Mitchell Smith - Kingdom River

"If they're coming down, yes." Sam could smell himself in the tent's closeness. Horse sweat and his sweat. "But when – and if – the Kipchaks break the Kingdom, control the river, it will give the Khan all the West, give him the Gulf Entire… Then we come next."

"He might not be able to do it at all." Charles pursed his lips, considering the Khan's difficulties. "Kingdom's West-bank army is what, now, fifteen thousand regulars? All heavy infantry. And they're only the first Boxcars he'll meet."

Sam saw Charles trying to talk things better, take some of the decision-weight from him. It didn't help. The conversation, repeating the heart of many conversations, seemed dream talk, difficult to stay awake for. "Charles, the Kipchaks can do it, if Lord Winter helps them and freezes the river fast. I think I could do it with the Khan's forces – and if I could do it, it's damn sure Toghrul can… Now, Eric, this attack on our border.

You believe those people are coming down – or you know?"

"I know they rode south. And I'd say they'll cross the Bravo above Map-Chihuahua."

"Coming down west of the Bend. Alright, I accept that – and on your head be it."

Lauder smiled. "Sam… what an unpleasant phrase."

"Two thousand wouldn't do to come against us seriously, and Crusan apparently not the commander to try it. Still, it makes sense, if only as an exercise, to act as if it were a serious threat." Sam thought a moment longer. "Charles, see to it all border towns and posts in the area are notified of possible trouble. They're to prepare their people to leave and march south up into the hills if the order comes, or considerable forces of Khanate cavalry are scouted. And by 'considerable,' I mean horsetails maneuvering in more than one area, in near-regimental strength. Then – and only then – they are to burn any standing crops, destroy any animals they can't take with them."

"Good." Lauder struck a fist into his other palm.

"Sam, it's premature," Charles said, "even as a preliminary order. The Khan's people are not even near the border."

"Better too early than too late. And if Eric's wrong about this, we'll cut his pay."

"If I'm wrong, you can keep my pay." Lauder stood up. "Well, keep a month of it, anyway."

" – Also, Charles…" Sam lost the thought for a moment from weariness, then recalled it. "Also, all militia captains in Chihuahua are to be prepared to act against light-cavalry raiders. By harassing only, cutting off straggling small units, then retreating to broken or high ground. They are not to engage in any considerable battle – and if that order is disregarded, I will hang the captain responsible, win or lose."

"Alright, Sam." Charles sighed, resigned. His sighs, it seemed to Sam, more and more frequent. "But even this – if it proves to be for nothing – is going to cost us tax money we can't afford to lose. Crops burned, sheep and cattle killed or taken."

"If it proves to be for nothing, Charles, we've at least got Eric's pay. These orders are to be sent without delay. Riders tonight, birds in the morning."

"Yes, sir." Definitely displeased.

"And, Sam," Lauder said, "while you're still awake…"

"I'm not awake."

"Do we have an answer for the merchant Philip Golvin?"

"Oh, shit." Sam lay back down, felt sore muscles settle in relief.

"Unavoidable. I'm sorry."

"Eric, is there any question he speaks for the Queen?"

"None. Golvin factors goods for Island, for river traffic generally, and acts as an unofficial emissary. Queen Joan has used him before. Sent him all the way to Boston, once – apparently he didn't care for the journey. Went by ship across the Gulf, then up into the Map-Atlantic, sea-sick all the way."

"Sam," Charles said, "she definitely wants a visit from you."

"Wants more than that," Lauder said. "Queen Joan's getting old, has only a daughter – and ruling those barely-reformed cannibals can't be a pleasure. Two armies, for Weather's sake! West-bank and East-bank, and the men and officers of each kept absolutely separate!"

"Good reason for that," Sam said. What sort of hint did it need to be, when a man lay stretched on his cot, to leave him alone to sleep?

"But only a king's reason, Sam, to hold power balanced between them. And there's the Fleet."

"Still, Eric," Charles said, "the lady manages, keeps the throne. And with the King dead, now, for seven years."

"Charles, I don't say she isn't formidable – Middle Kingdom's formidable – I'm just saying she's looking for someone to hold the throne for her daughter, when she's gone… Looking for someone, Sam, who isn't one of their river lords, isn't a general in either army. Queen Joan has a bookish daughter, and no sons. She needs a son-in-law who won't cut her throat – or force her to cut his."

"What a prospect. 'Bookish daughter' and a cut throat." Sam closed his eyes against the lamplight. "I doubt very much that the Queen is serious about my marrying her daughter. She's presenting the possibility, so I'll send troops to the Kingdom, help them against the Khan."

"More likely," Charles said.

Eric smiled. "Still, a possibility may become… probable."

"Worse," Sam said, eyes still closed. "Necessary. Now, I'm tired, and I would appreciate being left alone."

"Alright." Eric stood. "Alright… but this girl the Boston people have sent – "

"It'll wait. Now, if you two will put out that lamp and leave, you will make me very happy.''

"In the morning" – Charles leaned to blow out the hanging lantern – "back to Better-Weather?"

Sam spoke into darkness. "Yes, we'll go, if the wounded can bear traveling. There's nothing useful at this camp but the dirt my dead are buried in."

… He lay, feeling too weary to sleep. Heard Charles and Eric murmuring, walking away. Lauder already, apparently, with a good notion what had been intended down here, what had gone wrong with Ned Flores and his people.

Eric was a razor with a slippery handle – bad temper and arrogance his weaknesses as chief of intelligence… Charles, as administrator, hampered in a different way. His fault lay in fondness for Small-Sam Monroe, young enough tohave been his son. And that, of course, the more serious weakness, leading to errors in judgment too subtle to be seen until suddenly damaging.

Fierceness and fondness… vulnerabilities balanced fairly enough between the two men most important to North Map-Mexico. Most important beside the young Captain-General, of course.

And now, it seemed the Khan was sending regiments south. A quick decision, probably, taken the last few days. It was interesting to study the Kipchak's Map-Nevada campaigns – see the pattern of them, far-ranging, swift, gather-and-strike, gather-and-strike. A herding pattern, a hunting pattern also, formed bygenerations lived in great empty spaces. A people, and an army, in motion. All cavalry.

They wouldn't care for close, tangled places. Wouldn't care for high, broken country, either.

Now, it seemed the Khan had decided, in the guise of two regiments, to greet and become acquainted with North Map-Mexico's Captain-General – as a wrestler might gently grip an opponent's arm, begin to try his strength and balance… Toghrul perhaps grown weary of being locked into the western prairie, his way east blocked by Middle Kingdom and its great river. A river, according to the little librarian, Peter, much greater – with even short summers' meltings of a continent of ice and snow – than it had been as the Warm-time Mississippi.

The Khan might have difficulty campaigning against that kingdom while leaving his underbelly exposed the whole winding length of the Bravo border. So, he was sending – gently at first – to see how the metal of North Map-Mexico rang when struck. A touch, and a warning.