Mitchell Smith - Kingdom River

"The Kipchaks want you people to break up your East-bank army. Shapilov, and now the Khan, want that army dissolved into little garrisons guarding civilians who should be moving back off the river into the forests. What the Khan doesn't want, is that army united into a single force that might cross the river ice against him!" Sam shook his head. "Lenihan, you and your people at Island have been doing the Kipchaks' work for them."

"We have not."

"Yes, you have. And it must stop. We don't have time for mistakes this serious. So far, you've been dealing with the Khan's generals. But now, Toghrul has taken command. Another blunder like this, he'll tear your throats out." Sam stood up off the desk. "You people are not dealing with tribesmen and savages any longer, warriors who don't know discipline. You're facing a great mechanical of war – do you understand? A veteran horse-army that can move fifty Warm-time miles a day, and fight a battle that evening. All commanded by a man more intelligent than both of us together."

Sam stood off the desk, and went to the door. "So, we do things right, General, and do them quickly and in cooperation – my people coming up into Map-Arkansas, and yours north, on the river ice. We do things right … or your head and my head and the Queen's head will end piled with thousands of others, here in your great courtyard."

"I… don't know."

"Yes, you do know, Lenihan… Now, by right of the Queen's warrant to me, you will inform General DeVane of East-bank army, General Parker of West-bank army, the two senior admirals at Island – Pearce and Hopkins – and the River Lords Sayre and Cooper, that their presence is commanded this afternoon in the Queen's council chamber at… two glasses. Each may bring one aide. And General Bailey may choose to attend, or not."

Lenihan looked even wearier than before. "I will… inform them, milord."

"'Sir,' will do; we don't have time for 'milord's. But you will do more than inform them, Lenihan. You will see to it that those officers and lords are present – if necessary, escorted and under arrest."

"… Yes, sir."

"What's your first name?"

"Patrick."

"Two more matters, Patrick. You're to post a guard at your corridor door. Also, put your clerks up on charges, for not supporting their officer with more than timid tapping while he was being assaulted."

A grudging first smile from the general. "Sir."

"See you at two, Pat," Sam said, and left the office, Wilkey following.

Ned Flores, weary, stood by a hasty nighttime fire, his steel hook reflecting the flames' red. "Howell, we're not moving fast enough."

"We're moving as fast as won't exhaust the men and break down the horses." Howell spit tobacco-juice hissing into the fire. "Won't do us any good, Ned, to ruin the army moving it."

"Speaking of which, we should be nearing the Kipchaks' supply lines soon."

"Yes."

"What do you want done when we hit them?"

"Take what we can use, give the rest to the local tribesmen."

"And the escort?"

"Kill them all." '

"Okay… My men have had no trouble with the savages – called Bluebirds, apparently. And they'll like any plunder we can give them. No trouble with the Bluebirds – but we got some cold looks from those West-bank scouts, couple of days ago."

"We're just passing through, Ned. We won't give them any trouble, and there aren't enough of them down here to give us any trouble. If the drum calls coming down the river are true, the Kipchaks pretty much wrecked West-bank army up at St. Louis." Howell kicked a brand back into the flames. "Also, I intend to look to those river people for food and fodder as we go north to the Map-Missouri line, in case Charles can't get supplies up to us fast enough. So, let's not kill any of the soldiers they have left."

"Right… It's really upsetting."

"What?"

"That you're actually thinking, Howell. It's difficult to get used to."

"You insubordinate asshole. You're lucky you're wearing that nasty thing."

Flores raised his hook and kissed it. "Don't insult my Alice."

"Alice?"

"Why not? Remember Alice Rodriguez? Cold, curved, and dangerous?"

"… Oh, Mountain Jesus. Hadn't thought of her for years. Well, take 'Alice' – and your regiment – and move off north. Smartly, Ned. We'll night-march six glass-hours."

"General," – Flores saluted with the middle finger of his good hand – "consider it done."

With Ned mounted and spurred off through falling snow, calling for his trumpeter, Howell stood warming his hands at the failing fire, watching down the hillside to the defile where Phil Butler's Heavy Infantry battalions were marching north in moonlight. Marching in good spirits, apparently, since they were singing "Gringo the Russians, Oh" as they swung along. Odd, how falling snow muffled sound.

"General?" Roberto Collins reining in his horse – and looking too young to be a captain on the staff. "Last units, sir, except for Colonel Loomis's rear guard."

"All right. Orders."

"Sir."

"Colonel Loomis to deploy three companies of Lights as tail-end charlies. Double-time the others up to flank us, deploying lightly to the east, heavily to the west. We'll be approaching the Kipchaks' lines of supply, coming from Map-Texas to north on the river. Tell her I want no surprises."

"Sir."

"And Roberto, make sure Charmian understands that her people are to stand no engagement. If there's a problem, they're to skirmish, then fall back on the main body."

"Yes, sir." And Collins was off at a gallop through deepening snow. Young, it seemed to Howell, young for a staff officer. And where had "tail-end charlies" come from? Some copybook…

"Big One-eye!" Blue-coated scimitar at her belt, Patience Nearly-Lodge Riley came to the fire's coals – small boots stomping through the snow – and tilted her hat's brim back from a face perfectly white, hair black as blindness. "I could send Webster to our Captain-General at their island. He would find him, if you have a message, or need his advice."

"I don't have a message, don't need Sam's advice, and would appreciate your staying with the baggage train where you belong. Colonel Butler put you there, Lady, and you're to stay."

"Only until fighting. I was promised to hover over a battle like Lady Weather, picking out this one or that one for best luck or bad."

"Right… Well, until that battle, please get your Boston butt back to baggage. We are responsible for you."

"And I so appreciate your protection." The girl smiled up at him, her small, white right hand resting on her sword's pommel. "The Captain-General – he'll be coming soon to fight the battle?"

"Can't be soon enough. Now, if you'll just get back where you belong. We have a night march – "

"You haven't visited dear Portia-doctor at all, One-eye, not a single time in this hasty travel north. Don't you think she would like a visit from you?" Another smile with that.

"Likely as much as I'm enjoying this one," Howell said. "Go back where you belong – or be tied and taken."

Patience made a comic grimace of terror… paused… seemed to drift a little up into the air, then swept away, long coat flapping softly as she sailed over hillside drifts of moonlit snow, and left the snow unblemished.

The Queen's Room of Conference, a high-ceilinged stone box, had been arranged for discomfort. This to encourage short conferences, and little in the way of comment or advice to her from anyone. No attempt had been made to cushion that fact, or the straight-back wooden chairs ranged around a circular too-wide table, so everyone had to call their conversation. No refreshments were provided.