Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

Von Metternin clapped. "Bravo!"

Vlad shook his head. "A bold stroke, Johnny, very bold, but where could we find soldiers who could make that climb? It would have to be in the dark, or so close to dawn they could not be seen. Yes, Major Forest, you have something to say?"

The Mystrian officer nodded. "Begging your pardon, Highness, I have two companies of Mystrian Rangers. One from Fairlee, one from the Northlands. My men could do it."

Vlad smiled. "Excellent."

Rivendell laughed. "Major, with all due respect, I have the perfect warriors for the job. The Fourth Heavy Horse. Horses can't go up that cliff, so we'll dismount 'em and let them climb."

The Prince chuckled lightly. "You jest, of course, my lord. Your cavalry has no experience scaling cliffs, do they?"

"Don't need it, Highness, don't need it." Rivendell sniffed. "These are the finest young men from the finest houses in all of Norisle. They've been defending the realm since 1066. They shed their blood in the Holy Lands and have fought the Tharyngians for centuries. They have the finest of breeding, upbringing and education. If I tell them to go up those cliffs, they will…"

"Fall back down again like the prats they are." An older man with thinning hair and disdain etched deep into his features flipped a coat off and draped it over Chandler's arms. "Dick Ventnor, Highness. Count von Metternin, Major Forest, I believe. Owen." His boot heels clicked crisply on the wooden floor as he made haste to the model. "Excellent, much as I imagined from reading your report, Highness."

Rivendell bowed. "Duke Deathridge, a pleasure."

"Straighten up, Johnny. You look every bit the popinjay."

Vlad glanced at Owen. The man's face had become an impassive iron mask. "Duke Deathridge, we were given to suppose your ship would not be here for a week."

"True, but the wager was whether or not I would be here, not my ship. Langford will pay my man when he arrives, Johnny. A packet boat overtook us, so I transferred to it, coming with the latest dispatches." The dark-eyed man stared at the model. "Southwest is a trap, of course. North is the only true avenue of assault. Cliff is a nice idea, but the cavalry would never make it. The Fourth has a hard enough time climbing out of bed."

"You impugn their honor, sir."

"And you would use them like tin soldiers, Johnny, but you cannot reset them for play when things do not turn out as you wish."

Vlad pointed to Major Forest. "We have two companies of Mystrian Rangers, sharpshooters, and hand-picked men who can and will make that climb."

Deathridge nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Two full companies?"

"Yes, Duke Deathridge."

"Fully capable woodsmen, Robert? The best Mystria has to offer?"

"Yes."

"And you'll be leading them?"

Forest smiled. "I still have a thumb, so I will be leading them."

"Very good."

Rivendell blinked. "You cannot mean to have them go up the cliff, Dick. These are Mystrian troops. Have you forgotten the lessons of the Artennes Forest?"

Deathridge's lip curled into a sneer. "I will ask you only once, Johnny, to remember who was there actually fighting the Mystrian troops on that day."

"Then you should know better than anyone…"

"I do, you ass, I know better than you or your father." Deathridge's voice lowered and slowed. Vlad visualized every word as an inch of steel sliding into Rivendell's guts. "If I had my druthers, I'd take Major Forest's men and send them to deal with du Malphias. I'd let your men eventually get to Anvil Lake, let them occupy the ruins of the fort, and hope they forget how to find their way back."

Rivendell sniffed. "You do not have that option, sir. Parliament chose me to lead this expedition. You are here to observe."

"And advise." Deathridge looked to the Prince. "What I would advise you, Highness, is to make Major Forest's Rangers an independent command. I have a mission for them of the utmost importance."

"Yes, my lord?"

Deathridge glanced at Rivendell's aide. "Langford, make yourself useful. You have a map of Mystria there? Yes, on that table. Now, man, we do not have all day."

Langford, flustered, dropped journals and two maps, then dropped two more as he bent over to recover one of the first. He took it to a table and spread it out.

The smoldering expression on Deathridge's face killed any humor in Langford's distress. Vlad realized that such was the force of Deathridge's personality that he, himself, was ready to spring into action had the man commanded it. Though he knew of the man only from histories and cryptic mentions in letters, Deathridge in the flesh surged past all legend. Descriptions that had seemed hyperbolic in the reading failed in comparison to the man's dark energy.

With Rivendell bringing up the rear, the assembly moved to study the map once Langford laid it out.

Deathridge pointed to the mouth of the Argent River. "Just before we sailed, agents on the Continent sent word that two Ryngian regiments of foot set off for Mystria. One regiment is bound for this Fortress of Death."

"Du Morte," Rivendell corrected him.

Deathridge fixed him with a stare that would have melted an anvil. "We believe du Malphias will be reunited with the Platine Regiment. The Silicium Regiment-finally rebuilt after Villerupt -will reinforce cities in Kebeton. They will place one battalion, here, at Fort Cuivre on Lac Verleau's eastern shore, at the Upper Argent outflow."

The Prince's expression tightened. "Whoever controls that fort can pinch off supplies heading for du Malphias, as well any trade goods heading for Kebeton."

"Exactly. Cuivre is the cornerstone to eliminating much of Tharyngia's trade." Deathridge looked up. "Major Forest, can your men take it?"

"You'd be asking us to cover near three hundred miles as the crow flies, most all of it through Seven Nations land. The Tharyngians will know we are coming. We will have no artillery and will be outnumbered by the fort's garrison."

Deathridge nodded. "Now you see why I won't ask Johnny's playmates on horseback to attempt it."

Forest smiled slowly. "We can do it. I'll get to drawing up requisitions and all."

"Good. You will be going out in advance of the main army, a scouting party in force. You will divert later. I shall write out full orders."

"Thank you, my lord."

Deathridge nodded. "As for you, Highness, I will want you to take charge of the Colonial Militia. I understand you have a regiment available. You will be our reserve, but I shall also need you to prepare roads through the wilderness. You have men who know their way around an ax?"

The Prince laughed. "Every man in Mystria owns one and keeps it sharp. I have a militia company specifically…"

"Militia! Never!" Rivendell protested. "I will not be fighting them. I will never deploy them."

"Then you are a fool, but I suspect this is apparent. Your influence at court and in Parliament has put you in charge of this expedition. I am able, however, to advise the militias, which I am doing. If you choose to ignore my advice, you do so at your peril."

"My peril? We shall see about this, my lord."

"Get off your high horse, Johnny. This is not a game." Deathridge waved Rivendell to the side. "I shall get this buffoon out of your way so you may do your planning. Captain Strake, I would dine with you this evening at my lodgings. I shall send a man with the details. I expect you will be here as a liaison until then."

"Yes, sir." Owen hesitated. "If I might ask after my wife?"

"Hardly the time, not the place." Deathridge's expression eased ever so slightly. "She was well last I saw her, and is anxious for your reunion."

"Thank you, my lord."

Deathridge nodded, then glanced again at the model. "Plan well, gentlemen. The fate of Mystria depends upon what you do. Now, Johnny, get you and your shadow out of here, and let real men work."