Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

The regular soldiers came up quickly. They came across the bridge in column, five men abreast, their footsteps sounding as thunder, cadence perfect. The infantry came in two battalions first, their red coats brilliant in the summer sun. Tall, implacable and imposing, they came in a mass that should have frightened even pasmortes. At forty yards they could volley out a wall of lead balls that would rip through the enemy, and then their steel bayonets would finish them off.

The cavalry marched in the middle of the formation. They looked a bit footsore, but no less proud. They marched with carbines slung across their backs and their sabers drawn. For men unaccustomed to marching, they came on in good order and pushed to the fore on the west side of the bridge. Drawn mostly from the ranks of lesser nobility and the second sons of greater nobility, they moved to the lead since that was their station in life.

As the column moved further west, Owen found himself constantly thirsty. He stared at his hands to see if the flutter in his stomach had translated itself into a palsy. Though the forest hid the fortress, Owen could feel it there, brooding, waiting to devour him again. He wanted nothing more to do with it but duty demanded his presence, and if Rivendell were to even guess at the fear in his heart, he'd find a way to humiliate Owen.

Owen would do anything to deny him that pleasure.

Originally Rivendell had intended to take the small tower, but du Malphias' dessert surprise had alerted him to the possibility of duplicity. He allowed himself to be convinced that keeping a Mystrian battalion back in the woods would threaten the tower and allow him an anchor on the Green River's western shore. It would forestall du Malphias' trickery and give Rivendell a way to retreat.

The Norillian formation hooked west and north through the forests and cleared area while remaining outside of the fortress' guns' range. Northwest of the fort itself they came to a ferry and sent the cavalry across first. They unlimbered the dozen cannon on the west bank to cover the cavalry. Mystrians then crossed and returned to their ax and shovel duties outside the range of the Tharyngian guns. They dug emplacements and trenches and chopped trees, which they transformed into redoubts and mantlets.

Owen and Count von Metternin crossed at the head of the Mystrians. The Kessian pointed toward the southwest face of the fortress, about even with the tower across the river. "If he opens those gates and deploys the Platine Regiment, he can cut us in half. A river crossing-any sort of amphibious operation-should be contested."

"He's not the sort to make so simple a mistake."

"Well, he is arrogant. But then, he is Tharyngian." Von Metternin laughed quickly. "He sees that Rivendell has been thinking. We declined to take the tower. Rivendell will see his failure to oppose the crossing as a tactical error. Rivendell will begin to believe he has won two battles already."

Lord Rivendell came splashing through the river and reined his horse up in the middle of the cavalry salient. He raised a spyglass to his eye, then laughed. "I see you, du Malphias, and I know your game. You thought I'd take your tower, didn't you? Didn't you?"

Von Metternin chuckled. "I don't believe he can hear you, my lord."

"But he can see me." Rivendell took off his hat and waved it. "He has to know we won't be cowed. It ain't the thing."

One cannon replied. Flames shot from the rampart and smoke jetted. Twelve pounds of iron sphere flew from the cannon's mouth. Three hundred yards out it hit the ground and bounced. It bounced again and again, slowing as it came. One of the cavalrymen laughed and stood, making as if to catch the slow-moving ball.

His right hand evaporated in a red mist. He stared at the gushing stump, then began to scream.

Rivendell's horse shied from the ball, and other men parted to let it through. Owen darted forward, yanked the cavalryman's saber sash off. He looped it around the man's right forearm, then stuck a stick into it and twisted until the arterial flow trickled to a slow drip. The man raised his pulverized wrist toward his face, then fainted.

"Captain Strake, get some of your Mystrians up here to dig us a trench!"

Owen shook his head. "If they come forward, my lord, your bunker won't be ready for nightfall. Colonel Thornbury should get his men to digging their own trenches."

The Count stepped between Owen and Rivendell's raised crop. "I might suggest, my lord, that you draw the men back another hundred yards. The ridge there, if they get on the other side of it, will protect them."

"Yes, of course. Colonel Thornbury, move your men back to that ridge." Rivendell donned his hat again. "Langford, come here. Captain Strake shall be written up for insubordination!"

Owen's shoulders and back ached from digging holes and chopping wood. Being an officer, he could have been spared that duty, but he pitched in. Had anyone asked, he'd have said he intended to set a good example. The simple fact was, however, that he wanted to put as much wood and earth between himself and the fortress as possible.

By evening of the twenty-ninth, Rivendell had arrayed his forces in preparation for the siege. He placed his artillery in a single battery in the middle of his line. That tactical placement actually made sense. The Mystrians wove together and filled fascine, which they installed around the front of the emplacement. The guns could cover most of the field and could scatter any attack coming from the fortress, should it round the corner by the river.

The cavalry remained nearest the river, but pulled back so the fortress' cannon could not harass them. East of them came the Fourth Regiment of Foot. They dug in and threw up ramparts, but did it casually. The infantry expected no assault, and wasn't keen on having to cross their own trenches to get going at the enemy. They believed the siege would end quickly, and Owen did not take that as a good sign.

Further east, between the Norillians and the lake, the Mystrians set up. Prince Vlad headquartered on the heights nearest the lake, with his men dug in all along that front. Despite being exhausted from the preparation of Rivendell's headquarters, they dug a good trench line, letting it slither across the landscape in keeping with the natural formations. Their camp was built to last through the winter.

The greatest bit of construction came at the Prince's headquarters. The men felled a number of trees and bound them crosswise, then linked them to several central beams. They sank them into the earth, creating an A-frame wurmrest to which Mugwump took easily. The building dwarfed Lord Rivendell's tent complex, and the Mystrians took to joking about that fact.

Owen sat in the shadows outside the Prince's tent. He caught sight of Rivendell and Langford marching toward him, with an honor guard of six men. He considered standing, but saw little sense in it. If it is another court-martial, an additional charge of conduct unbecoming an officer can't hurt.

To his surprise they marched past him and into the Prince's tent. Greetings between the officers, the Prince, and Count von Metternin passed tersely.

Rivendell cleared his throat. "Langford, just hold down that edge of the map. As you can see, Highness, we have our plan. Your men will begin to dig trenches here and here, so we can move the guns forward and begin our assault."

Silence reigned for a moment, then the Prince spoke. "Forgive me if I read this map incorrectly, but with the cavalry pulled back here, you've only got cannon to discourage raiders. My men will be vulnerable to both cannon and direct assault. Am I misreading things, Count von Metternin?"

Before the Kessian could offer an opinion, Rivendell huffed. "Need I remind you, I am in command of this expedition. Your concern for your men is commendable, but I shall not be asking them to fight, just do work for which they are suited."