The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns (60 page)

When they found First Battalion, Seventh Company, the first few men they passed looked up and froze, unable to believe their eyes. Before she’d taken a dozen steps, though, Winter found herself at the center of an instant crowd, drawing soldiers out of their tents with almost magnetic force into a narrow circle around her and Jane. They were all shouting at once, greetings, questions, gossip, and Winter had to hold up her hands for silence. She could hear Jane laughing.

“It’s good to see you all,” she said, when they’d calmed down a little. “No, I’m not back for good. Not yet. The colonel said he would see what he could do. For now, can you tell me where I can find the corporals?”

A young man with a peach-fuzz beard and a pip on his shoulder was pushed forward. Winter recognized him vaguely but couldn’t recall his name. He saluted, nervously, and said, “I’m Corporal Morraz, sir. But I think you mean Sergeants Forester and Folsom. They’re with the lieutenant. Follow me, sir.”

The corporal pushed his way through the crowd, and the men made way as Winter and Jane followed. He led them to a tent, marked out from the others only by the light of a candle burning inside.

“Shall I introduce you, sir?” the corporal said. Then, glancing at Jane, he added, “Miss?”

“I can manage, Corporal,” Winter said. “Thanks.”

Morraz saluted and scurried off. Jane looked at the tent, whose highest point was barely above her nose, and gave a low whistle.

“You
lived
in one of these?” she said, quietly.

“For two years,” Winter said. “You get used to it. Eventually all you care about is having a dry spot to sleep.”

“And I thought we had it hard in the swamp.”

Winter knocked at the tent pole. An unfamiliar man’s voice said, “Yes?”

“Um,” Winter said, disconcerted. “It’s Lieutenant Ihernglass.”

“Ah yes. I thought it might be, from the commotion. Come in!”

Winter pulled up the flap and went inside. Jane followed, walking stooped. A folding table was strewn with papers and ledgers, the sight of which gave Winter an instant, instinctive feeling of guilt. Two people sat on opposite sides of it, pens in hand.

The man facing Winter was in his shirtsleeves, but Winter guessed he was the lieutenant. He was blond and blue-eyed, giving his face a vaguely Murnskai cast, and he had a jawline you could have cracked rocks on. Winter guessed he was a few years older than she was, in his mid-twenties.

His companion was Rebecca Forester, also called Robert Forester, known in both guises as Bobby.
Senior Sergeant
Bobby Forester, Winter saw, from the three pips on the shoulders of her jacket. Fitz had evidently done more than move a few lieutenants around in terms of getting the units sorted out. She looked somehow older than when Winter had last seen her, more adult. Winter still couldn’t see her soft, round face as a boy’s no matter how hard she tried, though it had fooled her well enough when they first met. As soon as Winter entered, Bobby popped to her feet. Before she could rush to embrace Winter, however, Jane came in, and Bobby stopped uncertainly in her tracks. The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.

Winter stepped forward into the uncomfortable silence, head slightly bent, and offered her hand across the table. “Lieutenant Winter Ihernglass.”

“Lieutenant John Marsh,” the man said, returning a firm handshake. “I think you know Sergeant Forester?”

“You might say that.” Winter shot Bobby a conspiratorial grin. “This is Jane Verity. I don’t know if you’ve heard that I’ve been placed in charge of one of the new companies—”

“I think everyone in the camp has heard by now,” Marsh said.

I was afraid of that.
“Jane is my second in command.”

“I see.” Marsh glanced, for some reason, at Bobby, who gave a tiny shrug. “Well. Welcome, Lieutenant, Miss Verity. How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to have a few words with my corporals. My former corporals,” Winter corrected. “If it’s all right with you.”

Marsh, again, looked at Bobby. Winter thought she saw the girl nod very slightly.

“Of course,” he said. “I expect you have a lot of catching up to do!” He got to his feet, slapping dust and drying sand off his thighs. “Shall I fetch Junior Sergeant Folsom?”

“I’ll get him later,” Bobby said, and smiled at Winter. “Graff isn’t here, though. Fitz made him a lieutenant for the Third Company.”

“I’ll have to congratulate him,” Winter said.

She and Jane stepped aside, letting Marsh slip past them with a polite nod. He ducked through the tent flap and let it fall behind him. Bobby gestured for the two of them to sit, and gathered up the paperwork to pile it out of the way. Winter settled herself onto the cushion in front of the old, familiar low table, with Jane at her side.

There was a long pause. Bobby looked from Winter to Jane and back again, not sure what to think, and Winter couldn’t figure out how to begin the conversation. It was Jane who finally broke the silence with a laugh.

“Look at the two of you.” She shook her head, trying to fight her grin and failing. “I’m sorry, but it’s funny. You’re so tangled up in your secrets you can barely move!”

“I . . .” Bobby hesitated. “I don’t know what you—”

“This is
Jane
,” Winter said. “From Mrs. Wilmore’s. I found her.”

Bobby’s mouth opened, silently, and her eyes went wide.

“
I
didn’t go anywhere. You were the one who disappeared,” Jane said. “What kinds of stories have you been telling about me?”

“Winter told me the truth about herself,” Bobby said, “and about how the two of you were friends before she ran away.”

“Friends.” Jane shot Winter a tiny smirk.

“And Bobby’s story is . . . complicated,” Winter said. “I found out—”

“That she’s a girl?” Jane said. She shrugged at Bobby’s shocked look. “She didn’t tell
me
anything, but it’s not exactly a stretch to figure it out once you start thinking in those terms. Just look at you!”

“Nobody else has guessed,” Bobby said, defensively.

“I doubt anyone else is looking,” Jane said. “Now. We’ve established that everybody knows everybody else’s secrets. Can we all relax?”

Not
all
our secrets,
Winter thought. There was no way for Jane to know about the
naath
Feor had gifted to Bobby, or the patches of her skin it had replaced with living marble.
No need to break that to her yet—

“Actually,” Bobby said, “I have one more.”

“Bobby,” Winter cut in. “Are you sure you want to—”

“I can’t keep secrets from you,” Bobby said. “It feels wrong, after everything. And you may need to know.”

Winter paused. “From me?”

Bobby nodded. “It’s Lieutenant Marsh. He knows . . . about me.”

“
What
? How did he find out? Has he told anyone?”

“It’s not like that,” Bobby said. “He’s a good person, honestly. He and I . . . I mean, we’re . . .”

“You’re what?”

Jane rolled her eyes and put one arm around Winter’s shoulders, pulling her close enough to speak into her ear.

“They’re fucking,” she stage-whispered, turning Bobby’s face instantly beet-red. “You know. Like men and women do, at times?”

Winter blinked.
Oh.
Several conflicting emotions assailed her at once. Fear, for Bobby and for herself, the old terror of being discovered. Irritation that Bobby had exposed them like this. And, she realized, just a hint of jealousy.

She bit her lip and shook her head.
Don’t be ridiculous.
She had Jane now, and that was all she’d ever wanted.
Besides, if she and Marsh are . . . I mean, she’s not . . . like me.

“He’s not blackmailing you, or anything like that?” Jane said while Winter fought through her confusion.

“No, no.” Bobby’s blush deepened. “I told him myself. It was a stupid thing to do, but we were in a storm at sea, and there was something . . .”

“It’s all right,” Winter said. “I don’t need the details.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jane said.

“The point is, you think you can trust him?” Winter badly wanted to ask about the
naath
and the traces it had left on Bobby’s skin—
which Marsh must have seen, obviously—
but didn’t want to bring it up in Jane’s presence unless Bobby mentioned it first. She felt a burst of frustration.
Jane’s right. We do have too many damned secrets.

“I’m sure I can. And I haven’t told him anything about you.”

“All right.” Winter shook her head. “See if you can clue him in to the fact that I know. That might make things a bit less awkward.”

“Right.” Bobby gave a little sigh of relief. “God, I’ve been so worried what you would say.”

“It’s hardly my place to disapprove,” Winter said.

Jane laughed again. “I can’t tell if you’re the father or the mother in this little allegory. Maybe both.”

Winter managed a chuckle, and a little bit of the tension seeped out of the tent. She settled herself more comfortably on the cushion. “Bobby was at Mrs. Wilmore’s, too, you know. I think she ran away just before you came back.”

“You went back?” Bobby said. “I wouldn’t have thought
anyone
would go back there on purpose.”

“It took me a while to nerve myself up to it,” Jane admitted.

“She marched the girls out of there!” Winter said. “Right under the old hag’s nose, too.”

Jane looked embarrassed. “Something like that.”

“Wow.” Bobby gave Jane an admiring stare. “How did you manage that?”

“It’s not actually all that much of a story,” Jane said. “The really interesting parts happened afterward.”

Winter sat back while Jane told the story of what had happened to her exodus after leaving the Prison—their time in the swamps, and then with the Leatherbacks. By the time she got to a considerably exaggerated version of Winter’s storming of the Vendre, Bobby was clapping her hands in delight. Winter retaliated with stories of the fighting in Khandar, which Bobby embellished with lurid details. Before Winter knew it, the sky had darkened entirely and the torches outside were faint glows through the tent walls.

The only awkward moment came when Bobby was filling in what had happened after they left Ashe-Katarion. She and Folsom had been promoted to sergeant as Fitz worked to fill out the ranks of the junior officers, while Graff, because of his long experience and against his fervent objections, had been made a lieutenant. Of their little circle, that left only Feor, and here Bobby hesitated.

“She was on the ship with us,” she said. “I even saw her, once or twice. But I think Fitz kept her under guard. There were a couple of cabins none of us were ever allowed to visit, with sentries on every watch, and she slept in one of
those. I didn’t see her again after we transferred to the riverboats.” Catching Winter’s expression, she tried to be reassuring. “I’m sure she’s here, though. You can ask Fitz when you see him.”

Winter nodded. She had a pretty good idea of where Feor was, and what had been in that guarded cabin. Janus would not have left the steel plates bearing his precious Thousand Names in Khandar without the Colonials to guard them. Feor was certainly here, but whether the colonel would ever let her out again was uncertain.
He has to let me
in
, at least. He owes me that much.

Eventually Folsom arrived, huge and taciturn as always, and Winter made another round of introductions. The big sergeant was happy to see Winter, but curiously shy in the presence of Jane, and the fact that he wasn’t privy to the secret made the conversation a bit more circumspect. Shortly thereafter, Winter and Jane excused themselves, and Bobby promised to send Graff over to visit when she tracked him down.

More shouted greetings followed them away from the row of tents, and Winter turned to wave over her shoulder to the rankers. She and Jane walked together in silence for a while, through the rest of the Colonial encampment and out past the line of sentries, on to the darkened lawn that separated the palace from the Ministry of War.

“They all love you,” Jane said, after a while.

Winter winced. “It took me a while to get used to it. It’s not even about anything I’ve
done
. Just that we went into battle together, and they survived. I’m like a . . . a lucky charm.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“Not everyone survived.” Winter bit her lip. “They tend to forget about that. I can’t blame them, but . . .”

Jane snaked her arm through Winter’s and crooked it at the elbow. Winter went stiff.

“Don’t,” she said. “Someone might see.”

“It’s dark,” Jane said. “Besides, you think you’re the only lieutenant who keeps a girl?” She laughed. “We know Marsh does.”

“Marsh.” Winter sighed but left their arms linked. “I don’t know what Bobby was thinking.”

“She was thinking that he was handsome, and she was lonely. How old is she—sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Seventeen, probably.”

“You must remember what it was like to be seventeen and have your head turned by a pretty face.” Jane’s fingers found her hand and squeezed it. “I know I do.”

“Is he handsome, then?” Winter said, glad the darkness hid her flushed face. “I’ve never been able to tell.”

“Sure. At least,
I
thought so, and Bobby seems to agree. But there’s no accounting for taste.”

“I suppose he does look a bit like those old paintings of Mithradacii gods, with that hair. Do you remember those old storybooks we found in the Prison library? They were always turning into boars or swans to get women to fall in love with them.”

“I never quite understood how
that
worked,” Jane said. “But I recall you being very interested in the woodcuts of nymphs and dryads without any clothes on.”

Winter rolled her eyes and gave Jane’s arm a tug. “Come on. We had better make sure your girls haven’t killed anybody.”

RAESINIA

“M
y queen,” said Count Vertue, bowing low. “I beg you. We have one last opportunity to avert this bloodshed. Let us act, before it is too late.”

Raesinia stood on a hillock beside the north road from Ohnlei. It was another beautiful August day, though a breath of cooler air carried the hint that summer would not last forever. Count Vertue, dressed in a “simple” riding outfit embroidered with silver and gold thread, stood beside his mount with two blue-uniformed soldiers at his side. Raesinia stood alone, but there was a squad of Colonials waiting at a discreet distance, in case Orlanko’s emissary tried something desperate.

“I agree,” Raesinia said. “Let me extend you one final offer. Tell your master that if he orders his troops to return to their camps, his noble followers to disperse, and offers himself into our care, I personally guarantee that he will receive no punishment, and will be free to live out his days in the duchy. You may assure your fellows that none of them will be punished, either. Only members of the Ministry of Information who directly participated in the plot against the Crown will be brought to trial.”

“It grieves me to hear you say that, Your Majesty. I have no ‘master,’ as you put it, only a good friend in His Grace the duke, around whom all the right-thinking gentry of the kingdom have come together. He does everything in Your Majesty’s interests, whatever these traitors may have told you.” Vertue glanced scornfully at the Colonials. “If you would only appeal to them yourself, I feel sure they would throw off the orders of Vhalnich and the so-called
deputies and return you to your proper place. How can you ally yourself with a pack of rabble-rousers and treasonous thinkers who have disgraced the sacred halls of the cathedral and Ohnlei both?”

“I am the queen, Count Vertue. It is for me to say who is a traitor, and who is not, and I tell you the traitors are in your own camp.”

“If you will not think of the nation,” the count said, “at least consider the men who will die to no purpose if you throw this mass of beggars and frontier soldiers against the pride of the Royal Army. You must know they cannot stand the test of battle.”

“Whatever deaths there have been”—Raesinia gritted her teeth—“and whatever deaths are still to come, all of them fall on Orlanko’s conscience, not mine. Not that I imagine it bothers him. His hands are well stained already.”

“I see that you have been led completely astray.” Vertue sighed. “So it must be. God sends us these trials to prove we are worthy of His continued grace. When the slaughter begins, remember that you hold it in your power to end it at any time.” His eyes narrowed. “And when you do choose to surrender, seek me out. I will make certain you and your companions are well treated.”

“Allow me to extend you the same courtesy, my lord,” Raesinia said.

Vertue snorted and turned to his horse. His guards mounted up as well, and the trio wheeled about and rode away, down the slope of the hill and north along the road. The cavalry pickets parted, reluctantly, to let them through.

Somewhere up that road—not far up it, if the latest reports they’d received were correct—was Orlanko’s army. Not a large army, by historical standards. Not even larger than Raesinia’s, if every last pike-wielding teenager was counted. But of course the point was that the pikes and the teenagers didn’t count for much, in the eyes of men like Vertue.
Rabble, he says.
They certainly met the description. Janus had done wonders to gather and arm so many in a week, but it was still only a week, which didn’t allow for much in the way of training.

Another horse climbed the slope. Janus bet Vhalnich himself dismounted and stood beside his queen, looking south down the road instead of north after the retreating emissaries. He was head-and-shoulders taller than her, but that was something Raesinia was used to ignoring.

“They’ve gone,” she said. “Vertue and his minders.” Janus had been certain that the “soldiers” had been Concordat spies in Royal Army uniforms.

“I saw,” Janus said, without looking back at her.

“Was it really wise to let them leave? They’ll tell Orlanko we’ve marched.”

“We can’t expect to keep that information from him. Frankly, I expect he
has a complete picture of our forces by now. The city is too big and too open to keep anything secret for long, and we don’t have enough men to post a screen and intercept his couriers. Surprise is not where our advantage lies.”

“Where
does
our advantage lie?”

“Numbers and will,” Janus said. “And the faith that comes with fighting on the right side.”

“And superior generalship?”

“Under ordinary circumstances, modesty would require me to deny that. But since the opposition is commanded by either Duke Orlanko or Count Torahn, ‘superior’ is a low bar.”

“I thought you respected Orlanko,” Raesinia said.

“In certain arenas. He has a genius for analyzing information and organizational structures, and a crude but instinctive feel for human nature. None of that translates into battlefield competence, however, and his chief defect is his overconfidence. He does not know enough to leave things in the hands of more capable men.” Janus shrugged. “On the other hand, he has a great many cannon. That can make up for quite a few character flaws.”

“You don’t think we can win?”

Janus was looking at the road again. “If I didn’t think there was a chance, I would never have given the order to march. But as to how
much
of a chance . . . we shall see.” He smiled briefly. “Here they come.”

A rising cloud of dust had been visible around the curve of the road for some time, but now Raesinia could see the first blue-coated ranks coming into view. The First Battalion of the Colonials had the lead, behind the wide-flung cavalry screen, marching in a long, thin column to the cheerful accompaniment of drums, flutes, and fifes. Janus had ransacked the city’s theaters for any man who could play and walk at the same time to provide bands for the troops. Whether anyone could hear
anything
among the clatter of boots on the dusty road and the creaks of the wagons, Raesinia was uncertain, but she hadn’t argued.

After the First Battalion came the Second, its head marked by its pair of battle flags. Alongside the steady river of blue-coated troops were the wagons, a motley collection of farmers’ wains, two-wheeled carts, and even converted cabs and carriages. At intervals among the slow-plodding vehicles were batteries of artillery, hitched to their limbers, muzzles pointing backward and down toward the dusty ground.

Behind the Second Battalion was the endless river of new recruits, still in their civilian clothes. For the most part they were a drab mass of gray and
brown, but here and there a nobleman who’d thrown in his lot with the deputies stood out as a splash of color. Blue specks at regular intervals were the sergeants borrowed from the Colonials to try to impose order. Each man had
some
kind of weapon, but for every musket there was a long-handled spear or pike, fashioned in haste or dragged out of Grandfather’s closet.

It did Raesinia good to see them marching. She’d spent the week at the Twin Turrets, and while Janus had brought her regular reports, she hadn’t been up to Ohnlei to see it with her own eyes. It was too dangerous, the colonel had argued; among so many men, Orlanko had no doubt inserted a few of his own agents. She’d had an odd fantasy that all the volunteer soldiers were a myth, that Janus was only humoring her, and that when the day finally came to face the duke, she’d find herself alone.

Militarily, though, she had to admit they did not inspire confidence. The only hint that they were soldiers instead of a mob was that every man sported a black armband, a nod to the so-called rules of war that prescribed reasonable treatment for “uniformed troops.” It couldn’t hurt, though Raesinia had her doubts that any rules would constrain Orlanko if he won. They’d chosen black to respect the passing of her father, or to show their allegiance to the deputies, or—she thought this the most likely—because, with Ohnlei still decked out in mourning, black cloth had been readily available in unlimited quantities.

The column marched slowly, and an hour later they were still coming. Raesinia had moved to the edge of the hill, where they could see her easily, and she waved her hand at the recruits as they came by. For the most part they didn’t recognize her, but whenever someone did, they raised a cheer.
I should be closer,
she thought.
If they’re going to die for me, they should at least know what I look like.

The sound of a horse approaching at speed brought her attention back to the hilltop, where Janus was conferring quietly with the Colonial officers. The rider, a cavalry trooper in weather-beaten blues, trotted up the slope, reined his mount around, and saluted. Raesinia drifted over.

“Sir!” the trooper said. “Give-Em-H—” He noticed the queen standing nearby, paused, and went on. “Captain Stokes sends to say that he has located the enemy. We’ve sighted their main body, and engaged their outriders.”

He dug in his saddlebag and produced a folded note. Janus took it, read it gravely, and nodded.

“As expected. It’s the logical place, from his point of view.” He turned to the captains standing nearby. The only one Raesinia recognized was Marcus, in Royal Army blue now instead of Armsmen green. She couldn’t catch his eye.

“You may proceed as we’ve discussed, gentleman,” the colonel said. “Good luck!”

They saluted and headed for their own horses.

Janus turned to Raesinia. “Your Majesty. You know what I advise.”

“I’m not going back, if that’s what you mean.” Raesinia set her jaw. “I started all this, and now I feel so helpless. The least I can do is watch.” She lowered her voice. “Besides. You know the danger is . . . not entirely relevant.”

“I am, of course, Your Majesty’s humble servant. Lieutenant Uhlan and his men will accompany you.” Janus matched her whisper. “If we lose, Your Majesty—”

“Don’t.”

“If we lose,” the colonel continued remorselessly, “I have given Lieutenant Uhlan orders to place his entire complement at your disposal. I trust them implicitly. While I don’t anticipate being in a position to offer further advice, I might suggest that you allow him to conduct you to Mieran County. It is a remote place, and you would find it easy to disappear, even from the likes of Orlanko.” He smiled, briefly. “Of course, that is only a contingency plan.”

WINTER

The march was a mild one, as marches went. The day was warm, but there was a breeze to cut the heat, and the fertile green countryside they passed through was a pleasant change from the endless rocks and sand of Khandar. Jane’s girls carried no packs—there weren’t enough tents and bedrolls for all the new men, and the wagons carried their food and extra ammunition. It would make for miserable camping, but for the moment it meant not having to lug anything heavier than their muskets.

Jane walked at the head of the column, and Winter near the back, encouraging any of the girls who flagged and making sure none of the men around them did more than stare. There had been plenty of
that
during their training at Ohnlei, and a fair bit of name-calling and whistles as well, but Winter had been impressed at the girls’ stoicism. Here on the road, things had gone surprisingly well. By accident or design—with Janus in charge, Winter suspected the latter—the groups directly ahead and behind were mostly made up of dockmen, who had a healthy respect for Mad Jane and the Leatherbacks.

Another worry had been resolved the day before, when Abby had turned
up at the training ground. She’d been reluctant to talk about her errand, other than to say that her father was all right.

“He’s a rotten old coward,” she said, and refused to say any more on the matter. Now she was walking up and down the column, exchanging a few words with the girls, smiling and keeping up a brave front. It was needed, Winter thought. The faces she saw around her were the faces of young women wondering what the hell they had gotten themselves into. They whispered together, walking side by side for a few steps and then throwing an anxious glance up at Jane or back at Winter. No one dropped out of line, though.

Abby fell back until she was next to Winter, looking worried.

“Word from the head of the column,” she said. Rumors traveled down the length of the marching army like sparks along a powder trail. “We’re turning off the road. Give-Em-Hell is taking the rest of the horsemen out front.” The recruits, imitating their veteran comrades, had adopted the nickname for the cavalry commander.

“Then Orlanko’s just ahead,” Winter said. She glanced overhead, where the sun hung near its zenith. “We’ll fight today. Maybe tomorrow, but probably today. Orlanko can’t afford to wait around, and our supply situation can’t be good.”

“Right. Today.” Abby swallowed hard. Her hand was tight around the butt of her musket, the barrel resting on her shoulder. “You think we can win?”

“It’s not our job to think about that,” Winter said. “We signed up for this army, and that means we agreed to fight where and when Colonel Vhalnich and the other officers think we ought to.
Whether
we should fight is their decision, and we have to trust them. Letting every ranker think about that for himself is the first step toward a rout.”

“Right,” Abby repeated. “Right.” She looked at the backs of the marching girls. “Do you think they’ll do all right?”

Winter nodded. “I think so. As well as any of the rest.”

“Right.” Abby took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “All right.”

Winter wondered if her nerves had shown so clearly the first time she’d gone into a real fight.
Probably they did, and I was too scared to notice.

Up ahead, the road turned to the left, but a blue-coated lieutenant was directing the column off to the right. They broke through a thin belt of trees and tramped across a field of cabbages, cutting a muddy brown trail through the rows of ripening green vegetables. A low wall of unmortared stone had blocked the way here, but the leading battalion had dismantled it and left an
opening wide enough for the wagons and guns to pass. Beyond, a low hill sloped up toward a grassy crest, where a few milk cows grazed peacefully and watched the marching intruders with incurious eyes.