understanding of the dangers and necessity of action meant he'd not be deserting when it rained too much or rations dwindled. Damnable thing was, Rufus Branch and his brothers would be a good addition to any local militia. They fought hard and had skills in the woods.
'I hain't seen your brothers in ages. Doing well?'
'Mostly.'
'And Feargod?'
Makepeace frowned. 'Hain't heard nothing since he went off to sea. Ma says he ain't dead, and I did see a tea chest hid in the barn. Onliest could have come from him.'
Nathaniel smiled. Rumor had it that Feargod had gone pirating. He couldn't ask, and Makepeace would never tell. All the Bone brothers looked as if the same blacksmith had hammered them into shape, so whatever Feargod was doing, he'd be making his mark and making it large.
Down the line, Caleb put his men through another triple volley. The target survived without harm, but brimstone soot gave the boys a grim look. It aged them a bit, which was good, and that bitter taste would want ale for cutting it.
As they came off the line, four horses rode into view. Nathaniel picked out Count von Metternin and the Prince easily enough. The other two had to be the Norillian noble sent to lead the war against du Malphias and Colonel Langford. Though Nathaniel hadn't recently ventured into Temperance proper, he'd heard enough about the previous night's doings in the town to expect Langford to be sporting a black eye from his wife, and Lord Rivendell to be nursing a fierce hangover.
The Norillian vaulted from his saddle first, his red and gold satin clothes gleaming in the sunlight. He reached back and slid his own gun-a shortened cavalry carbine musket-and marched up to the line. He took his time, spreading his legs wider than shoulder width, pointing his body at the target, then raised his musket. He aimed down the barrel. His head came up for a moment and back down. He reset his feet, then fired.
The ball sailed past the forty-yard post harmlessly.
Rivendell, a smile on his thin face, set his musket butt on the ground and started to reload. 'A fine first shot, Colonel Langford. Note that.'
'Yes, my lord.'
Nathaniel, his rifle resting easily across his right forearm, butt up in his armpit, nodded toward the target. 'Which was you aiming for, my lord?'
Rivendell looked up, surprised at having been addressed, then nodded. 'The shell at the head. Always want to hit them in the head, you know.'
In one smooth motion, Nathaniel's rifle came up, he sighted, and fired. With the brimstone smoke he couldn't see if he'd hit, but Caleb's boys cheering set his mind at ease. He lowered his rifle and reloaded.
Rivendell looked from Nathaniel to the target and back. Nathaniel had hit at fifty yards. The Norillian smiled. 'Was that luck, or are you a sporting man?'
Nathaniel shrugged. 'Weren't luck.'
Rivendell's smile grew. 'A wager, then. A pound per shell shattered in a minute. You versus me. Langford, bring your timepiece.'
Nathaniel shook his head. 'I ain't got that kind of scratch.'
Count von Metternin stepped forward. 'I would be pleased to back you, Mr. Woods.'
Rivendell's eyebrow went up. 'So this is the man saw ghosts in the wood, is it? If you're backing him, von Metternin, two pounds per, then, shall it be? I will shoot first.'
Nathaniel nodded, then turned away. He looked at Makepeace and Kamiskwa, keeping his voice low. 'Seen ghosts, did we?'
Rivendell shouted from behind him. 'Mark time now, Langford!'
Nathaniel watched Rivendell after the first shot, which had missed. The man loaded quickly enough. He bit the bullet from the paper cartridge, emptied the powder, and then spat the bullet into the barrel. Lots of men did that, thinking it was the fastest way to work, but spit was enough to cake brimstone on a ball or stop it burning clean.
Rivendell reloaded three times and got off four shots, though the fourth came right after Langford had yelled, 'Time.' The last two shots hit shell, so Rivendell turned to the Count and held out his hand. 'Four pounds, sir.'
'Shall we settle after Mr. Woods shoots?'
Caleb ran down and replaced the shells. Nathaniel levered his rifle closed. 'Call it, Langford.'
The Norillian Colonel glared at him. 'Now!'
Nathaniel fired his first shot easily hitting the shell in the head position. He reloaded without any haste, brought the rifle up again and hit the shell at the right shoulder. Again and again he fired, missing once and hitting a third. Then his last shot came a heartbeat before Langford called, 'Time.'
Count von Metternin nodded in Nathaniel's direction, then extended his hand to Rivendell. 'I believe that will be four pounds you owe me, my lord.'
'Can't trust you Kessians at all, can I? Only two.'
'But he hit four.'
'Last one was after time was called. That's it, ain't it, Langford, ain't it?'
'Yes, my lord.'
Makepeace started forward. 'Now just see here…'
Nathaniel stopped him with a hand on his chest. 'Don't make no nevermind, Makepeace. Never did reckon Langford knew what time it was.'
The Mystrians, who had crowded in closer, all laughed. Langford's face flushed hotly. Rivendell looked around, then shook his head ruefully. 'This is our fault, Prince Vladimir. We give them everything, but did not give them the proper respect for authority. You men really do not understand the way of the world. Colonel Langford, decorated veteran of many wars, is your superior and deserving of respect. He is a gentleman. He is an officer. He would never lie, cheat, or steal. If he says the last shot happened after time was called, that is that, and no man amongst you can question him.'
Nathaniel frowned. 'But he weren't the one what said it.'
'I beg your pardon.'
'What I am saying, your lordship, is that you said I shot after time had been called. Langford didn't say no such thing. He just barked yes when his master done give him the command to do so.'
'Woods, isn't it, yes?' Rivendell handed his musket to Langford. 'I can see by your attire you're a man who prides himself on his independence. You shoot well, I grant you, but this is a game. Have you ever gone to war, sir?'
'I've shot more than one man dead. That would be in the last year. You, sir?'
Langford stepped between them. 'You mind your tongue, Woods.'
'That will be enough, Colonel.' Rivendell pulled Langford aside. 'I ask, Mr. Woods, because you and your friends clearly do not understand the nature of war or what my troops will be facing out there. To be a true warrior, you must advance in the face of fire, closing with the enemy, to use your bayonet to gut a man. Have you any idea what that's like?'
'I don't reckon, your lordship, I ever been so foolish as to march on up to a man a-shooting at me.' Nathaniel grinned. 'I just as soon drop him as far away as possible.'
Rivendell wheeled, pointing directly at Prince Vlad. 'It is as I told you yesterday. I cannot fight these men. They are a rabble. They have no training and no discipline. They will shoot at range and run. They won't hold a line. We saw that at Artennes Forest.'
The Prince raised his hands to quiet grumbling in the crowd. 'My Lord Rivendell-Johnny-insulting these men will not help.'
'Insulting them? I am paying them high praise by even speaking with them. That they dare to come out here and play at soldiering is a grand gesture. I welcome it. It reminds me why I and my men are here. So feeble a muster could never hope to defeat the Tharyngians. It is our charge, our sacred duty, to protect you all, and I mean to do that.'
Makepeace muttered into his beard. 'Is he crazy or drunk?'
Nathaniel glanced back. 'I hope drunk. He might make sense sober.'
Rivendell took his musket back from Langford and returned to his horse. Mounting it and sliding the musket
