn't expect
that
, did you?”

“A masterstroke,” Janus murmured. “Sir.”

“We'll see how calm you are when you get to the city,” de Ferre said, obviously disappointed by the lack of reaction. “By all the saints, I'm sorry I won't be there to see your smug face when they finally strap you to the Spike.”

Janus sighed, straightening his shoulders and subjecting de Ferre to the full
force of his dispassionate gaze. Even in his moment of triumph, the general couldn't help flinching slightly.

“You're a fool, de Ferre,” Janus said. “I would say I expected better of you, but it would be a lie. You've played the part Maurisk assigned you to perfection, and when it's finished I expect he'll sweep you up with the rest of the trash.”

De Ferre's cheeks went red. “You—you
dare
! I could have you shot!”

“I don't think you could.” Janus grinned at de Ferre. “I have an appointment with the Directory for the National Defense.”

“Very funny.” De Ferre turned to the guards. “Watch him until it gets dark. We'll move him then.”

They saluted, and the general turned on his heel and stalked from the tent. The two Patriot Guards took up station on either side of the flap, staring pointedly at Janus, who sighed and sat down at his folding table.

Behind the screen, Winter had been watching the exchange, full of a paralyzing mixture of rage and fear of discovery. Now that de Ferre was gone, rage was rapidly winning out, and she gauged her chances carefully.
If I knock the screen over, I could clear the bed and be on them before they can fire. Get the musket away from the first one, shoot the other. Then—what?

“Then what?” was the basic problem. De Ferre was keeping Janus' arrest secret, which meant that he didn't trust the army to swallow it without question. But if Winter started shooting Patriot Guards, and de Ferre ordered the troops to stop her, would they?
Depends on the troops.
She could rely on the Girls' Own, and probably the Royals, if they understood what was going on well enough. The rest of the colonels were loyal to Janus, but how loyal?
More to the point, de Ferre won't tell them what's happening. All he needs is to fire a few volleys into the confusion and express his regrets afterward.

It's too dangerous. I need help.
She took a deep breath and backed away from the screen.
Which means I have to get out of here.