Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

And the weight of their bodies could drag it all down.

Hodge and three of the Rangers who’d come with the Count joined them on the hill. The party, which had been out doing more surveying work, had managed to shoot two deer. Hodge looked at the fort and frowned. “Now that’s queer.”

Owen took another look. A flagpole had been placed at the heart of the fort at the Count’s insistence-as far as the Kessian was concerned it was little more than a trading post without one. Someone had produced an old Norillian flag with three crowned golden lions on a red field. As they watched, that flag descended and in its place rose a green flag with a black circle at its center. A red wurm-claw had been worked into the circle, with the talons pointing earthward and shaped to form the letter M.

The Rangers let out a holler at the sight, and Owen found himself smiling. The Mystrians who had marched off to Anvil Lake had done so under the Norillian banner, but by the time they’d returned victorious, it was under the Mystrian flag. Prince Vlad had let it be known that the flag was really the banner of the Mystrian Militia, lest people in Launston become alarmed. Even now, at celebrations and when the Colonial assembly was in session, that flag flew proudly.

“Looks like someone got here. I hope it’s the Prince.” Owen stood and started down the hill.

Their advance did not go unnoticed. Northern Rangers came out to greet their comrades, leaving Owen, Hodge, and Makepeace to finish the journey by themselves. Owen felt tired and wanted some sleep, but the information he’d gathered through the surveys was something the Prince needed to hear about immediately. Reaching the fort, he asked after Prince Vlad. He was told that the Prince was still a day back, but that he’d sent his staff ahead. Lieutenant Frost was already setting up the Prince’s office in what had served as the thaumagraph office.

Owen rapped on the door, then opened it. “Caleb, I’ve got lots of…”

The room’s sole occupant, Bethany Frost, looked up from the table by the thaumagraph. “Oh, Owen, I mean, Captain Strake.”

“What are you doing here?” Owen fought surprise. Bethany was the last person he expected to see in Plentiful. “Where’s Caleb?”

She stood, smoothing out her dress. “My brother is with the Prince. They should be here this evening. I pushed forward with the Rangers to set up his headquarters.” She extended a hand toward him. “What is it you have?”

Owen shook his head. “I was told Lieutenant Frost was here.”

“Yes, Captain Strake, that would be me.” She smiled modestly. “My brother is now a captain, overseeing the First Mystrian Volunteers Battalion.”

“What? Who?” Owen pulled of his cap and scratched his head. “Have I been gone that long?”

Bethany pointed him to a chair. “Please, sir, sit. Corporal Brown!”

The cabin door opened and a slender, flame-haired woman dressed in buckskins wearing a floppy-brimmed hat just like Owen’s entered. “Yes, sir?”

“See if you can find Captain Strake something to drink and eat. And get him a decent billet.”

“Yes, sir.” The young woman saluted smartly, a grin splitting her face ear to ear, then went off to follow orders.

Owen’s mouth gaped. “Did you, did she… ”

Bethany laughed. “The Prince assigned her to me after Nathaniel suggested it. Clara is a crack shot and smart, too. She’s learning to read so she can work a thaumagraph.”

Owen leaned his rifle against the wall and shucked his pack. He laid a satchel on the chair she’d designated for him. “You shouldn’t be here, Bethany. It’s too dangerous.”

“What are you talking about?”

“War. There’s no place for women in it.”

Her eyes narrowed to blue slits. “Women have followed their men to war for ages, Captain Strake. You just walked through the compound where a dozen women came with their husbands and brothers. There’s more coming in with the Volunteers, and General Rathfield’s cavalry will have their share, I’m sure.”

“But that’s different, Bethany. You’re not the sort who should be here.”

“And what sort is that, exactly, Captain Strake?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Is it you think that the women who follow their men are stupid, or of low virtue? Am I some how too good to be out here, too delicate? Or is that women might come to war, but ladies like your wife never would? That my being here means I’m not as good as she is?”

Her last two comments-barbed and colder than any winter he’d ever seen-ripped through him. Until that very moment he’d not realized that when he’d seen wives accompany their husbands, he’d taken secret pride that it was always a wife from the ranks, not the officers corps, or a foreign woman, a war-bride, who was at home in the land where they were fighting. He’d allowed himself to think less of them not because they deserved it, than it prevented him from questioning why his wife didn’t love him enough to want to be with him. Deep down he’d seen that as a failing on his part, not hers, but he’d never taken the time to consider it.

He glanced down at his hands. “Bethany… Lieutenant Frost… I’m sorry. I know you’re not stupid, and I have the utmost respect for you. I respect the Prince’s decision that places you here, and your decision to be here. It’s just…”

“What?”

He drew in a deep breath. “You’ve seen what war does. You’ve seen the marks its left on me, on your brother. You’ve seen your uncle and his empty sleeve. I don’t doubt your courage. I just dread what the whirlwind of war could do to you.”

“Silly man.” Bethany shook her head. “I have seen what it did to you and Caleb and my uncle. Do you think I don’t dread the same thing? I do. Not for me, but for you and Caleb and Clara and everyone else. Owen, why are you here?”

His head came up. “I have my duty to my home and family, to people I love.”

“Do you think, because I am a woman, I do not feel the same duty?” She brushed away a tear. “I am, bar none, the best thaumagraph operator in the world. Clear communication, delivered quickly, is very important. If I were back in Temperance and I thought that something horrible happened because a message got garbled, I don’t know what I would do with myself. That line of reasoning-and Princess Gisella’s support-is why Prince Vlad allowed me to come. More importantly, Owen, I earned my place here because of my skills. I have a responsibility, just like you, so here I am.”

Owen closed his eyes for a moment. He could not count the number of times he’d used the same reasoning to explain to Catherine why he had to answer the Prince’s call. When he did it, he thought it the highest of noble motivations. He could not claim that justification if he would not grant Bethany the same. And not only could he deny it to her, but he felt no desire to do so.

He opened his eyes again and looked at her. She seemed incredibly tiny and fragile, though he knew she was far from either. She held her head up high and her back straight. She was proud of what she’d done so far and yet, in the way she shied from his gaze, she awaited his judgment.

He chewed his lower lip for a second. “I’m pleased, Lieutenant Frost, to have you out here. I’m not saying I won’t worry about you being here.”

“But no more so than you would any other soldier.”

Owen hesitated. “I can’t say that, Bethany.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “I don’t want harm to come to any of the people here. I’ll help any of them I can. But there’s people here that I care about, that I care about a great deal. You’re at the top of that list. I’d sooner die than see something bad happen to you. I’m sorry, I don’t want to embarrass you.”