they would act with military prudence. War was no place for show and by the time they engaged the enemy, he was certain they would be ready to put an end to the fight.
It struck him as odd that more people had not come out to see them off. He didn’t sense any outright hostility from the citizens of Temperance, but he could not shake the feeling that they were much like his dead wife. They were less concerned at his leaving than they were about his coming back. Granted that the Shipping and Commerce Act had stirred up some ugly sentiment among the merchant class, but Ian felt that the Act certainly wasn’t as bad as it was being made out to be. Any law might be turned harmful, but supposing this one would was really projecting trouble.
He shook his head. Projecting trouble is what I have been doing. Prince Vlad had taken Ian into his confidence and showed him many things. The troll’s skull had been the most daunting. Ian would have decided it was a hoax of some sort save for two things-the presence of a second, larger wooly rhinoceros at Prince Haven and the fact that he couldn’t imagine why the Prince would perpetrate such a hoax. The man had nothing to gain by it and much to lose by its exposure.
Despite being forced to conclude that the troll existed, Ian had not briefed his men on the foe they were likely to face. To a very great extent it would not matter. A well-placed musket ball would either kill the things or not. Reports of the fight in Happy Valley indicated that the demon creatures fell easily to the touch of steel, and every one of his men had a bayonet for his rifle and a saber at his hip. He’d also encouraged them to obtain tomahawks, which all had. They were as well suited as possible to face their foe.
He seriously considered sharing with his men the Prince’s thoughts about the Norghaest, but not while in town. He didn’t fear desertion, though he would lose some men that way. It was that Prince Vlad’s speculation really meant nothing to soldiers. Either the Fifth would win, or they’d be slaughtered. Knowing why they were fighting, and what they were fighting for, provided no strategic, operational, or tactical advantage. In fact, it could distract men from the only reason they fought.
While the story he’d told Bumble about the Fifth’s history had been true, he was certain that Bumble had missed its vital import. Soldiers do not fight for Crown or country, cross or banner. They fight for each other, for their friends. No one can ask a man to die for an abstraction, and that had nothing to do with war. War was all about offering men a chance to save their friends by killing the enemy. Glory and honor, rank, medals, and rewards were all afterthoughts. They gilded the real prize: survival. There was never a medal that could grow back a leg or replace an arm. No blind man regained his sight after being made a peer. Yet knowing he’d saved a friend could put a smile on the face of a man whose lower half lay twenty feet away, and could grant him peace as he died.
Ian rode tall in the saddle. “Show some alacrity, men. There’s an enemy in the west that needs killing. The job’s yours. The sooner we do it, the better it will be done.”
Bishop Bumble smiled as widely as he could. “Mrs. Strake, so lovely to see you in town. And you, Miranda, and Miss Becca. I doubt there is as handsome a trio of women in the city as could be found right here before me.”
Catherine bowed her head, but eyed him coolly. Her daughter hid behind her skirts and the Green girl sidled halfway there herself. “Bishop Bumble, you are very kind. Out to see the troops off?”
“Of course, as you must be.”
Catherine shook her head. “Oh, no, we’ve just come to town to buy some cloth. Both my girls are growing so quickly. We shall make Becca a new dress and give Miranda an apron to match. They will look ever so cute.”
“Indeed, and happy to see their father return.” Bumble’s smile shrank slightly. “I’ve not seen him in six weeks. Is he well?”
“Quite, I gather. Prince Vlad had a note from him two weeks back and is very pleased with the progress he’s making.” Catherine reached down and cupped the back of Miranda’s head. “She misses her father, but he sent his love. She wants to learn her letters so she can send him a note.”
“Splendid.” The man nodded. “General Rathfield looks quite content.”
She arched an eyebrow quickly enough to almost account for a moment’s hesitation. “Does he? I only ever see him at service these days.”
“Well, you’ve seen quite enough of him. I mean, hosting him and then caring for him when he was injured. You must have quite the healing touch.”
“You give me too much credit, sir.” Her dark eyes tightened. “Is there a duty you require of me, your Grace? I should hate to be keeping you from something important.”
“Me, oh, no, just out to see the troops off, as you said.” He cocked his head. “I do trust, even with your husband gone, you will still come to services. I know that your presence will be reassuring to those who have loved ones in the field. You could travel into town with the Princess, I am certain.”
“I shall take that up with her, Bishop. Thank you for suggesting it.” She bowed. “Now, if you will excuse me.”
“Of course, my dear.” He smiled and waved to Miranda. “Good-bye.”
Catherine turned and did not look back, but Miranda did with widened eyes. She appeared frightened, and this pleased Bishop Bumble.
He watched Catherine Strake walk away. Go, my dear, go. I already know one of your secrets, and soon I shall know them all. And then, you shall be my creature and do my bidding. And with that thought in his mind, he allowed his smile to grow wide again, and pleasure burned in his heart.
Chapter Fifty
20 May 1768 Fort Plentiful, Plentiful Richlan, Mystria
Owen crouched on the crest of a hill directly west of Plentiful. The palisaded fort dominated the Snake River valley. A deep, semicircular trench had been dug around the fort, facing west. The residual earth had been piled high and grassed over to form an oblong berm. More work had been done to dig the pit out toward the west, so the previous depth added height to the berm-to make it more difficult for the trolls to crawl their way up.
He plucked a blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth. “Not a sight I’d want to greet.”
Makepeace, standing tall behind him, pointed with his rifle. “Ain’t so big a place that an army cain’t surround it; and we don’t really got no idea what the enemy will bring.”
“That’s true.” That had been the primary difficulty in trying to prepare for the Norghaest. In the visions they’d not seen any cannon, so they’d not added any glacises to deflect cannon balls. Since they didn’t know what the Norghaest would use to fight them, planning against them was at best a guess. Fort Plentiful might hold off the trolls, but that would really depend on how many the Norghaest brought.
The winged demons presented other problems, but Prince Vlad had thought of things to deal with them. All around the berm, long masts had been erected. Cables ran from them to the fort itself, anchored to the walls. The Mystrian forces would be bringing with them fishing nets, which they’d string between masts and fort, hampering the demons.
And the weight of their bodies could drag it all down.
Hodge and three of the Rangers who’d come with the Count joined them on the hill. The party, which had been out doing more surveying work, had managed to shoot two deer. Hodge looked at the fort and frowned. “Now that’s queer.”
Owen took another look. A flagpole had been placed at the heart of the fort at the Count’s insistence-as far as the Kessian was concerned it was little more than a trading post without one. Someone had produced an old Norillian flag with three crowned golden lions on a red field. As they watched, that flag descended and in its place rose a green flag with a black circle at its center. A red wurm-claw had been worked into the circle, with the talons pointing earthward and shaped to form the letter M.
The Rangers let out a holler at the sight, and Owen found himself smiling. The Mystrians who had marched off to Anvil Lake had done so under the Norillian banner, but by the time they’d returned victorious, it was under the Mystrian flag. Prince Vlad had let it be known that the flag was really the banner of the Mystrian Militia, lest people in Launston become alarmed. Even now, at celebrations and when the Colonial assembly was in session, that flag flew proudly.
“Looks like someone got here. I hope it’s the Prince.” Owen stood and started down the hill.
