Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

Many of the men attributed their survival in the Tharyngian war to such training. Muddy ground had made charging impractical, whereas riding hard to a flank and firing with their carbines at close range had made them very effective. They’d been transformed into mounted skirmishers and often had been tasked with harassing enemy columns. It struck Ian fortuitously that they had learned to fight in that manner, since Mystria and its undeveloped terrain largely negated traditional cavalry tactics.

His troops did look wonderful. Their red jackets had black facings which featured two red stripes running from breastbone back and up toward their shoulders. They wore white knickers and tall boots, with silver spurs that shone brightly as they turned sharply back and forth. Their carbines were shorter than the standard issue musket, making them suitable for carrying on horseback. The first battalion had been issued muzzle-loading rifles which took longer to load, but were more accurate and could hit targets at a longer range. Bayonets had not been fixed for drill, but hung on white sashes and slapped against the men’s left hips.

He only had three battalions to parade. The Fourth had headed south with the Prince’s Life Guards, hoping to round up horses. The Fifth had shipped back north. Squads would be dropped along the coast to likewise gather horses. He would have preferred that either their horses had been shipped, or that bullion had come to finance the purchases. As it was, his officers were authorized to provide scrip which could be redeemed at headquarters. This meant he’d get some horses, but not the best.

It really didn’t matter. He could not help but smile as the men, stern-faced beneath their tall hats topped with red fringe, wove their battalions together in a dazzling display of precision drilling. Had all the clouds burned off, and had bayonets been mounted, sunlight would have reflected brilliantly from them as it did an ocean swell. As it was, no one could have looked upon the Fifth and not known fear.

As the men returned to their starting places and stamped to a stop, Ian lowered his sword. His heart pounded against his rib cage. He could not suppress his smile, nor did he make an attempt to. Instead he looked all the men over, meeting their gazes, then raised his voice. “Regiment, dismissed!”

The men broke apart by squads and filed in an orderly manner through the crowds and into the city via all four corners of Government Square. People cheered and a few hats flew-none of those worn by the Regiments, but those of civilians-and children ran and skipped in the soldiers’ wake. Each soldier was being temporarily billeted with local families, at least until the Life Guards’ old barracks could be refurbished. The citizens had taken to housing troops surprisingly well, despite having just learned of the Shipping and Commerce Act at services.

Bishop Bumble stepped to Ian’s side and offered his hands. “I just wish to say, General, that I am very impressed. Not only at the drill, but in the Regiment’s choir. Their voices truly made heavenly music today.”

“And that, Bishop, is with a number of the best singers gone hunting horses.” Ian shook his hand heartily. “I have found that by encouraging the men to attend services, and to join together in things like the choir, they become a tight-knit group.”

“And it would keep them out of trouble in the field, I should imagine.”

“Yes, sir, it does. One learns to avoid strong drink in the evening when one will be praising God the next morning.”

“Splendid.” Bumble clapped his hands. “You know, of course, that Beecher and I stand ready to minister to any of the men and address their spiritual needs.”

Ian forced himself to smile to cover his wariness. “This is appreciated. I do have Pastor Wrenfold with the Fifth as our chaplain. Until his return, your assistance would be most welcome.”

“As you need it, General.” Bumble smiled broadly. “I so love hearing that new rank, sir. Most fitting, I assure you.”

“You are too kind.” Ian greeted Livinia Bumble, their niece Lilith, and Beecher, then turned immediately to Prince Vlad. “I hope, Highness, you found this display pleasing.”

“Indeed. Very impressive.” The Prince smiled, but it seemed forced. He looked haggard.

Ian lowered his voice. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Highness, you look as if you have not slept. Is there something the matter?”

“There is, in fact.” The Prince nodded toward Government House. “If it would be convenient for you to join me in my office in an hour, I would be appreciative.”

“Of course, Highness.”

“Thank you.” Vlad led his family away and Ian chatted with others who came to pay their respects. Most were the landed and successful. A few were men who appeared to be shaking his hand on a dare. He suspected most of them were veterans of the Anvil Lake expedition. It wasn’t in anything they said, but how they looked him up one side and down the other. They were measuring him against their memory of other Norillian leaders. If they made any judgments, they did not share them.

Ian smiled. “Mrs. Strake, how good of you to stay for the parade.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Catherine had mounted the Cathedral steps. Agnes waited at the base with Miranda and Becca, both of whom were smiling. Ian gave them a salute, which made them dissolve into giggles.

“I noticed your husband was not with you at services this morning. I trust he is well?”

“I trust he is, too.” Catherine allowed an apprehensive expression steal over her face. “The Prince sent a messenger in the early hours. Owen had to go west on some urgent business.”

Ian managed to smother the smile that tried to burst forth. “You are fortunate the Prince trusts him so. Will he be gone long, do you know?”

She shook her head. “I do not, but he said he would see us again at Strake House when he was able. How far to the west he’s going, I don’t know, but from the looks of it he will be heading into the teeth of a storm.”

“Well, if it would not be inappropriate, I should call upon you.”

“You are too busy a man, General.”

“Never too busy for friends, Mrs. Strake. And while your husband is gone in the Prince’s service, please do not hesitate to ask for help as needed.” He smiled. “While my troopers are all gentlemen, some are given to being layabouts and some honest labor would not hurt them.”

“Again, you are kind, but I should not take up your time.”

“It would be no burden, I assure you.” He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “You would relieve me of the tedium of filling out reports, to which there is never an end. Such drudgery will be my nights for the foreseeable future.”

Her brown eyes flicked up knowingly. “You poor man. I hope you will find a diversion.”

“As do I. Good day, Mrs. Strake.”

Catherine withdrew and with children and nanny in tow, headed off to their apartment. Others offered thanks and praise to Ian, which he accepted with a frozen smile and polite replies, though his mind was in no way engaged. He should have been concerned with Regimental affairs, or his meeting with the Prince, but all he could think of was Catherine, naked, her body slick with exertion, sliding over his. He longed to touch her again, to taste her, to feel her nails rake his skin as she bucked beneath him. To yet again see the fierce love burning in her eyes became his reason for living.

Soon enough he extricated himself from the crowd and made his way to Government House, responding to an invitation from Prince Vlad which he’d received before the parade. Clouds began to roll in from the west. His winter in Mystria had taught him how ominous a portent this was. Warm breezes from the sea had melted much of the snow in Temperance, but within a day the city would again be quieted by a blanket of white.