The Price of Valor (55 page)

Marcus stretched and sniffed himself surreptitiously—he hadn't washed his uniform in three days, but given the general state of the place, it would probably be okay for one more. One small corner of the kitchen was reserved for “baths,” which consisted of a bucket of cold water dumped over the head and a tag end of soap. There was privacy only for those who could persuade a friend to hold a sheet in front of them; at this point, most of the refugees had stopped bothering, in spite of Mrs. Felda's scandalized looks.

At least there was still food. Daily passing of a collection plate among the refugees secured some coin, and those who'd arrived with extra possessions were eventually convinced to offer them up for sale. Marcus was surprised that this hadn't caused more than a bit of grumbling, but shared trouble had created a bond of solidarity, even across nationalities, and only a few Vordanai had complained at their treasured goods being sold off to help feed Borelgai women and children. Cora, given Mrs. Felda's blessing to organize things, had deputized a troop of
young women, older children, and fit old men to go out and purchase necessaries, in addition to dividing up the various cooking and cleaning duties.

It all
worked
, even though the closest thing to people in charge were a forgetful old woman, her slightly thickheaded son, and a teenage financial genius with a tendency to lose herself in books for hours at a time. Marcus had been prepared at first to get things organized on a proper military footing—he'd put camps together before, after all—but he'd quickly realized his assistance wasn't going to be necessary.

But it only works as long as there's food coming in, and nobody asks too many questions.
They were relying on finite resources and goodwill, and both would run out eventually. He doubted the camaraderie of the last few weeks would last when rations started to shrink.
Raesinia's right. We have to do something, or this is going to turn into a nightmare.

He stood in the queue for a bowl of soup and a bit of bread, dunked the one in the other, and ate without thinking hard about what precisely had gone into either. When he'd finished—handing the bowl off to be quickly washed and given to the next hungry party—he climbed the staircase up to the balcony. Raesinia was already waiting by the ladder leading up to the attic, with Sothe beside her. So, to Marcus' surprise, was Feor, looking paler than usual and with dark circles under her eyes but definitely upright.

“Good morning,” Marcus said in Khandarai. “Are you feeling better?”

Feor nodded. “I am, thank you.”

“She asked to be involved,” Raesinia said quietly. “You don't mind?”

“I think,” Marcus said, looking around to make sure no one was listening too closely, “that anyone who knows anything about magic is going to have something to add.”

That was what this amounted to, Marcus realized.
The “council of people who know magic is real.”
Andy, who had actually seen one of the Penitent Damned, seemed to have convinced herself that it had been some kind of chemical trick, and Marcus wasn't yet sure if he should force her to confront the fact that most of what she knew about the world was a lie. That left himself, Raesinia, Sothe, and Feor.

All women,
Marcus realized with a sinking feeling as he climbed the ladder. He wished Janus and Ihernglass were here, to even the odds a little. The others were sitting in the small clear space in the attic, dust dancing in the light of the candles they'd brought up, and Marcus closed the trapdoor and sat between Raesinia and Feor. Sothe, having traded her beggar's garb for more comfortable linens, stared at him for a long moment before looking away.

“All right,” Raesinia said. “We have to decide what to do next.”

Just by coming here, Marcus realized, he'd made the decision that Raesinia was right. They had to do
something
. In the end, he couldn't stand by and watch the people of the Docks suffer, any more than he'd been able to fire on the crowd at the Vendre. Whatever Janus' orders might or might not have been was no longer the issue.

In a way, he was once again under a commanding officer. That it was a woman a decade younger than him, and a civilian to boot, was taking some getting used to.

“We know Maurisk is digging in,” Raesinia said. “He can read a map as well as we can. He'll defend all the approaches, but this is the hardest one to block, so he has to assume this is where Janus will make his main effort.”

Marcus nodded. “The bridge itself is wide-open. Even with the guns we saw, the Army of the East will probably have superior artillery, so if Janus gets to the riverfront, he can blast a crossing. Maurisk's best chance is to fight it out along the Green Road. If he fortifies the buildings, assaulting them would be too bloody to risk. Janus would have to wait until his guns reduced each position, then move up, block by block. That could take weeks.”

“Not to mention reduce half the Docks to rubble,” Raesinia said. “That's point one. Point two is that Maurisk is working with the Priests of the Black, and has a number of Penitent Damned on his side. Do we know how many?”

Marcus ticked them off on his fingers. “Ionkovo. That giant who attacked Willowbrook. The old woman who can throw flames.”

“The one who attacked me was . . . strange,” Sothe volunteered. “Not fast, exactly, but he could predict my movements.”

“That's at least four,” Marcus said. “Feor, do you have anything that might help us stop them?”

“With the Names . . .” Feor shook her head, then paused. “I can sense them, if they're close enough. Her Majesty ought to be able to as well.”

Raesinia nodded. “It took me a while to recognize it, but yes. I don't know how close they have to be, though.”

“Janus has a few tricks,” Marcus said, feeling guilty for keeping secrets even from this inner circle. He'd seen Ihernglass' power in action, when he defeated his lover/would-be-murderer Jen Alhundt. But that was Ihernglass' secret to tell, or at least Janus'. “Until he gets here, we're going to have to try to avoid fighting the Penitent Damned if we possibly can.” He thought of Hayver, screaming as he was engulfed in flames. “And we'll keep a twenty-four-hour watch, so we'll at least have a little warning if Ionkovo decides to pop out of the closet.”

“What about the Steel Ghost?” Raesinia said. “He helped us once.”

She looked at Feor, who gave an awkward shrug.

“I cannot answer for him,” the Khandarai girl said. “That he has helped without coming forward to join us openly is probably a fair statement of his intentions.”

“Agreed,” Marcus said. “We can't rely on him.”

“That's point two,” Raesinia said. “Point three is the refugees. We can't keep them here.” She sighed. “I wish we could bring Cora up here.”

“Fill her in later,” Sothe said.

“We need more space and more food,” Raesinia said. “Without drawing too much attention. We'll need to work through the locals.”

Marcus nodded. “They seem willing, and Andy will help.”

“Lastly—” Raesinia said.

“The Thousand Names,” Feor said.

“Right.” Raesinia rubbed her eyes. “Maurisk captured them at Willowbrook nearly a week ago. We have to assume he's moved them by now.”

“Probably not out of the city, though,” Marcus said. “Too much risk of running into one of Janus' cavalry patrols.”

“If I may ask a potentially obvious question,” Sothe said, “are these Names that important at this stage?”

“Yes,” Feor said. “They
cannot
be allowed to be taken to Elysium.”

“Why?”

“The
abh-naathem
, the Penitent Damned, already have a great store of
naath
at their disposal. The Thousand Names represents the only archive outside their control. If we lose them, we lose any chance of opposing them.”

“Having seen what the Penitent Damned can do, I'm inclined to believe that,” Marcus said.

“If Janus takes the city,” Raesinia said, “then we may get the Names back in any case.”

Sothe shook her head. “If they're as important to the Priests of the Black as you say they are, they would try to get them out before the city falls.”

“I agree,” Feor said. “They will abandon Maurisk, if it comes to that. Cities and armies are not their concern.”

“So we have to get them back,” Marcus said. “Eight solid steel plates, taller than I am, that each take at least four strong men to carry. That's not going to be easy.”

“Wait until they're in transit,” Sothe said. “Then hijack them.”

Marcus had had much the same idea at Willowbrook, but since then he'd
thought a little harder about the difficulties. “That relies on knowing
when
they're in transit.”

“I can find that out,” Sothe said.

There was a moment of silence. The queen nodded, decisively, and looked at Sothe. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Not badly enough to slow me down much,” Sothe said.

“You're in charge of intelligence, then. We need to know where the Names are now, when they'll be moved. Knowing where the Penitent Damned are would be a big help, too.”

“That's a bit of a tall order,” Marcus said.

“I can handle it,” Sothe said, looking at him coolly. “I still have contacts.”

Marcus looked questioningly at Raesinia, who shrugged. Sothe raised an eyebrow.

“I used to work for Orlanko,” she said. “Any other questions?”

Another, more strained silence.

Raesinia cleared her throat. “All right. I'm going to work with Cora to help with the refugees. Cora had some ideas on where we can house people, but it's going to take delicate negotiation. Everybody's closed up tight right now, and we can't afford to fight the seedies in the open. Feor, until we find the Names, you can help us.”

“I would be pleased to,” Feor said, dipping her head.

“Marcus,” Raesinia said, “you're on the military side. Andy should be able to get you some eyes and ears, and you know what to look for. We'll prepare maps and notes, and when Janus' army gets close we can send riders to meet him. Or Giforte might get back in touch, in which case we'll want to be able to pass along as much as possible.”

Marcus barely bit back an instinctive
Yes, sir!
He grinned and nodded, fighting the urge to salute.

It's always good to have a proper commander in charge.

WINTER

T
he Army of the East debouched from the passes of the Kell Mountains, descending in a long, winding column along a road that switchbacked between the steepest hills before leveling out into lush, gentle country. This was the Duchy of Orlanko, the ancestral lands of the Last Duke, and Winter had half expected the whole place to look sinister. Orlanko had been a mostly absentee landlord, though, spending much of his life in the capital, and his realm was a sleepy, well-ordered place of broad pastures and quaint medieval towns.

As a result of the Last Duke's ancestor's good sense in choosing the cause of Farus IV over his noble opponents, the Duchy of Orlanko had never suffered the horrors of the civil war and the Great Purge that had followed. The victorious king had left his greatest ally's lands alone while he reordered the rest of the kingdom, and as a result traveling through Orlanko was in some ways like walking in Vordan's history. The previous hundred years might as well not have happened; riding at the head of her regiment, Winter passed through villages of half-timbered houses with tiny, mottled glass windows and vast fields given over to pasturage for cows. The animals stood by the fences, staring dumbly and lowing now and then as the army trooped past.

The people were another matter. The folk of Deslandai hinterland had been positively pleased to see the Vordanai army, and had been willing to sell to anyone with coin in their pockets. Here, back in Vordan at last, the locals were much less friendly. Winter wasn't certain if they were loyal to Orlanko, to the Directory, or simply scared by the stories that had been spreading ahead of the army, but every building they came to was locked up tight.

Even outriders ranging far from the column found only a few suspicious peasants willing to sell food or fodder, and more often came upon farmsteads whose inhabitants had fled or hidden in the cellar as though they were facing murderous Murnskai hordes. At Janus' express direction, in such cases the scouts were to take only what they thought the peasants could spare, and to leave fair value in coin behind. There was no shortage of money, at least—the Hamveltai baggage train they'd captured at Antova had been a rich haul, both in military supplies and more conventional loot.

Soon after descending from the mountains, the road to Vordan had shifted to parallel a river called the Haggon, which was a tributary to the Ost. The Ost, in turn, joined with the Vor just short of Vordan City itself, so Janus had ordered a day's pause to shift much of the army's heavy baggage to river transport. Once this was accomplished, they made good time down the River Road, with the heavily guarded supply barges keeping pace beside them. It meant longer marches but light packs, and the men and women of Winter's regiment seemed to regard the tradeoff as on the whole a good one.

Janus had given Winter's troops the vanguard, marching at the front of the army while he rode with the Colonials at the tail of the column. It was Winter, therefore, who was the senior officer on the scene when scouts on lathered horses rode in, reporting heavy columns of infantry in Vordanai blue advancing eastward on the road, led by a party of mounted officers under a flag of truce.

*   *   *

Winter, Cyte, and Bobby waited, several hundred yards in front of the now-halted Girls' Own, as the two colonels dismounted some distance away and approached on foot. They were accompanied by a single ranker, bearing a white flag, while several more stayed back with their horses.

It was past midday, and a chill wind was blowing. Winter shaded her eyes with a hand and examined the two men. She didn't recognize either, but that wasn't unexpected—outside of the Army of the East, she wasn't very familiar with the officer corps.

The pair of them were a study in contrasts. The one on the left was obviously a Royal, an old-time army officer; he wore an expensive, tailored uniform, spotless except for the dust of the recent ride. The eagles on his shoulders were silver, though, which meant he'd graduated from the War College rather than purchasing his commission.

His companion barely had a uniform at all, just a ranker's blue jacket over a
dark shirt and trousers.
His
eagles were stitched outlines of white thread, already fraying at the edges, and he wore a battered slouch hat instead of an officer's cap. He walked with an affected swagger, trying hard to seem nonchalant.

When they were a few yards away, Winter offered the formal nod that was due to an officer of equal rank. Bobby and Cyte saluted, and the ranker with the flag did likewise. The Royal colonel returned the gesture, precise and correct, while the other just stared insolently.

“I'm Colonel Winter Ihernglass,” Winter said. “Third Regiment of the Army of the East. This is Lieutenant Forester and Lieutenant Cytomandiclea.”

The unofficial-looking colonel raised his eyebrows at Cyte's full name, but his companion remained impassive.

“I'm Colonel Zarout, of the Eighteenth Regiment of the Line,” he said. “This is Colonel Braes, of the Tenth Volunteers.”

“I've sent a rider to bring General Vhalnich,” Winter said. “He's at the rear of the column, but I'm sure he'll be here in a few minutes.”

“If you don't mind,” said Braes, “I'd like to have a chat before he gets here.” He had the drawl of the Transpale in his voice. “These your troops in front of us?”

“This is the Third Regiment, yes.”

Braes' eyes went to Cyte for a moment. “Can't help but notice that most of 'em appear to be ladies.”

Winter's expression hardened. “The First Battalion is female. As are many of my officers.”

“I heard some strange things about Vhalnich, but I didn't credit them,” Braes said. “There a lot of girls in this army?”

“As far as I know, only my regiment has a women's battalion,” Winter said in the iciest tone she could manage.

“I have to tell you, I'd have a hard time shooting a girl,” Braes said.

“I assure you that the reverse is not true,” Winter said.

Colonel Zarout coughed. “The . . . gender of Colonel Ihernglass' troops is not the issue here.”

Braes gave a rolling shrug. “Just curious.”

“Colonel,” Zarout said, turning back to Winter, “I would like to inquire as to General Vhalnich's intentions.”

“I'm sure he can answer your questions when he arrives,” Winter said.

“You must know something,” Zarout said. “He is marching on Vordan City. Has he said why?”

Winter hesitated, then said, “General Vhalnich believes that the President of the Directory has unlawfully assumed the post of Minister of War, and other powers besides. He is marching to support the queen and the legitimate government of Deputies-General.”

“Way I heard it, he's trying to keep himself off the Spike,” Braes said.

“General Vhalnich would never disobey an order he believed was legitimate,” Winter said. “And I think I should ask
your
intentions. My scouts tell me that your troops are drawn up in defensive positions across the road.”

“I have orders,” Zarout said, “from the
new
Minister of War, to engage and defeat the Army of the East.”

Braes gave a braying laugh, which earned him a cold look from Zarout.

“What he wants to say,” Braes said, “is that Maurisk has tossed us in front of a runaway cart and hopes we might slow it down a little.”

“I meant nothing of the kind,” Zarout said stiffly. “But I will admit you appear to have the advantage of forces.”

Winter suppressed a smile. Even with the garrison they'd left behind to hold Antova, the Army of the East was nearly thirty thousand strong. The two regiments in front of her mustered five or six thousand at best, with minimal artillery and no cavalry. She felt a sudden sympathy with Zarout.

“I agree that your position seems . . . difficult,” Winter said. “I'm sure I speak for the general when I say that we would like to avoid bloodshed between fellow Vordanai. Is there anything we can do in that regard?”

Zarout's jaw clenched. “I have been informed by the Ministry that if General Vhalnich is permitted to pass, I and every man in my command will be executed for treason.”

“That'd certainly keep Dr. Sarton busy,” Braes said.

“General Vhalnich would suggest that such an order would be illegitimate,” Winter said.

“All well and good if General Vhalnich's . . . opinion carries the day. But at the same time, those of us who have obeyed Directory orders . . .” Zarout trailed off, considering his words. Braes laughed again, and Zarout turned on him. “What do you find so amusing?”

“The way you know what you want to say, but get so tied up trying to say it,” Braes said. He looked Winter in the eye. “Look. Here's our problem. If we fight you, a lot of people are going to get killed who don't have to, and it'll all be the same in the end, 'cause you've got six times our numbers. But if we don't
fight, and you
lose
, then we're all going to be getting a little prick right
here
.” He thumped his chest.

“I can say from experience,” Winter said, “that General Vhalnich does not lose.”

“That's what I hear. Trouble is, when the top seat changes hands, the new boss tends to get a bit angry with whoever knuckled under to the old boss. There's a lot of us who've just been following orders, and we're all looking over our shoulders after what happened to Hallvez.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You follow our predicament?”

“I do.” Winter took a deep breath. “I can't speak for the general, of course, but I have served with him since Khandar, and he is not the vengeful sort.” For a moment, she thought the ghost of Adrecht Roston might raise a protest.
That was different.
Mutiny was one thing, but Janus wouldn't execute a man who'd happened to be on the other side, especially if he didn't fight.
I hope.
“I'm sure officers who followed their duty and their conscience would have nothing to fear.”

Zarout coughed. “Do you think the general would be willing to offer his personal assurance on that? For the men as well as the officers?”

“I suspect so, yes.”

“That would be . . . useful.” Zarout looked over his shoulder, back toward his own men. “It occurs to me that, positioned as we are, our left flank is unprotected. Since the Ministry of War has neglected to assign me a cavalry force, a threat in that direction would force us into a tactical withdrawal, probably over the river at the nearby crossing.” He nodded in the direction of the river. “If the bridge were subsequently destroyed, it would be many days before we could reach another.”

Braes was laughing again, and Winter found herself smiling in spite of her best efforts.

“I think,” she said, “that something like that could be arranged.”

*   *   *

When Janus did arrive, his conference with the two colonels was brief and to the point. A few minutes later, Give-Em-Hell led a force of laughing, whooping cavalrymen on a ride around the end of Zarout's line. Winter, standing beside Janus on a roadside hill, could see the long lines of blue-uniformed troops already beginning to leave their positions, headed for the bridge over the Ost and safety.

“A pity that they couldn't be persuaded to join us,” Janus said. “But one can't have everything.”

“I don't blame them for being cautious,” Winter said. “These are strange times. Zarout seemed like the sort who wanted to do the best by his men, whatever happens.”

“No doubt. Strange times indeed when the best a loyal officer can manage is to step aside and let a mutinous army through.”

Winter shifted uncomfortably. “I don't like to think of myself as mutinous, sir.”

“What else can you call it?” Janus waved down at the road, where the Army of the East was marching on toward the day's camp. “I'm certainly disobeying orders.”

“Maurisk had no right to give those orders,” Winter said. The story of the coup in Vordan had become common knowledge in the past few days. She guessed that the soldiers passed it round so eagerly in part because many of them shared the same uncomfortable feeling she had; it made things easier if the government they were disobeying was a treacherous one. “He's shut the queen up in the country and locked up anyone who speaks against him. That's hardly the revolution we signed up for.”

“No doubt when the histories are written, that's what they'll say,” Janus said. “Assuming we win. If we lose, of course, we'll be a lot of dirty traitors.” He flashed his summer-lightning smile at her. “But tell the truth. If Maurisk had been content to leave us alone, would you be marching against him?”

“I . . .” Winter shook her head. All she could think was that if matters had never come to a head, she might have had more time to get through to Jane.

“You don't have to answer that.”

“May I ask
you
a question, sir?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Certainly.”

“You seem like you expected . . . something like this.”

“It seemed likely. I couldn't have told you who it would be, but after the revolution
someone
would end up taking charge, and the odds were extremely high that they'd make a hash of it.” He frowned. “Maurisk has exceeded my expectations there, I must admit. But yes, it wasn't hard to guess that it would eventually come to this.”

“Then why leave Vordan at all?” Winter shook her head. “If you
knew
we were going to be coming back to the city with an army . . .”

“Why not take over after Midvale, you mean? Make myself Raesinia's regent, as Orlanko wanted to?”

Winter colored slightly. “Something like that.”

Janus looked contemplative. “If you were going to go about taking over a kingdom, how would you do it?”