fighting the Mystrian troops on that day.'
'Then you should know better than anyone…'
'I do, you ass, I know better than you or your father.' Deathridge's voice lowered and slowed. Vlad visualized every word as an inch of steel sliding into Rivendell's guts. 'If I had my druthers, I'd take Major Forest's men and send them to deal with du Malphias. I'd let your men eventually get to Anvil Lake, let them occupy the ruins of the fort, and hope they forget how to find their way back.'
Rivendell sniffed. 'You do not have that option, sir. Parliament chose me to lead this expedition. You are here to observe.'
'And advise.' Deathridge looked to the Prince. 'What I would advise you, Highness, is to make Major Forest's Rangers an independent command. I have a mission for them of the utmost importance.'
'Yes, my lord?'
Deathridge glanced at Rivendell's aide. 'Langford, make yourself useful. You have a map of Mystria there? Yes, on that table. Now, man, we do not have all day.'
Langford, flustered, dropped journals and two maps, then dropped two more as he bent over to recover one of the first. He took it to a table and spread it out.
The smoldering expression on Deathridge's face killed any humor in Langford's distress. Vlad realized that such was the force of Deathridge's personality that he, himself, was ready to spring into action had the man commanded it. Though he knew of the man only from histories and cryptic mentions in letters, Deathridge in the flesh surged past all legend. Descriptions that had seemed hyperbolic in the reading failed in comparison to the man's dark energy.
With Rivendell bringing up the rear, the assembly moved to study the map once Langford laid it out.
Deathridge pointed to the mouth of the Argent River. 'Just before we sailed, agents on the Continent sent word that two Ryngian regiments of foot set off for Mystria. One regiment is bound for this Fortress of Death.'
'Du Morte,' Rivendell corrected him.
Deathridge fixed him with a stare that would have melted an anvil. 'We believe du Malphias will be reunited with the Platine Regiment. The Silicium Regiment-finally rebuilt after Villerupt -will reinforce cities in Kebeton. They will place one battalion, here, at Fort Cuivre on Lac Verleau's eastern shore, at the Upper Argent outflow.'
The Prince's expression tightened. 'Whoever controls that fort can pinch off supplies heading for du Malphias, as well any trade goods heading for Kebeton.'
'Exactly. Cuivre is the cornerstone to eliminating much of Tharyngia's trade.' Deathridge looked up. 'Major Forest, can your men take it?'
'You'd be asking us to cover near three hundred miles as the crow flies, most all of it through Seven Nations land. The Tharyngians will know we are coming. We will have no artillery and will be outnumbered by the fort's garrison.'
Deathridge nodded. 'Now you see why I won't ask Johnny's playmates on horseback to attempt it.'
Forest smiled slowly. 'We can do it. I'll get to drawing up requisitions and all.'
'Good. You will be going out in advance of the main army, a scouting party in force. You will divert later. I shall write out full orders.'
'Thank you, my lord.'
Deathridge nodded. 'As for you, Highness, I will want you to take charge of the Colonial Militia. I understand you have a regiment available. You will be our reserve, but I shall also need you to prepare roads through the wilderness. You have men who know their way around an ax?'
The Prince laughed. 'Every man in Mystria owns one and keeps it sharp. I have a militia company specifically…'
'Militia! Never!' Rivendell protested. 'I will not be fighting them. I will never deploy them.'
'Then you are a fool, but I suspect this is apparent. Your influence at court and in Parliament has put you in charge of this expedition. I am able, however, to advise the militias, which I am doing. If you choose to ignore my advice, you do so at your peril.'
'My peril? We shall see about this, my lord.'
'Get off your high horse, Johnny. This is not a game.' Deathridge waved Rivendell to the side. 'I shall get this buffoon out of your way so you may do your planning. Captain Strake, I would dine with you this evening at my lodgings. I shall send a man with the details. I expect you will be here as a liaison until then.'
'Yes, sir.' Owen hesitated. 'If I might ask after my wife?'
'Hardly the time, not the place.' Deathridge's expression eased ever so slightly. 'She was well last I saw her, and is anxious for your reunion.'
'Thank you, my lord.'
Deathridge nodded, then glanced again at the model. 'Plan well, gentlemen. The fate of Mystria depends upon what you do. Now, Johnny, get you and your shadow out of here, and let real men work.'
Rivendell looked nothing so much like a sulking child as he walked out stiff-legged, head down, trailing Deathridge. Langford hurriedly gathered maps and the journals, leaving the Mystrian map on the desk, and scuttled after the other two.
Vlad sighed when Chandler closed the door behind the visitors. 'That, gentlemen, was fascinating. It may yet be early, but could I offer you a restorative drink? Chandler, whisky and water, please, all around.'
The Prince looked at Owen. 'Your uncle makes quite an impression.'
'He's had years of practice.' Owen shook his head. 'He almost made me pity Rivendell.'
The Count accepted a drink from the servant. 'Not looking forward to dining?'
'I would sooner dine with the Laureate.'
'We all may get that chance.' Vlad studied the map. 'How fast can we realistically expect to travel? Ten miles a day?'
Forest shook his head. 'I'll get that out of my men, maybe twelve. Decent rivers for part of the way. Heading to Anvil, you should get six.'
'Do you concur, Owen? You've been there.'
Owen cupped his drink in both hands, but did not sample it. 'Depends on how many wagons we need for supplies. I would send as much as I could ahead to Hattersburg up the Tillie. Definitely ship the cannon. The horses, too. Not that they will do any good at the fortress.'
'If we leave on the thirty-first, we will arrive at Anvil around the second of July. This gives us two months, perhaps three, for a siege.' The Prince shook his head. 'Getting the necessary food and fodder out there alone will be incredibly difficult. It is a logistical nightmare.'
The Count chuckled. 'An idiot for a leader, an unrealistic timetable, insufficient forces to do the job: If one were not acquainted with the ways of royalty, one might think there was no intention for this effort to succeed.'
Rivendell closed the coach door before Langford could climb in. 'Walk, Langford, and hurry. I shall join you presently after the Duke and I have our chat.'
Langford made to salute automatically, started to drop things, failed to catch them, and blushed.
Deathridge pounded the coach roof with a fist. 'Go!'
The driver snapped a whip, and the black coach lurched into motion. Rivendell smiled. 'Oh, Dick, I think we fooled them. They haven't a clue. That's right, ain't it? Ain't it?'
'Yes, of course, as planned.' Deathridge smiled every so slightly. 'You played your part well.'
'And you, sir, and you.' Rivendell smiled broadly. 'Your arriving early was brilliant. Packet boat, you say.'
'Yes, and I shall want my twenty pounds, too.'
'Of course.' Rivendell nodded. He had first met Deathridge on the Continent and had not liked him at all. Not much to like, since the man did not socialize as others did. Yet he always seemed to have someone's ear. The younger Rivendell, unlike his father, always did notice those who moved in the background and seemed to weather any storm without upset. When he found himself on the other side of the Mystrian argument from Deathridge, he had been apprehensive; and wholly terrified when the man had sent word he wished to speak with him in Launston.
Deathridge tucked himself into the carriage's corner. 'You will fight the Mystrian troops.'
'I shall not, sir. Wholly unreliable.'
'Of course they are, you fool. We need them destroyed so the Queen understands the idiocy of leaving her colonies without a strong garrison. You will take them to Anvil Lake, you will lay siege to the fortress, you will kill
