The battling raged for another five minutes, then du Malphias emerged from his wine cellar. He ordered his men to lay down their arms and had the colors struck from the flagpole. Aside from a few shots on the battlefield, and a few more across the river, all hostilities ceased by mid-afternoon.
Prince Vlad rode Mugwump down and then slid out of the saddle. He nodded toward Owen and the stocky little redcoat holding a gun on du Malphias. 'Well done, Captain Strake.'
'Thank you, Highness. May I present Guy du Malphias, Laureate of Tharyngia.'
The tall Ryngian bowed crisply. 'It is an honor, Prince Vladimir. I much enjoyed your paper on the relation between ursine hibernation cycles and formations of geese flying south at winter. With your permission, I should undertake a proper translation.'
Vlad's eyes narrowed. 'You'll forgive me, sir, but that's hardly what I expected from you.' The Prince turned and beckoned Count von Metternin forward with a purple hand. 'You know Count von Metternin.'
'Too well.' The Laureate's head came up with the barest trace of a smile. 'If you wish, I could heal your hands.'
Vlad shook his head. 'Thank you, but no. Prior to this, battle has always been an intellectual exercise. I would not be soon without my reminder.'
The Count snorted. 'To a Kessian, this is nothing.'
'You disguise your distrust well, gentlemen.' Du Malphias drew his hands together at the small of his back. 'At the very least I can offer you an unguent made from bear tallow and the mogiqua to which I was introduced by Captain Strake. It will ease the discomfort.'
'Very kind.'
'And I wish it noted that I surrendered to Captain Strake and his companion, Mr. Dunsby. If you will dispatch Mr. Dunsby to my quarters in the southern fort, he can fetch my saber for a formal presentation. I would send one of my servants but…' He glanced toward a withered pasmorte and shrugged.
The Prince nodded to the redcoat. 'Go.'
Dunsby ran off and returned with du Malphias' sword. The Laureate smiled, then handed it to the Prince. 'There. The formalities have been satisfied.'
Vlad accepted it, then extended it back. 'I have your parole?'
'Of course.' Du Malphias accepted the blade and leaned on it as if it were a walking stick. 'I have quite tired of war.'
Lord Rivendell finally forced his way through the circle of soldiers surrounding the Laureate. The Norillian commander had come up over the wall once the shooting had stopped, his appearance spoiled only by the bloody mud on his boots. He drew his own sword, gold tassel dancing playfully, and leveled it at du Malphias.
'In the name of her most Holy and Terrible Majesty, the exalted Queen Margaret of Norisle, I, John Lord Rivendell, demand your surrender, unconditionally, and that of your troops and possessions.' Rivendell made certain his voice carried, and filled his words with gravity to underscore the moment's drama. 'Your sword, sir.'
Vlad held up a hand. 'He surrendered to me, my lord, and I returned it. I have his parole.'
Rivendell's blade quivered. 'Your sword, sir.'
'As Prince Vladimir has said, I surrendered it to him.'
'He is not a military man. He has no authority to accept your surrender!' Spittle frothed at the corners of his mouth. 'For the third time, sir, and the last, your sword.'
Du Malphias, gracing Rivendell with a stare that could have etched steel, turned and presented his sword to Captain Strake. 'I surrender.'
Owen accepted the blade, then gave it back.
Count von Metternin stepped forward, brushing Rivendell's blade aside. 'I suggest the men attend to their wounded and comfort the dying.'
His suggestion, delivered in a calm but firm voice, fell as a command into all ears but those of Lord Rivendell. Men peeled away, forming squads. Many Mystrians headed back up and out the way they'd come in, to get their picks and shovels for grave-digging duty. They walked as men proud, heads held high, with the cry 'To the top!' going up to cheers from time to time.
Colonel Langford, ever Rivendell's amanuensis, followed his master doggedly, recording copious notes. Von Metternin, to Rivendell's displeasure, found a Ryngian from the Valmont region near the Kessian border who could read and write, and used him to record the Count's recollections. The Count shadowed Rivendell, driving him to distraction.
Vlad wanted to record his thoughts as well, but because of his hands, had to employ a secretary. He chose Caleb Frost, who had come down from Fort Cuivre on the sloop. He found Caleb gifted at not only recording his thoughts faithfully, but adding quick sketches which enhanced the text.
Recollections of the battle varied highly with the author-something which came as no surprise to the Prince. In Rivendell's account, no mention of pasmortes graced the page. He explained the myriad pasmorte bodies as simply being those of civilians who expired of fright when they looked upon a wurm for the first time. Langford did add a note that suggested the civilians were suffering from an unknown malady, which contributed to their diminished capacity.
Rivendell's description of the surrender, of course, made no mention of anyone but Rivendell and du Malphias. It read as if Rivendell had taken the Fortresse du Morte all by his lonesome, and tracked du Malphias down in his hidden lair. Rivendell noted that he'd been aware of du Malphias' duplicity the whole of the time at Anvil Lake and, therefore, had not been surprised by it.
The various battle reports most closely agreed when it came to matter of casualties. The Fourth Foot suffered 54 percent killed or wounded. The Third battalion, which had closed the gap, had suffered 83 percent casualties, with over half of those dead. The cavalry's cowardly First battalion had escaped lightly. The Second took 57 percent casualties, including Colonel Thornbury. Survivors within the First claimed that when the sloop had appeared under Ryngian colors, Thornbury had ordered them to withdraw, but no physical evidence of that order was ever found.
The Mystrians came off the best on the Norillian side of things, having only one in five men killed or wounded. Among historians, this worked against them because military experts assessed unit performance based on casualties, rather than objectives gained. Thus historians deemed the Fourth Foot's effort as the most critical. They tied the Tharyngians up, freeing the Mystrians to do what they did. As for the sloop's crew, their advancing under the enemy flag was seen as contemptible conduct. Norillian politicians seized upon that fact to besmirch the Mystrian effort and salve the wounded egos of those who had wished for a cleaner victory.
The Ryngians were given muskets and sufficient shot and powder to defend themselves on the long trip home. They gave their parole that they would not fight against Norillian interests in the new world and headed up the Green River. Du Malphias traveled on the sloop along with a company of the Fourth Foot, led by the newly promoted Lieutenant Unstone, to take over the garrison of Fort Cuivre. From there the Laureate would be given passage to Kebeton.
The Ungarakii melted into the wilderness and the Seven Nations announced their neutrality in all wars of the white men.
The Fourth Foot garrisoned the Fortress of Death, which they renamed Fort Hammer-the name based on the fort's location at Anvil Lake. The Mystrians, the cavalry, and Lord Rivendell all headed back to Hattersburg, making the return trip in half the time.
They could have made better time, but despite wanting to be home again in time for harvest, the men remained reluctant to break apart their company. Vlad understood and agreed. Combat had brought together men from all over Mystria. They had faced crack troops from Tharyngia and beaten them.
The grumbling from the cavalry limping at the end of the column only made them feel better.
In their absence, Hattersburg had been transformed. They returned on August twelfth to a town largely unlike the one they'd left a month earlier. Horses filled brand new corrals. Warehouses nearly burst with supplies. Men wearing Kessian blue sashes-locals with Seth Plant at their head-stood guard. They herded the redcoat cavalry away from the horses at gunpoint, and the Prince was directed to Gates' Tavern.
He'd barely dismounted Mugwump when the door flew open and Gisella, her golden hair flashing, threw herself into his arms. He caught her as best he could, but she still knocked him back into the wurm's flank. His betrothed wrapped him up in a hug so tight that he gasped for breath, then she kissed him and clean took his breath away.
