and they chuckled, and the vaguely uncomfortable atmosphere was swiftly dispelled. “But we can all be useful to each other, and so I have forgiven them everything, and your father too. Vengeance brings no man a brighter tomorrow, and when placed on the scales of life, does not outweigh a single… scale. You need not worry on that score, Prince Foscar, I am all business. Bought and paid for, and entirely your man.”
“You are generosity itself, General Cosca.”
“I am avarice itself, which is not quite the same, but will do in a pinch. Now, perhaps, for dinner. Would any of you gentlemen care for a drink? We came by a crate of a very fine vintage in a manor house upstream only yesterday, and-”
“It might be best if we were to discuss our strategy before the levity begins.” Colonel Rigrat’s shrill voice was as a file applied directly to Cosca’s sensitive back teeth. He was a sharp-faced, sharp-voiced, sharply self- satisfied man in his late thirties and a well-pressed uniform, previously General Ganmark’s second in command and now Foscar’s. Presumably the military brains behind the Talinese operation, such as they were. “Now, while everyone still has their wits close to hand.”
“Believe me, young man,” though he was neither young, nor yet a man as far as Cosca was concerned, “my wits and I are not easily parted. You have a plan in mind?”
“I do!” Rigrat produced his baton with a flourish. Friendly loomed out from under the nearest olive tree, hands moving to his weapons. Cosca sent him melting back into the shadows with the faintest smile and shake of his head. No one else even noticed.
Cosca had been a soldier all his life, of a kind, and had yet to understand what the purpose of a baton truly was. You could not kill a man with one, or even look like you might. You could not hammer in a tent peg, cook a good side of meat or even pawn it for anything worthwhile. Perhaps they were intended for scratching those hard- to-reach places in the small of the back? Or stimulating the anus? Or perhaps simply for marking a man out as a fool? For that purpose, he reflected as Rigrat pointed self-importantly towards the river with his baton, they served admirably.
“There are two fords across the Sulva! Upper… and lower! The lower is much the wider and more reliable crossing.” The colonel indicated the point where the dirty stripe of the Imperial road met the river, glimmering water flaring out in the gently sloping bottom of the valley. “But the upper, perhaps a mile upstream, should also be usable at this time of year.”
“Two fords, you say?” It was a fact well known there were two damn fords. Cosca himself had crossed in glory by one when he came into Ospria to be toasted by Grand Duchess Sefeline and her subjects, and fled by another just after the bitch had tried to poison him. Cosca slid his battered flask from his jacket pocket. The one that Morveer had flung at him back in Sipani. He unscrewed the cap.
Rigrat gave him a sharp glance. “I thought we agreed that we would drink once we had discussed strategy.”
“You agreed. I just stood here.” Cosca closed his eyes, took a deep breath, tilted up the flask and took a long swallow, then another, felt the coolness fill his mouth, wash at his dry throat. A drink, a drink, a drink. He gave a happy sigh. “Nothing like a drink of an evening.”
“May I continue?” hissed Rigrat, riddled with impatience.
“Of course, my boy, take your time.”
“The day after tomorrow, at dawn, you will lead the Thousand Swords across the lower ford-”
“Lead? From the front, do you mean?”
“Where else would a commander lead from?”
Cosca exchanged a baffled glance with Andiche. “Anywhere else. Have you ever been at the front of a battle? The chances of being killed there really are very high.”
“Extremely high,” said Victus.
Rigrat ground his teeth. “Lead from what position pleases you, but the Thousand Swords will cross the lower ford, supported by our allies from Etrisani and Cesale. Duke Rogont will have no choice but to engage you with all his power, hoping to crush your forces while you are still crossing the river. Once he is committed, our Talinese regulars will break from hiding and cross the upper ford. We will take the enemy in the flank, and-” He snapped his baton into his waiting palm with a smart crack.
“You’ll hit them with a stick?”
Rigrat was not amused. Cosca had to wonder whether he ever had been. “With steel, sir, with steel! We will rout them utterly and put them to flight, and thus put an end to the troublesome League of Eight!”
There was a long pause. Cosca frowned at Andiche, and Andiche frowned back. Sesaria and Victus shook their heads at one another. Rigrat tapped his baton impatiently against his leg. Prince Foscar cleared his throat once more, nervously pushed his chin forwards. “Your opinion, General Cosca?”
“Hmm.” Cosca gloomily shook his head, eyeing the sparkling river with the weightiest of frowns. “Hmm. Hmm. Hmmmm.”
“Hmmm.” Victus tapped his pursed lips with one finger.
“Humph.” Andiche puffed out his cheeks.
“Hrrrrrm.” Sesaria’s unconvinced voice throbbed at a deeper pitch.
Cosca removed his hat, scratched his head and placed it back with a flick at the feather. “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm-”
“Are we to take it that you disapprove?” asked Foscar.
“I somehow let slip my misgivings? Then I cannot in good conscience suppress them. I am not convinced that the Thousand Swords are well suited to the task you have assigned.”
“Not convinced,” said Andiche.
“Not well suited,” said Victus.
Sesaria was a silent mountain of reluctance.
“Have you not been well paid for your services?” demanded Rigrat.
Cosca chuckled. “Of course, and the Thousand Swords will fight, you may depend on that!”
“They will fight, every man!” asserted Andiche.
“Like devils!” added Victus.
“But it is how they are to be made to fight best that concerns me as their captain general. They have lost two leaders in a brief space.” He hung his head as if he regretted the fact, and had in no way benefited hugely himself.
“Murcatto, then Faithful.” Sesaria sighed as if he had not been one of the prime agents in the changes of command.
“They have been relegated to support duties.”
“Scouting,” lamented Andiche.
“Clearing the flanks,” growled Victus.
“Their morale is at a terribly low ebb. They have been paid, but money is never the best motivation for a man to risk his life.” Especially a mercenary, it needed hardly to be said. “To throw them into a pitched melee against a stubborn and desperate enemy, toe to toe… I’m not saying they might break, but… well…” Cosca winced, scratching slowly at his neck. “They might break.”
“I hope this is not an example of your notorious reluctance to fight,” sneered Rigrat.
“Reluctance… to fight? Ask anyone, I am a tiger!” Victus snorted snot down his chin but Cosca ignored him. “This is a question of picking the right tool for the task. One does not employ a rapier to cut down a stubborn tree. One employs an axe. Unless one is a complete arse.” The young colonel opened his mouth to retort but Cosca spoke smoothly over him. “The plan is sound, in outline. As one military man to another I congratulate you upon it unreservedly.” Rigrat paused, unbalanced, not sure if he was being taken for a fool or not, though he most obviously was.
“But it would be wiser counsel for your regular Talinese troops-tried and tested recently in Visserine, then Puranti, committed to their cause, used to victory and with the very firmest of morale-to cross the lower ford and engage the Osprians, supported by your allies of Etrisani and Cesale, and so forth.” He waved his flask towards the river, a far more useful implement to his mind than a baton, since a baton makes no man drunk. “The Thousand Swords would be far better deployed concealed upon the high ground. Waiting to seize the moment! To drive across the upper ford, with dash and vigour, and take the enemy in the rear!”
“Best place to take an enemy,” muttered Andiche. Victus sniggered.
