Queenmaker 8-9
Chapter Eight
We marched at first light.
Despite the hour, there were surprisingly large crowds gathered to bid us farewell. Helen sat on a horse and watched as we marched past the makeshift review stand and headed north, while hundreds of wives, children and ladies of pleasure waved goodbye. The latter had been paid to be there – I wanted my troops to feel the population supported them – but the former were something of a surprise. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been. My army might be small, compared to the armies back home, but it still drew from a surprisingly wide range of social classes. They were not the scum of the earth, enlisted for drink. They were the children of merchants and tailors as well as labourers and noblemen. And their relatives were more than happy to support the troops.
I marched too. The trick to keeping men loyal, to convincing them to put everything on the line for you, is to make it clear you share their experiences. You eat the same food, you drink the same drink, you march when they march and ride when they ride … it is important, true, to keep a line between officers and men, but when that line becomes an impassable gulf it is only a matter of time before the army breaks. Nothing spurs hatred and resentment more than a marching infantryman watching an officer cantering past, or dining on the choicest meats while pawing at a courtesan who obviously didn’t want to be there. The Russians hadn’t known, in 1917, what would happen when the gulf became a yawning void. I did – and I had no intention of letting it happen to me.
The marching wasn’t that bad, not compared to some of the forced marches of old. Our kit was actually lighter, and most of our supplies were carried in the baggage train. The railroad engine puffed past us, dangerously slow to my eyes and yet capable of mustering a constant pace that would – eventually – leave both the infantry and cavalry in the dust. I couldn’t help thinking of the old stories about railroads pushing further and further into the Wild West and bringing civilisation with them, binding the states together for better or worse. It was just a matter of time before someone decided to try to rob a train …
I smiled at the thought. Our rail tracks were decidedly fragile, compared to the tracks back home, but they had the great advantage of being easy to repair. I’d made sure the locomotive crews could and would fix any problems they encountered, without having to remain in one place long enough to invite attack. The trains themselves were armoured, with railway troops assigned to cover the crews as they drove their engines north. Anyone planning a repeat of the Great Train Robbery was in for an unfortunate surprise. I hoped they choked on it.
The men marched onwards, some grumbling under their breaths. I pretended to ignore it. I’d have been more worried if they weren’t grumbling, although – as we marched onwards – I was sure they would grow too tired to grumble. I kept a wary eye on the rough formations as we kept going, leaving the city far behind. The air grew hot and dry, sweat prickling down my back as the sun beat down on us. The troops swigged from their canteens, without breaking step. I hoped they had the sense to follow orders and not drink their canteens dry in a hurry. We did have more water in the baggage train, but there were limits. My plans to bring the wonders of modern irrigation techniques to the farmers had never got off the ground, while I doubted we could trust the local water sources forever. If I was in Cuthbert’s shoes, I’d have planned to poison the local oasis. It would make me about as popular as a mercenary, one or two steps down from a child molester, but if it worked …
I put the thought aside as I moved from regiment to regiment, making sure to be seen. The men were more spread out now, the formation growing ragged as some men fell to the rear, but they kept going. I wasn’t surprised. Tight formation were the stuff of movies, not real life … certainly not when we might be heading straight into combat. The cavalry hadn’t spotted any threats, but I was morbidly sure something would happen before too long. The land was vast and modern communications almost non-existent. A smart enemy could get into position for an ambush, then strike before we saw him coming.
The day wore on. We paused for a short break, then resumed the march. I frowned inwardly as we passed through a small town, seemingly as abandoned as the ghost towns I’d seen out in the Midwest. I was fairly sure the population had taken one look at the advancing army and scattered, hiding their women and children while driving their animals into the countryside and out of our path. I didn’t blame them. I’d hammered the point home, time and time again, that anyone who committed crimes against the civilian population would be hanged, but no civilian in this world would believe me. Why should they? They had so much experience of local armies that they had no reason to think my army might be different.
We’ll convince them in time, I told myself, as we left the deserted town behind. And then things will be different.
We camped – for a given value of camped – on the edge of the desert. I kept walking, even as the men settled down on bedrolls for the night, making sure I was seen eating field rations and drinking boiled water. The men looked tired, but happy. Most of them had passed their personal humps long ago, learning how to tap into reserves of energy they hadn’t known they possessed. I exchanged nods with the march leaders, the ones who’d taken the lead and stayed in front, making mental notes to ensure they were on the short lists for promotion. I wanted to draw my officers from the enlisted men, so they knew what it was like to be in the ranks. It would cut down on the number of stupid greenie lieutenants who had to learn their lessons in someone else’s blood.
I wanted to go to Fallon as I finished my survey and posted pickets along the edge of the campsite, but I knew I couldn’t. Instead, I turned and surveyed the scene. It was remarkable – campfires, hundreds of campfires, lit up the darkness, threatening to turn light into day. There was no hope of keeping our location a secret … not, I thought, that that had ever been possible. If the warlords didn’t have spies keeping an eye on the city from a safe distance, I’d be very disappointed in them. There might even be cavalry watching us march north … I peered into the darkness, wondering who or what was looking back at me. If nothing else, the sheer speed of our march should have shocked any watching eyes. The men had marched faster than anyone could reasonably have expected …
Don’t get cocky, I reminded myself. Warlord Aldred’s men had been nothing more than glorified thugs. Dangerous to unarmed civilians, particularly ones who had been beaten into submission, but no threat at all to disciplined men with weapons and the knowledge to use them. Did the warlords understand their own weaknesses? Were they trying to correct them? Could they? You don’t know what they might be doing, under the fog of war.
The thought haunted me as I slept lightly, ate the same breakfast as everyone else and led the army onwards. We marched through more and more deserted towns, then crossed swathes of semi-habitable land that needed more water to be turned into proper farmland, then … I felt my eyes start to tire as we kept moving, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm me. I cursed under my breath as I forced myself to keep going, eyes swinging from side to side to watch for possible threats. The air tasted of sand, smoke and human despair. I wondered, as we passed through the remains of a small community, if there was anything we could do to save the land. The hamlet hadn’t been attacked, as far as I could tell. It didn’t look as though a horde of human locusts had ravaged it from one end to the other. I thought the farmers had just … given up. I didn’t blame them. It was hard enough growing crops even when rampaging armies and taxmen weren’t stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down.
I looked up as a cavalry trooper galloped towards me. “Sir,” Sir Ransom said. “We have a problem.”
“What?” I should have been calmer, but I could taste dust in my throat. “What’s happened?”
“The Marquis of Winter is blocking the railway track,” Sir Ransom told me. “He’s demanding a toll to cross the bridge.”
I scowled, then scrambled up onto the horse. “Take me there,” I ordered, as I sat behind him. It would make me a laughing stock, if anyone had the energy to notice, but I found it hard to care. The only other option was pitching him off his own horse and forcing him to walk behind me and that was even worse. “Now.”
Sir Ransom didn’t bother to argue. He merely pushed the horse into a gallop. I took advantage of the chance to take a drink and rub my eyes, then peered into the distance as the Marquis’s lands came into view. The Marquis of Winter – and that was an ironic name, given how few locals experienced winter – was supposed to be loyal to the queen, and we’d built a railroad bridge on his property, but I doubted he cared one jot for his monarch. He was the sort of person who’d take all he could get, then come up with a legalistic excuse for not keeping his side of the bargain. If we hadn’t needed to build a bridge on his lands … it would have been easy to march the army around his lands, or over them, but the railroad was a different story. We needed that bridge if we wanted the track to run as straight as possible …
My mood darkened when I saw his lands. The serfs in the fields looked beaten down; the fields themselves looked dry, as if the only thing keeping them alive was near-constant tendering … I suspected, looking at them, that it wouldn’t be long before the crops simply died, condemning the serfs to die too. I ground my teeth in frustration as the serfs huddled into themselves. Helen had freed the serfs and slaves, but clearly the Marquis of Winter hadn’t gotten the message. No doubt he’d come up with some legalistic debt bondage shit to justify himself to all and sundry.
“The train has been stopped by the near side of the bridge,” Sir Ransom said. “The guards have been ordered to remain by the train.”
I nodded, stiffly, as I took in the scene. The railway bridge sat next to a far older footbridge and a castle that reminded me of an elaborate sandcastle, complete with the sense it wouldn’t last long once the waves started lapping around the foundations. It looked dusty and old and worn down by the elements … my lips twitched as I saw the private guardsmen standing on the battlements or clustered around an older man I took to be the marquis. They didn’t have muskets, as far as I could tell, and there were no cannons on their walls. I tried not to snicker as Sir Ransom brought the horse to a halt. A year ago, the private guards would have been a credible threat. Now, they were just laughable. The railway guards would have no trouble dealing with them.
I muttered orders to Sir Ransom, then allowed myself to slide off the horse and step towards the Marquis of Winter. Up close, he looked as if he was prepared to be stubborn to the point of insanity, something I’d seen before in people whose authority depended on them showing not a hint of weakness. The moment he refused to defend his ancient rights, they’d be gone … and what would he be without them? Sir Ransom galloped away as I glanced at the railway troops, then met the Marquis of Winter’s eyes. He was surprisingly short, but somehow managed to look down his nose at me. It would have been impressive if I hadn’t been cut down by experts.
“I am the custodian of the ford,” the Marquis of Winter said, without preamble. It was an insult, and not a particularly subtle one, but I couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed. I’d been insulted by experts too. “You cannot move your … trains through my territory without paying …”
I looked at the dry gorge, then the bridges. The troops didn’t really need them. The gorge wouldn’t be that hard to negotiate, not for infantry or cavalry. It was the wagons and trains that really needed them and …
“I see no ford,” I said. If there was any water at the bottom of the gorge, I couldn’t see it. The title had been granted years ago, back in the semi-legendary days when the kingdom had been overflowing with milk, honey, and noblemen who were truly noble. “We’re not crossing any water.”
The Marquis’s face darkened. He knew he was being mocked. I supposed I should have been a little more diplomatic, but really … he was a slavemaster and a fool and he was in my way and I knew that conceding even the slightest bit of ground would come back to bite me. Hard. I heard the sound of approaching hooves and smiled. Sir Ransom had brought the mounted infantry, as I’d ordered. The Marquis was running out of time.
“You want to use my bridge, you need to pay,” he said, stubbornly. “You …”
I nodded to my infantry as they dismounted. “Seize him.”
The Marquis opened his mouth to protest, too late. His guards didn’t stand a chance as my men overwhelmed them with practiced efficiency, then grabbed the Marquis himself. He reached for a dagger, only to have it knocked from his hand before he could even get it out of the sheath. I allowed myself a tight smile as he started to swear at me, calling me everything from a bastard mercenary and a runaway serf to an oathbreaker.
“When we built the bridge, it was on the understanding that you would make no attempt to interfere with troop trains,” I said. Maybe I could be legalistic too. “And you have kept your serfs in bondage, despite the Royal Edict freeing the serfs and granting them the right to leave their estates …”
The Marquis glared at me. “The serfs were not hers to free!”
I felt a hot flash of anger. People were not property. My ancestors hadn’t asked to be slaves and I was damn sure the serfs in the fields hadn’t signed up for serfdom either. If they’d signed papers they couldn’t read … it was possible, I supposed, but I didn’t care. Taking advantage of someone’s ignorance was a shitty thing to do, particularly if you were pressurising them into signing under threat of banishment or death.
“Your estate is hereby confiscated,” I said, savouring every word. “I will detach a garrison to remain here and ensure the bridges remain open, while sending you and your family back to the city to face the queen. Your serfs will be freed and your private guards will be dismissed. You can make any further complaints to the queen. I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to hear them.”
The Marquis gaped at me, as if I’d just started speaking in tongues. I supposed he was right to be surprised. The idea of having his estates confiscated, just like that … it didn’t happen, not to the aristocracy, unless the line was well and truly crossed. There were people in the city who thought Helen had made a mistake by cracking down hard on the coup plotters and their families, even though they’d murdered her father – regicide – and then tried to marry her off to someone who’d legally rape her. I understood their concerns for property rights, but still …
I directed my men to search the castle, then sent the trains onwards as the first rows of soldiers crossed the gorge. I’d wasted quite enough time on the affair. The Marquis’s wife made a horrible fuss as she was escorted out of the castle and loaded into a wagon for the trip to the city, his son eyed me unpleasantly until his captor threatened to smack him over the head with an iron gauntlet. I refused to feel guilty. The young man had probably lorded it over everyone, secure in the knowledge no one would dare raise a finger to him. I knew the type. I’d shot one of them in the back.
Sir Ransom joined me as I started to walk back to the infantry. “Sir … what will Her Majesty make of this?”
I kept my face impassive. “The Marquis was trying to block our lines of communication and extort money from us,” I said, curtly. I could understand his thinking – the idea I’d simply brush him aside would have been alien to him – but it was still stupid. “Either he was fool enough to assume I’d pay him on the spot, or at least let him get away with it, yet …”
My voice hardened. “The Queen will understand,” I told him. The Marquis wasn’t the only person in a position to slow us down. If we paid Danegeld, as the saying went, we’d never get rid of the Dane. “We had to make an example of him, or it would happen again and again.”
And it didn’t. Not then.
Chapter Nine
I couldn’t help feeling a little unsure of myself as Damansara came into view. I’d entered the city as a penniless refugee and left it as one of her greatest soldiers, a man who – I’d discovered too late – had both won the war for them and convinced the City Fathers he was too dangerous to keep around after the fighting was over. They’d called me a mercenary and feared what I might do, with an army more loyal to me than to the city’s rulers. If Helen hadn’t talked them into letting me go into her service instead … my lips twisted in disgust. I hadn’t wanted to rule the city. I hadn’t wanted to make myself the king of all I surveyed. And yet, if they’d tried to kill me …
I felt the excitement behind me as I led the troops towards the main gates. Damansara hadn’t changed that much in the year since I’d left, save for a railroad station and a handful of buildings outside the walls. The freight trains were already unloading, a small army of porters carrying supplies to the barracks or into the city itself; I frowned, despite myself, at the very visible guards on the walls. The City Fathers had been reluctant to allow any of my troops into the city, during the negotiations. I didn’t really blame them. They had to wonder if I wanted a little revenge for how they’d treated me.
And even though I don’t, my troops might misbehave, I thought. I couldn’t blame them for that either. Or even start fights with the city’s soldiers.
I put the thought out of my head as I directed the troops to start setting up camp outside the city, then headed to the main gates. The reception committee was already waiting. I smiled in genuine pleasure as I spied Rupert Drache and his father – Rupert had brought me into his service – then frowned as I saw Lord Gallery right beside him. The man didn’t bother to hide his displeasure at seeing me again. I was surprised he’d even joined the welcoming committee. But then, if he’d realised I’d shot his rapist son in the back, he’d have spared no expense to have me killed.
“Sir Elliot,” Lord Drache said. “Welcome to Damansara.”
I nodded, shaking his hand firmly. We’d never been equals, but right now there was a very good chance I was his social superior. Perhaps. The rules were complex, contradictory and I found it hard to care if one of us was superior to the other by one micron. Good breeding and an inherited title didn’t make someone automatically good at maintaining whatever he’d inherited, let alone anything else. Harbin Gallery had been born to the very highest in the city and he’d been a fool .. I sighed, inwardly, as I exchanged curt nods with his father. Perhaps it had been a mistake to insist the wretched boy had died a hero. He might have gotten himself killed even if I hadn’t shot him myself.
“You got here sooner than we expected,” Lord Gallery said. He made no attempt to shake my hand. “Or were you already on the way?”
“We marched hard,” I said, curtly. It would be all too easy for him to start raising doubts in hostile minds. “We wanted to get here before Cuthbert.”
Rupert smiled, although there was a hard edge to the expression. “The warlord’s troops are probing the edges of Aldred’s former territories,” he said. “We’ve skirmished with them, but …”
I nodded, looking him up and down. Rupert hadn’t been a fool, when we’d first met, but he’d been ignorant and set up as the scapegoat for the inevitable thrashing the city was going to take, a thrashing I’d proven to be anything but inevitable. He’d leant fast and well, yet I would have preferred him to have a longer apprenticeship before taking the reins for himself … not, I supposed, that he’d done a bad job. He looked as if he’d kept up with the exercises – I hoped he’d had the wit to get down in the trenches – and carried a pistol rather than a sword. It cost me a pang. The pistol I’d had with me, when I’d been swept into my new world, was lost somewhere in the countryside. I feared it would never be seen again.
“We’ll be ready for them,” I assured him. If Cuthbert attacked the city, we’d beat his army in the field; if he held back, we’d march straight into his lands and give him a flat choice between standing and fighting or letting us smash his castles and fortresses one by one. I knew he’d fight. The moment it became apparent he couldn’t protect his clients, they’d switch sides so rapidly they’d leave sonic booms behind them. “How is the army?”
“Guarding the walls,” Lord Gallery said. “The city must be protected at all costs.”
From us as well as the warlords, I thought, hearing what he didn’t say. What do you intend to do if Cuthbert starts ravaging the fields and destroying the crops?
I considered the point thoughtfully, letting my mouth run on autopilot as I introduced my senior officers and made small talk. The warlord might be able to storm the city by battering down the walls, but would he? I would have attacked the city, if I’d been in his place, yet … I sighed inwardly. It might be better from his point of view to destroy the farms, particularly the ones run by freemen. Their crop yields were already higher than serf-run farms. It wouldn’t take long before the warlord’s population started asking some pointed questions …
And I’ll make sure of it, I thought, as we were led into the city. If we can convince them to revolt in his rear, his entire position will come apart.
The streets looked cleaner, I noted, although the city’s stench still hung in the air like a shroud. I’d done what I could to convince the City Fathers to improve basic hygiene and ban crimes like crapping out the windows, but there’d clearly been limits. The handful of people on the streets eyed us warily, a far cry from the reception they’d given my troops after we’d met Warlord Aldred’s thugs and crushed them like bugs beneath our heels. I understood what they were thinking. A strong monarch could keep the warlords in line, but could easily become a threat herself. In the old days, the city could hide behind its walls and wait an army out. Now …
But iron, cold iron, is the master of them all, I quoted to myself. The city will have to come to terms with the queen or face destruction.
“His father paid for that,” Rupert said, as we neared City Hall. “What do you think?”
I hid my amusement with an effort as the statue came into view. It was … it was hard, so hard, not to snicker. The statue was so heroic, so exaggerated, I wouldn’t have known it showed Harbin Gallery if there hadn’t been a nameplate underneath the statue. Harbin looked bold and noble and true and … and like someone who’d stepped right out of a comic book, rather than real life. The proportions were all wrong too … not, I supposed, that it mattered. It was selling a fantasy. The real Harbin would probably have been delighted.
Or perhaps not, I reflected. It was like telling the world you were a great poet, when in reality you couldn’t string together more than a line or two of doggerel. The reality would disappoint.
“I hear you are to wed,” Rupert said. “My own wedding has been arranged and will be taking place this summer.”
I nodded, hearing the edge in his voice. My detractors had insisted Rupert and I had been sleeping together, something that had surprised me. They didn’t care about the homosexual aspect, and there was no stigma attached to it, but the suggestion Rupert had been the bottom was … I tried not to snort in disgust. There was an awful lot of stigma attached to that and yet … I shrugged. It was hardly the worst difference between my old world and the new.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” I said. “Are you?”
Rupert smiled. “We can talk, at least,” he said. “It’s better than nothing.”
I nodded, again. The upper classes had their marriages arranged by their parents and they were lucky if they knew each other, let alone fell in love. No one would say anything if Rupert kept a discreet mistress on the side – his wife wasn’t allowed anything like so much latitude – as long as there were children and their inheritances were carefully arranged to benefit the families. It wouldn’t squash the rumours, though. Rupert could have four wives and a harem of beautiful women and people would still believe – or pretend to believe – the rumours.
“Make sure you give her some space,” I advised. I preferred the idea of marrying for love, but … that hadn’t worked out too well last time. “And don’t make life too easy or hard for your children.”
Rupert snorted, then met my eyes. “Gayle is also engaged,” he said. “Don’t try to speak with her alone.”
I nodded. Gayle and I had been … friends, of a sort. More like co-conspirators. There had never been any hint our relationship might turn sexual – she was from the rarefied heights of the city’s aristocracy, I wasn’t even the stable boy – but we’d shared a few confidences and … I put the thought aside. Gayle had every reason to be wary of that becoming public, now she was engaged. If her prospective in-laws had even the slightest hint she wasn’t a virgin …
Which makes Harbin’s attempt to rape her all the worse, I thought. He wasn’t just hurting her. He was hurting her entire family.
The thought haunted me as we walked into the banqueting hall, the table already groaning under the weight of the food. I sighed inwardly – I’d have preferred to go straight to the War Room – and then directed my officers to mingle. The City Fathers wanted to welcome us properly … I tried not to feel a twinge of guilt at the spread laid out in front of us. It looked like a roman buffet and probably cost enough money to feed the poor for weeks, but … I tried not to grimace at the stuffed mice and other delicacies. It still felt weird to be eating rodents …
And if you were starving to death, my thoughts pointed out, you’d happily catch, cook and eat rats as well as mice.
I forced myself to mingle, taking the time to speak to people I knew and others who’d joined the council after my departure. Rupert stayed close to me, despite the risk … I made a mental note to suggest he took his prospective bride to the arena or somewhere else they could be seen in public together, then put the thought aside. The conversation was surprisingly muted, save for a factory owner boasting about how he’d convinced his workers to work harder for less money. I doubted it would last. The factories weren’t anything like as specialised as the factories back home. Given a few months, half his workers would be setting up factories of their own or simply leaving for happier pastures elsewhere.
And Helen will make sure of it, I thought. The aristocracy had been slow to realise the importance of factories, ensuring the commoners had time to start their own before their social superiors locked them out. She’s offering start-up funds to anyone with a halfway convincing proposal for something profitable.
I smirked. They’d missed the importance of worker’s rights legislation too. I’d convinced Helen to pass a bunch of laws that seemed mildly pointless now, but would take on more and more importance as the years went on. There would be no non-compete clauses here, no cartels locking out the uneducated, no demand for pointless credentials or regulations or anything that would provoke bitter resentment, class hatred and eventual civil war. I doubted I could keep unscrupulous capitalists from taking shape and form, but as long as I could keep them from twisting the law to crush their competitors before they had a chance to become a real threat to their dominance … I hoped, prayed, it would be enough. It was all too easy for someone to come up with reasons to undermine the law that, on the face of it, would be quite legitimate. It was only when they started having unexpected – or all too expected – consequences that people realised the downsides and then it was often too late.
The discussions went on and on, touching on absolutely nothing of significance. Helen would have been in her element, I was sure, but me … I was bored stiff within the hour. I didn’t want to hear about an elderly man’s latest conquest, or be told about a middle-aged woman’s eligible daughter, or hear bragging from aristo youths about their glorious feats when I could tell, just by looking at them, that they’d never been in the military. I knew it was important to keep everyone on side, but … I shook my head. It felt as if they were fiddling while their city burned.
“We are grateful for your support,” Lord Gallery said. “But there are limits to how far we will allow Her Majesty to dictate to us.”
I bit down a sharp reply. He wasn’t the wretched Marquis of Winter – I wondered how he was faring, back in the city – and I couldn’t push him around, certainly not so effectively. And yet … I considered, briefly, trying to arrange an accident for him. It wouldn’t be easy – his son had been in the middle of a battle, while the father rarely left his mansion and never the city – but perhaps it would be possible. There was no way he’d be anything, apart from a monumental pain in the butt. And if he ever worked out what had happened to his son ..
“Her Majesty has already ratified and reissued your Charter of Autonomy,” I said, as diplomatically as I could. Ass-kissing just wasn’t my thing. If I’d done a tour of duty in the Pentagon, perhaps I would have been better at it. “Your independence will be respected, as long as you honour your obligations.”
“There are limits to how far we can go, when we have Cuthbert breathing down our necks,” an older man said. He wore fine robes, but I hadn’t caught his name. “If we go too far, he will cry foul and destroy us.”
“Lord Grayling has a point,” Lord Drache said. I hid my surprise with an effort. He’d been one of the loudest war hawks on the council, back in the old days. “If we anger Cuthbert, he will destroy us.”
I bit down the urge to point out that if I had a name like Cuthbert, I’d be angry all the time too. I’d known a girl whose parents had named her Daenerys before Season Eight of Game of Thrones had rolled around and she’d been teased so badly I wouldn’t have blamed her for taking a dragon and laying waste to everyone who made fun of her. There were even stories on this side of the dimensional divide of dragon-riders who’d done just that …
“Cuthbert will not be satisfied, not now, with anything less than total submission,” I told him, bluntly. “You can no longer hide behind your walls and wait for his army to get sick or simply give up and go away. He can batter down your walls and storm your city within a day or two, if you refuse to bend the knee. You have the choice between fighting or spending the rest of your lives grovelling to him, and if you fight now you’ll be fighting alongside a trained and experienced army.”
“And if we don’t fight beside the queen, she may turn on us afterwards,” Lord Harbin pointed out. “That’s what you didn’t want to tell us, isn’t it?”
I didn’t bother to deny it. The trick of switching sides – or even just getting off the fence – is to time it just right, so you make the move when you still have something to offer your new friends while minimising what your new enemies can do to you. Helen – I was sure – wouldn’t pick a fight with her loyal allies, but she’d take a dim view of Damansara sitting on the fence and trying to remain neutral while her forces fought the warlords for supremacy. She didn’t have to invade the city to make her displeasure felt. She could simply refuse to update their charter or side against them when they came into conflict with the countryfolk or even deny them access to the trade routes. If she carefully redirected the railroads so they excluded the city …
“I can’t promise you victory,” I said. I certainly wouldn’t be around to apologise for the broken promise if we lost the war. “But I can tell you this – if you side with Queen Helen, she will reward you and honour her obligations to you. Can the warlords say the same?”
“No,” Lord Drache said.
“And they can be beaten,” I added. “I believe I showed you that, did I not?”
“Yes,” Lord Harbin said. “But it came at a cost.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I tried not to feel a twinge of sympathy for a man who’d lost his son. I knew how that felt, even though my sons had never tried to rape anyone and I’d have thrashed them to within an inch of their lives if they had. “But the cost of bending the knee will be so much higher.”
“And we cannot afford to pay,” Lord Drache said. “We must fight.”
