Queenmaker 12-13

Chapter Twelve

The enemy army advanced, slowly and cumbersomely.

I watched from the battlements, shaking my head in disbelief.  Two-thirds of the advancing force looked as if they’d learnt nothing from the last war, despite the muskets and rifles clearly visible on their backs.  They marched in close formation, leaving me wishing helplessly for machine guns, close-air support or even grapeshot, weapons that would slaughter vast swathes of the enemy force and put the survivors to flight.  Their banners told a tale, for those with eyes to see, of hundreds of vassal noblemen supporting their liege lord.  I wondered, sourly, just how many of them were reluctant allies.  If the reports of hostages were accurate, quite a few of the men below me were there against their will, perhaps even their better judgement. 

The remainder of the enemy troops looked more professional.  They advanced in a loose skirmish line, weapons at the ready, clearly prepared to hit the deck the moment we started shooting.  They’d largely abandoned their armour, unsurprising now musket balls and rifle bullets could damage or even punch right though what passed for body armour, making them more akin to my mounted infantry than the cavalry or reluctant conscripts we’d slaughtered in the first war.  The enemy cavalry was at the rear, escorting the guns and wagon train … I hoped the aristo fools were simmering with rage as they contemplated their demotion to escort duties.  A year ago, a cavalry charge was to be feared; now, it would just get a great many men and horses slaughtered.  I’d broken a charge, wounding or killing nearly the entire enemy force, and lost none of my men in the process.

“They hired every mercenary they could,” Rupert commented, from beside me.  “And they brought a siege train.”

“Good,” I said.  “More targets.”

Rupert glanced at me.  “Don’t you know what they’ll do, if they break the walls?”

“They won’t,” I assured him.  “And even if they do …”

I sighed, inwardly.  We hadn’t tried to recruit mercenaries ourselves.  They were just too unreliable, too prone to commit atrocities that would turn the countryside against us.  I’d contented myself by sending messages to the mercenary captains, warning them that their troops would not enjoy the protection of the laws of war and, if they committed atrocities, we’d hang them in front of their surviving victims.  I wasn’t sure how seriously they took my warnings – kings and princes rarely rebuked mercenaries, because they always needed their services and couldn’t afford to alienate them – but the fact we’d refused to hire any ourselves should give them pause.  Should.  I had the feeling Warlord Cuthbert would push them to tear down the city walls, kill the men, rape the women and children and a whole string of other atrocities.  We needed to prove we could protect the people.  He had to prove we couldn’t.

He has the easier job, I reflected.  But we will hang anyone who commits an atrocity.

“They know better,” I reassured Rupert.  “And besides, if the plan works, they won’t have time to break the walls.” 

I smirked, then returned my attention to the enemy ranks.  Their commanders were more practiced than I thought, directing their men to establish siege lines and dig trenches to pen us up in the city.  I’d expected more confusion, and the process certainly looked a great deal more chaotic than anything I’d seen back home, but it was working and that was all that mattered.  They’d clearly leant some lessons, I noted, as they threw up earthworks to make it harder for us to pour fire into the trenches.  Even a simple layer of sand was more than enough to stop a musket ball, protecting the men behind.  I wished, again, for weapons that simply didn’t exist here.  A few primitive tanks would be more than enough to shift the balance of power firmly against the warlords and their hired guns.

“They brought everyone,” Rupert said.  “Why …?”

“I guess Cuthbert can’t expect his vassals to stay loyal if he doesn’t keep his eye on them,” I said.  If his vassals had any sense, they’d be drawing up contingency plans for switching sides if the war went against their master.  I wondered, idly, if those plans included a hostage rescue mission.  I’d considered doing it myself, but we knew too little to make the plan feasible.  “And …”

I snickered.  “I’m starting to think the commoners hate their overlords.”

Rupert shot me a sharp glance.  “What do you mean?”

“Look at them,” I said.  “See what I see?”

“… No,” Rupert said.  I wasn’t surprised he couldn’t see it.  The world had changed, but he – and his class – hadn’t quite caught up with it.  “They’re showing proper respect …”

“Are they?”  I grinned at him.  “Do you remember what I said about not saluting in combat zones?”

My smile grew wider as I swept my gaze over the battlefield.  It was easy, laughably easy, to pick out the aristocratic commanders … so easy, in fact, that I wondered for a moment if I was being had.  They wore fancy uniforms – one was dressed in gold-plated armour, like a Roman officer from Asterix; another wore a fancy helmet, with feathers that had to have been sewn together – and were surrounded by subordinates, messengers and servants, the latter bowing and scraping in a manner that made me profoundly uncomfortable.  They hadn’t realised – not yet – that guns were getting more and more accurate with every passing year, that one day wearing fancy uniforms in a combat zone would be nothing more than suicide.  I wished for a sniper rifle.  Or even a simple hunting rifle.  I could have thrown the enemy command structure into disarray with a handful of shots.

Rupert looked disturbed.  “They’re drawing attention to their commanders?”

I nodded.  “Looks that way, doesn’t it?  It’s like they want them killed …”

Which would probably improve efficiency no end, my thoughts added.  There was no shortage of jokes about military units becoming more capable when their officers were killed and their sergeants took command … and here, I suspected, it might be true.  The aristo commanders were very much a mixed bunch.  Some were incredibly capable, some were smart enough to listen to their advisors … and some were so convinced their birth made them superior to everyone else that they charged into combat and got themselves – and hundreds of their subordinates – killed.  Or they think they can’t get killed.

I sighed, again.  The fancy comic book uniforms weren’t completely absurd.  They told their enemies that they were aristocracy, the kind of person who – if taken captive – would bring a huge ransom.  Not that the commoners who captured them would see much, if anything, of the reward.  Normally, their commanders would take the captives and ransom them themselves … I’d put a stop to that, when I’d taken command, but … really, ransoming them back struck me as brutally unfair.  And yet, not ransoming them would leave a command slot open for someone who might be a little more competent …

And if they capture me, the best I can hope for is a hangman’s noose, I thought.  Technically, I was an aristo myself; practically, the warlords knew better than to leave me alive.  They’d come up with an excuse, but … they’d kill me.  I’d better make sure I don’t get taken alive.

I left Rupert watching the army and started to walk the battlements, moving from post to post to exchange a few words of reassurance and comfort as the men – my men – girded themselves for battle.  It was important, particularly here, to show that I was on the frontlines myself, that I wasn’t sitting in a comfortable office or frittering away my time in a brothel.  If the men had faith in me, they’d fight even when the war seemed to turn against us; if they didn’t, if they thought I’d run for my life or sell theirs cheaply, they’d turn and run instead of holding the line.  I made sure to remember the junior officers, sergeants and even a handful of soldiers by name, speaking to them in front of their units.  It was a cheap trick, yet it put me head and shoulders ahead of nearly every aristocrat in the world. 

The enemy army continued its deployment.  We made no move to interfere, something that should have worried their commander.  Letting them set up their lines, trapping us within the city … it was either very brave or very stupid or we had a card hidden up our sleeve, waiting for the right time to pull it out and place it on the table.  We did, of course.  I wanted the enemy army to deploy, to have everything in place.  I kept a wary eye on them as I finished the circuit, silently noting where they were emplacing their cannons, catapults and other siege engines.  It looked as if they wanted to threaten the main gates themselves.

Interesting choice, I thought.  A year ago, attacking the main gates would have made perfect sense.  An assault force that took the gatehouses and threw open the gates would have the city at its mercy, forcing the council to surrender very quickly or watch helplessly as enemy troops stormed the city and slaughtered the population.  Now, it made more sense to attack the walls themselves.  Have they learnt nothing, or are they planning something too?

Rupert glanced at me as I rejoined him.  “They’re nearly ready.”

I doubted it.  The enemy army had marched in formation, but – of course – the formation had become ragged around the edges.  Small units, individual troopers and cavalry were still straggling in, the latter escorting a handful of men in chains.  Deserters, I guessed; they certainly looked like soldiers, rather than prisoners from the surrounding neighbourhood.  I’d done what I could to urge the locals to flee, and a great many had been heading south even before the war started, but … some of them would have left it too late.  I hoped they were safe.  I knew they weren’t.

“We’ll see,” I said.  It was hard to tell what my enemy was thinking.  On one hand, a long siege would be as hard on them – perhaps harder – as it was on us; on the other, a failed attempt to take the walls and storm the city would break their army, weakening the warlord to the point his own people might rise against him.  “We’ll proceed with the plan.”

“The risky plan,” Rupert said.  He was the only person outside my circle who knew what I had in mind.  “It’s a good thing the council put me in charge.”

I nodded, although I understood the underlying meaning.  If the war went badly, the council would blame everything on Rupert and sell out for the best terms they could get.  I doubted the warlords would accept their arguments, after everything that had happened, but … better they let Rupert call the shots, for the moment, than debate each and every decision for so long that nothing got done.  Running a war by committee was asking for trouble, if not disaster. 

Cuthbert might pretend to believe them, I thought, sourly.  But it would be the end of the city’s independence.

Trumpets blew.  I looked down, just in time to see a human flamingo leave the enemy camp and start walking towards the gate.  I had to cover my mouth to keep from a very undignified giggle.  The man looked like a walking blancmange.  I supposed it made a certain kind of sense – he was very easy to see – but still!  The closer he got, the more I thought I wouldn’t need a modern weapon to hit him.  A simple flintlock pistol would be more than enough.

“We should go down,” Rupert said, as the messenger stopped.  “He’ll have a message …”

The messenger started to speak, his words so loud I knew he was using magic.  “I SPEAK ON BEHALF OF LORD CUTHBERT, WARLORD OF TARSIER, PRINCE OF BELLADONNA” – he went on in this vein for quite some time, listing an entire series of titles Helen had told me the bastard had no right to use – “AND I SPEAK WITH HIS VOICE.  HARK TO MY WORDS, WITH DUE REVERENCE AND SUBMISSION.”

I rolled my eyes.  Even by local standards, that was a bit much.

“LONG HAVE YOU IGNORED YOUR DUTIES TO YOUR LORD AND MASTER.  LONG HAVE YOU DEFIED HIS WILL.  LONG HAVE YOU STOOD AGAINST HIM, AIDING HIS ENEMIES AND DENYING HIM HIS HEREDITARY RIGHTS.  LONG HAVE YOU” – he went for quite some time – “BUT YOUR MASTER IS MERCIFUL.  IF YOU BEND THE KNEE, HE WILL GRANT YOU YOUR LIVES AND PROPERTY.”

There was a pause.  “OPEN THE GATES.  SUBMIT TO YOUR MASTER.  DISARM YOUR TROOPS.  ACCEPT A GARRISON.  IF YOU BEND THE KNEE, YOU WILL BE SAFE.  IF NOT, YOUR MASTER WILL TEACH YOU YOUR PLACE WITH FIRE AND SWORD …”

“You mean, surrender everything and then trust you won’t storm the city anyway,” Rupert muttered, as the last echoes died away.  “I notice he didn’t mention your army.”

I nodded.  It was unlikely, to say the least, that Cuthbert didn’t know we were in the city.  If he didn’t have any spies inside the walls, and pickets watching the approaches from a safe distance, I’d strip naked, paint my bottom purple and run through the streets screaming about alien invaders.  No, Cuthbert would know we were in the city.  I guessed he intended to intimidate the council into surrendering, then insist – as the price for a peaceful surrender – that the city’s soldiers took the queen’s into custody.  It wouldn’t end well.  If we surrendered peacefully, we’d be slaughtered when we were handed over; if we fought, the city would be torn apart and the warlord’s troops would march in and secure the remains effortlessly. 

“No,” I said.  “Give him time.  He’ll force you to deal with us.”

“No, he won’t”  Rupert drew his pistol, aimed at the ground in front of the messenger and, before I could stop him, pulled the trigger.  The messenger scampered back as if the hounds of hell were after him.  “We’re not going to surrender.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.  The rules were clear.  Shooting an arrow – aimed to miss – was a very clear rejection of the enemy’s demands, but it wasn’t a total rejection.  Shooting the messenger, literally, really was.  And with the pistols so inaccurate, there was a very real chance it could have happened by accident …

“Good,” I said.  There was no point in berating Rupert for his mistake.  “We’d better brace for attack.”

Rupert shrugged.  “They’re still aiming at the gatehouse.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “Unless they have something up their sleeves …”

I scowled as the minutes slowly turned to hours.  The warlord’s troops were still preparing their siege lines, digging in rather than mounting an offensive.  Were they planning a night attack?  I hoped not – it would screw up my plans – but it was possible, if unlikely.  Coordinating an attack in the daytime was hard enough without modern tech; coordinating one at night was damn near impossible, even with magic.  I couldn’t pick out more than a handful of magicians in the enemy lines, too few – I thought – to ensure every trooper had a night-vision spell.  Or … I’d shown the world starshells, when I’d lead the army to war against Aldred.  Did they have starshells of their own?  Or had they devised spells that did the same thing?

Probably, I thought, darkly.  A conventional war would have made sense.  I had a rough idea of the tech available to them, as well as centuries of awareness of how such tech had been used.  Magic?  Magic was dangerously unpredictable.  For all I knew, they had a mass mind control spell they were aiming at us even now.  What can they do?  What can’t they do?

“The longer they wait, the more time we have to prepare,” Rupert said.  “Right?”

“Right,” I agreed, trying to sound reassuring.  The warlord wanted the city – and its factories – intact.  It was possible, quite possible, he would come up with a better offer, now the city had refused to bend the knee.  I doubted there was any reasonable compromise – the moment the city accepted a garrison, its independence was at an end – but who knew?  We’d stockpiled food for the last month, preserving it as best we could, yet … we would starve eventually.  And starving men got desperate.  “We have time.”

“We don’t need to wait long,” Rupert agreed.  He glanced at the sun, starting to sink towards the distant horizon.  “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” I agreed.  The timing was going to be tight, but the longer we let the army sit outside the walls the harder it would be to make the plan work.  The more I looked at the enemy lines, the more I wondered if they’d had some advance warning.  If they kept building their earthworks, they were going to defeat the plan without ever realising it.  “We don’t have time to waste.”

Rupert grabbed my arm.  “I’m trusting you,” he said.  The grim resolve in his tone nearly made me flinch.  He was taking one hell of a risk and he was doing it for me.  “If the council finds out …”

“By the time they do, the plan will have either worked or I’ll be dead,” I said, curtly.  It looked good on paper, but so did a bunch of other plans that failed spectacularly in the real world.  “If that happens …”

“I’ll think of something,” Rupert said.  He smiled, although it didn’t touch his eyes.  This war was going to be worse, a lot worse, than the one we’d fought together.  And if we lost, there was a very real possibility the city would be stormed and destroyed.  “If nothing else, we’ll give them one hell of a shock.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “It will.”

Chapter Thirteen

Once, years ago, I’d heard a song about a city under siege.

It had been a haunting tune, from what I recalled.  The city’s population had been so scared of the besieging army that they had abandoned the battlements to cower behind the walls, unwilling even to look at the enemy troops as they tightened the siege.  They’d shook and shivered and waited for the inevitable end, until a little girl – with more balls than the grown adults – had clambered onto the battlements, ignoring all the warnings, and discovered the enemy army had raised the siege weeks ago and no one had noticed.  The memory mocked me now, as I walked the streets to the far gate to check in with my men.  It would be a long time, if ever, before the siege was lifted or even abandoned.

But that will change, if our plan works, I thought.  If …

Horst greeted me as I reached the staging ground.  “Everyone is ready, sir,” he said, as I swept my eyes over the mounted infantry and magicians.  Fallon had insisted on accompanying us, despite my objections.  “We can open the gates and gallop out on your command.”

I nodded, as darkness swept over the city.  An hour or two and it would be time for us to do or die, or both.  If it didn’t work … I shook my head, taking the time to review the men properly before returning to the battlements.  Horst was a good man, someone who’d advanced in leaps and bounds after I’d taken him under my wing.  I didn’t have to accompany the troops, but … no.  I couldn’t send men to carry out missions I was unwilling to undertake myself.

“Be ready,” I said.  “Once the big ones go up, we’re committed.”

I exchanged glances with Fallon, then returned to the main gates.  Rupert had had some rest, on my insistence, but he didn’t look particularly rested as he studied the darkening enemy camp.  They’d planted rows upon rows of tents –unsurprisingly, the common soldiers were sleeping in the open, counting themselves lucky if they had bedrolls – and lit bonfires, suggesting they were settling in for a long stay.  I’d seen their cavalry sweeping the countryside, galloping over fields and chasing any remaining farmers into the undergrowth.  I hoped they’d started to realise just how thoroughly it had been stripped.  Their chances of living off the land had been sharply reduced, before the army had even arrived.

“We’re ready,” Rupert said.  “Are you?”

“The troops are in place,” I said.  “Give it a little more time.”

I studied the enemy camp carefully.  It didn’t look as though they were planning to attack, although it was hard to be sure.  If I’d been planning an attack, I would have done everything in my power to keep the target from noticing my preparations until it was too late.  Unless I wanted to intimidate them, of course, in the hopes they’d surrender before I started shooting.  But a tactic like that had always struck me as absurdly chancy …

The minutes ticked away.  I hoped Horst had had the sense to tell the men to relax and goof off a little.  A very little.  Spending all of their time braced for the mission would drain them, leaving them tired and unprepared when the balloon finally went up.  There’d been no way to train for the mission, not beyond the basics, for fear of the enemy spies noticing and working out what we were planning to do.  It would be easy for them to get a message out, with or without magic.  A simple arrow would be quite enough.

“Now,” I said, quietly.  “You may fire when ready.”

Rupert raised his voice.  “FIRE!”

The catapults fired as one, hurling a massive salvo across the walls and into the enemy camp.  We hadn’t used heavy stones, not this time.  Instead, we’d convinced the glassmakers to turn out giant glass bottles – I couldn’t help thinking they looked like terrariums – and we’d filled them with explosives potions, concentrated alcohol and gas, then rigged up a simple fuse to produce a spark when they hit their targets.  Not all would explode, I’d been cautioned, but it probably didn’t matter.  Enough would catch fire, with the aid of the enemy bonfires, to ensure the rest ignited too.  The darkness lit up abruptly as flames spread through the enemy camp.  I smirked as the tents caught fire, their occupants running for their lives.  They’d have been safer – a lot safer – if they’d slept in the open like common soldiers.

Rupert cheered.  “It worked!”

“Keep firing,” I said, quietly.  Rivers of eerie-coloured flame were flowing in all directions, panicking the enemy, but it wouldn’t last.  Their earthworks weren’t going to catch fire as easily as their tents.  I saw a row of catapults go up in flames, the earth shaking violently as a barrel of gunpowder exploded, the fireball rising into the air like a mushroom cloud.  It chilled me even though I knew it wasn’t a nuclear explosion … I hoped, as the wind shifted, that it chilled them too.  “Keep them hopping.”

The wind shifted again, blowing the stench of burning alcohol and human flesh across the battlements.  I gritted my teeth, carefully ignoring the youngsters who were trying not to throw up below me.  The catapults hurled the last of the makeshift projectiles into the enemy camp – I suspected we’d reached the point of diminishing returns – and then fell silent.  The flames grew worse, growing brighter as they reached for the skies.  The enemy were still panicking.

“What a cocktail,” Rupert said.  “You made it!”

“Molotov made it,” I joked, although it would mean nothing to him.  “You know what to do?”

Rupert nodded.  “Good luck, Elliot.”

I turned and hurried to the waiting horse as, behind me, the guns began to boom.  The enemy, already in disarray, would assume Rupert was planning a breakout, that he intended to open the gates and charge into the enemy position.  The fact it would be almost certain suicide, unless the enemy was far more incompetent than I dared hope, wouldn’t keep them from assuming the worst.  If they did nothing to stop the breakout, it might work after all.  I jumped onto the horse and galloped down the streets as the guns grew louder, the pounding shaking the air.  Thankfully, the citizens had been told to stay indoors after dark.  There was no one in my way as I cantered down the streets, the horse running faster and faster until I reached the barracks.  Horst and his men were already ready, bracing themselves to move into the gatehouse.  I swapped horses – I needed a mount as fresh as possible – and nodded to Horst.  It was time.

“Forward,” Horst ordered.

The mounted infantry trotted forward, into the gatehouse.  We’d worked hard to turn it into a deadly trap for anyone who managed to get through the gates, if the enemy noticed the gates were open before they were slammed closed again.  There was a risk, but one we’d have to endure.  Beside, the enemy were in disarray.  Their troops should be racing, even now, to stop a breakout on the other side of the city, an offensive they couldn’t afford to ignore.  Or so I hoped.

Horst raised a hand.  “Now?”

I nodded, feeling a pang of guilt.  I should have told Fallon to stay put.  In theory, I had absolute authority over her, the moment she accepted my proposal.  In practice … privately, I suspected I had absolute authority only as long as I chose not to use it.  She wouldn’t let me boss her around, even after we were married.  And yet, the idea of taking her into danger … it bothered me.  But she might be in worse danger, part of me reflected, if she stayed in the city.

“Now,” I ordered.

“Cast the spells,” Horst ordered.

Fallon waved a hand at me.  I tried not to flinch as … something … buzzed around me, an invisible insect that came and went so quickly I couldn’t so much as raise my hand to swat it before it was gone.  My eyes blinked automatically, my vision shifting … the dark world didn’t look right, and all the colours seemed oddly slanted, but … I could see in the dark!  A chill ran through me.  I’d worn night-vision gear on missions, back home, and it was pretty good, but this … this was almost perfect.  I just hoped the spell would last long enough for us to reach the supply dump.

Horst barked an order.  The ground shook a moment later.  We’d buried enough gunpowder outside to level a house – in fact, I’d been worried the enemy entrenchments would either uncover the gunpowder or, worse, set it off before we were ready.  But it hadn’t … a second explosion billowed out, followed by a third.  If the enemy troops were in disarray before, now … now, they wouldn’t know which way to jump.

“Open the gates,” Horst bellowed.

The gatehouse team set to work with a will, opening the gates and allowing us to gaze upon a scene from hell.  The enemy positions had been shattered, reduced to burning embers.  Men lay everywhere, their bodies torn and broken.  I hoped their commanders would try to help them and I feared, I knew, they wouldn’t.  Dead men lay beside them, unmoving and uncaring.  Three smouldering craters lay on each side of the gates, the remnants of the blasts glowing brightly as they cooled.  I could see enemy reinforcements rushing around, heading to the breakout I knew was a feint.  They hadn’t noticed us yet.

Horst dug in his spurs and led the gallop forward.  The men followed, charging across the broken landscape and out into the countryside.  I put my head down and followed, my mount picking up speed frantically.  I saw flashes and impressions – dead bodies, wounded men, enemy troops – as we headed into the darkness, heard shouts from behind us as the enemy tried to rally their men.  Shots rang out – I felt more than heard a musket ball passing overhead – and then died away as the battlements opened fire themselves.  The enemy had to be having problems deciding which way to jump, which problem to tackle first.  If they thought the gate was still open …

A final explosion shook the air, then silence fell like a thunderclap.  I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding as we galloped onwards, pushing the horses to the limit.  The enemy had held back at least two-thirds of their army, positioning them near the earthworks rather than manning them, and those troops would have moved forward to pick up the slack and keep the defenders from breaking out.  It was hard to be sure they knew we’d broken out, although I dared not assume they didn’t.  In the confusion, who knew what they knew? 

My lips twisted.  The enemy had settled down for a long siege … and we’d rattled them.  We had to have given them one hell of a shock.  My most pessimistic estimates suggested we’d killed at least a thousand men, probably a hell of a lot more.  The wounded would die too, unless the enemy provided decent medical care.  I didn’t expect it.  The majority of the footmen were just peasants, the kind of people – I suspected – whose masters didn’t want them going home with military experience.  It could be so easily turned against their masters – and really, who could blame them?  I wondered, numbly, how they’d react.  Rupert and I had gamed out a handful of scenarios, but …

No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy, I reminded myself, sternly.  The enemy, that dirty dog, has plans of his own.

I put the thought aside as we galloped south, looking for all the world like a gaggle of superior officers running for their lives, while leaving their subordinates in the shit.  I’d seen it happen, in Iraq and Afghanistan and here, and it galled me to look a coward myself, even though it was part of the plan.  The darkness enveloped us, hid us … we slowed, checked to make sure we weren’t being followed, then turned east.  We’d keep moving north-east as quickly as possible, first to the supply dump and then to our target.  If everything went according to plan …

Horst pulled his horse alongside mine.  “Won’t they notice you’re gone?”

I shook my head.  The council had insisted on Rupert being the overall commander.  They would sooner deal with him than me.  I had gone alone with it for diplomatic reasons.  A magician would wear my face, showing himself to convince any watchers that I was still in the city.  The deception wouldn’t last forever, but it didn’t have to.  As long as it lasted a week, I’d be happy.

“It should be fine,” I said.  We slowed to a cantor, then a trot.  “You?”

“We’re ready,” Horst said.  “I hope …”

We kept moving until the first glimmers of dawn appeared over the distant horizon, then slowed and found somewhere to camp for the day.  The landscape appeared to be largely empty – we’d passed a number of abandoned farmhouses and hamlets – but I knew it to be an illusion.  There were watching eyes in the undergrowth, farmers and their families who regarded us with as much suspicion as the warlord’s soldiers.  I didn’t really blame them for being paranoid.  Despite my best efforts, and I’d done a lot over the last year, soldiers had a poor reputation.  There was no way they’d trust us not to rape, kill and burn our way through the countryside.

“I cast a pair of spells to help conceal us,” Fallon said, once the campsite was set up.  We didn’t bother with tents.  We could sleep on the ground for a few hours.  “They shouldn’t see us coming.”

“Good,” I said.  I’d spent much of the last few months on horseback, but my body still felt as if I’d gone three rounds with a prize-fighter.  I hoped the mounted infantry felt better.  Some of them were aristos – mainly born on the wrong side of the blanket – but the remainder were commoners, most of whom had only been in the saddle for a few months at most.  They’d ridden hard since then, yet …  “Get some rest.  You need it.”

Fallon held up a chat parchment.  “Rupert says the enemy fought an imaginary army as they took back their earthworks,” she said.  “What were they doing?”

I smirked.  Rupert had had strict orders not to risk a sally, whatever happened.  Unless he’d ignored his orders, and I doubted it, his men had stayed firmly behind the city walls and contented themselves with sniping at prospective targets.  But in the confusion, the enemy had no way to be sure.  They wouldn’t have realised what had actually happened until dawn …

“I think they were shooting at each other,” I said.  It made a certain kind of sense.  The warlord’s troops weren’t very well coordinated, save for his elite, and if one unit had assumed another to be enemy troops … it had happened during Iraqi Freedom and we’d been so much better trained and equipped than the warlord’s troops that the gap was completely beyond their comprehension.  We’d been damn lucky no one had died.  “But we may never know for sure.”

I met her eyes.  “Get some rest.  Seriously.”

Fallon held my hand as she lay next to me, resting her head on her pack.  I felt another pang of guilt, then forced myself to close my eyes and think of nothing.  Four days hard riding should bring us to our target and then … I hoped, prayed, it worked as planned.  If it didn’t …

She snuggled up to me.  I held her for a moment, breathing in her scent, then let go.  She’d hate me for it, if she noticed, but I dared not let anything think I was taking advantage of my position to bring my girlfriend.  Many of the mounted infantry had lovers of their own – the cavalry had never had any trouble attracting female attention – and they’d had to leave them behind.  She shifted, but didn’t wake.  I sighed and closed my eyes again.  It felt odd to try to sleep during the day.

I slept.  I must have slept, although I couldn’t have sworn to it when I jerked awake at dusk.  We ate hardtack and drank water, then resumed the ride.  The landscape shifted rapidly as we circumvented the edge of Aldred’s former territory, avoiding fortified towns as much as possible, before heading further north.  Some of the farms were burnt out, evidence of atrocities scattered for everyone to see.  Others just looked abandoned.  I gritted my teeth, promising myself there would be justice even though I feared I would be unable to keep that promise.  There were no investigators here who could – and would – find evidence that would lead to the culprits, let alone bring them to book.  God knew, a great many crimes had gone unpunished back home because of a lack of evidence …

“We’re nearly there,” Horst said, three days later.  We’d paused long enough to let the horses rest and gather themselves.  Bred for the military or not, there were limits to how far they could be pushed.  “Do we proceed?”

I nodded.  The news from Damansara hadn’t improved.  The warlord was still laying siege to the walls.  Worse, he’d started shooting cannonballs at the walls, trying to find weak spots.  I was surprised he wasn’t mounting a major bombardment … I hoped, reading between the lines, that we’d taken out his gunpowder stores.  He’d need to bring in more before starting a major offensive …

“We have no choice,” I said.  We didn’t, not really.  Doing nothing would mean we were accepting our eventual defeat.  “Let’s move.”