Arcane mercenaries gener.., p.34
Arcane Mercenaries: General, page 34
Even with her astute observations, she still didn’t understand Grant.
“The question is, what do we do about Berge?” Rienne asked.
“We have to separate him from Stenmark and the queen. We can’t let them coordinate their abilities.”
“Your plan is to skip past the captain, the countess, the Touched, the headquarters staff, and who knows what else to walk into the queen’s private chambers? That’s as bad as your plan to get us in the headquarters.”
“I’d skip past them all, but we don’t know where she is,” Grant said.
“We do. Which house haven’t we been in or seen on our tour?” Rienne asked with a knowing grin.
She was the right person to keep behind to support his efforts with the queen. Jafran was a loyal friend and a skilled warrior, but Grant needed Rienne’s ability in the court more than another blade. The bard might have just opened the door to their next opportunity.
“Want to meet a queen?” Grant asked.
“What about Berge? Do you think he’ll expect our plan?”
Grant closed his eyes. Sensing someone else using Touched abilities was difficult. If they weren’t in the same room, Grant often couldn’t feel anything. Nothing.
“No telling,” Grant said. “But he can’t focus everywhere, and a lot is going on in High Forest with Jafran back there. They might be more worried about an Alenann night attack than us walking out the door.”
Grant reached for the door handle, but Rienne placed her palm against the door.
“Hold on. What’s our plan?”
“It’s hard for Berge to anticipate what we’re going to do if we make some things up as we go along,” Grant said with a smile.
He pulled open the unlocked door of their house arrest. His descent alerted the guards at the base of the stairs, and they turned to confront Grant and Rienne.
Their accommodations were over the headquarters’ kitchen, but the countess wouldn’t allow the Alenann leadership free access to their command center. The only room with a back staircase was the one that became their house arrest.
Captain Lindroth was with her guards as the cooks kept the oven flames alive and continued their food prep for what Grant imagined to be a long night for the staff.
Grant smiled as the captain got to her feet and joined the guards waiting for his arrival.
“General, is there something we can get you?” Lindroth asked.
“How did your meeting go with the countess?” Grant asked.
“I should expect a court martial,” she said without the hint of humor.
Grant nearly changed his plans on the spot. He couldn’t let this skilled officer bear the administrative consequences of his crazy ideas. The outcome of any court-martial could be execution.
“You are under arrest with us?” Rienne asked. “We can make up another bed.”
Lindroth smiled and turned to the fire to check the contents of the pot. “No, not quite. The countess can’t spare another officer to run the garrison, so I’ll keep my job but live with the threat of court-martial. I’ll get consideration during my trial if I perform my duties adequately. Coffee?”
She was remarkably calm for someone with the executioner’s axe hanging over her head. She wasn’t bitter or concerned about her fate. Maybe she knew more about the countess and adviser than she was letting on.
“I never turn down a cup of coffee. I need to apologize for putting you at risk—”
“It’s a show, general. Theater is one of the countess’s favorite activities, and I have a starring role in the next act.” Lindroth grabbed three mugs and poured the black liquid into each one.
“What can we do to help?” Rienne asked. “We can testify on your behalf.”
Captain Lindroth laughed as she handed the mugs to Grant and Rienne. “Excuse me, but I respectfully decline. I don’t want to add treason to my list of charges.”
“What’s your defense?” Grant asked. He’d seen his share of military tribunals. He’d been on the receiving end when he was a private in the early days of the Mage Wars.
“Honor and protocol,” she said.
“That’s a pretty thin defense,” Rienne said. “Maybe you could use our help.”
“I don’t need to convince the countess, just a jury of fellow officers.”
“That the countess will pick from the army,” Grant said. “You expect a fair trial, but it’ll be another show.”
“I will accept my sentence.” Lindroth was defiant in her assertion, but Grant thought she had far too much faith in a system stacked against her.
“I think we can change the decision,” Grant said.
“I’m listening, general.”
“Let’s go see the queen.”
The soldiers' heads came up as they poured coffee. One looked longingly toward their dinner bubbling in an iron pot and the waiting wooden bowls. Grant just changed their dinner plans.
“That’s pretty far out of my chain of command, general.”
“Not mine. It could change the war and your court martial.”
Grant asked her to make another impossible decision. When Jafran left under her authority, she made a tough decision, but she could defend it at trial. Taking an enemy general to meet the queen was a different matter and far closer to treason.
“I’ll take you. Sergeant, please accompany us to the queen’s residence. Corporal, buy us some time if anyone comes looking for the general or me.”
Lindroth’s preparations to meet her head of state took only a few moments to secure weapons and adjust her otherwise neat uniform. The soldiers didn’t hesitate to obey her orders, and Grant understood the method to her madness. If she was under a light house arrest, these soldiers were ones she could trust. He hoped she remembered they were now accomplices.
“This way, general. Let’s see what we can do to change the war.”
58
QUEEN
The last house in the homestead was a homely affair in the shadow of the nearby manor. No one would assume a head of state would reside in a two-floored dwelling. The significant difference from his earlier prison is this house had red clay tiles for the roof, and no one bothered to bar the shuttered windows. A single guard watched them approach.
Lindroth approached the man without breaking stride. The sentry was used to the garrison commander and snapped a proper salute, but he eyed Grant and Rienne following his captain.
Grant could overpower the captain, her sergeant, and this lone sentry before the camp was aware of his actions. He could get in and meet the queen without breaking a sweat, but what would that get him? Grant needed a political agreement, and it wouldn’t happen at the end of a blade.
Grant trusted Lindroth to deliver, but he held his breath this close to their objective. The guard looked between his captain and Grant several times. The sentry considered denying the Alenann delegation entry, but he nodded and opened the wooden door.
Grant wasn’t sure why he thought the royal attendants would fill the room with thick carpets, throw pillows, and piles of wealth. The interior space was the image of efficient comfort and utilitarian purpose.
The first floor had ample open space that joined a functional kitchen and roaring fire with the main room with tables spaced for efficiency. Teams of scribes and military bureaucrats worked quietly in the room's calm. Pens scribbled their lines of ink, and senior staff triaged the paperwork for the queen.
Grant caught the middle-aged woman working at the back of the room, and she looked like an ordinary military commander finishing a mountain of paperwork at the end of a day. The Queen of Eklund wore the blue and white of her country, but her shirt bore the three crowns of the highest nobility. Like any military commander, she carried a sword in her belt and wore a pistol on the opposite side.
High Forest wasn’t battlefield tourism for this Queen—she was a commander in charge of her forces and a sovereign who ran her country from this simple outpost. She stood up and stretched her back. Throwing the stack of paperwork on a desk, she caught sight of the new party in the room.
Those gray eyes missed nothing, and she peered over glasses perched on her nose. She was raised for command and leadership, and she trusted her instincts. Instead of raising the alarm and calling for the arrest of the Alenann intruders, she approached the group.
“Captain Lindroth, I don’t remember a request for an audience with the Alenann general.”
“Your majesty, I apologize for the intrusion. But I didn’t think the countess would approve bringing General Gwydian into your chambers.”
“And you did it anyway?” The queen rested her hand on her pistol as light danced across those eyes.
“You selected me to command your camp, your majesty.”
The queen’s laughter shocked the scribes. Their writing halted as they watched the exchange between their sovereign and the military officers. None dared to interrupt their queen. “I think that’s why I selected you as the camp commander. When Stenmark comes running in here, you acted on your initiative as camp commander?”
To her credit, Captain Lindroth didn’t hesitate. “Yes, your majesty. The decision is mine alone.”
“This must be good.” The queen motioned to her aide, and he scurried off with the unspoken command toward the kitchen. The regent walked toward a small table large enough for six tucked near the kitchen, and she motioned for the rest to follow her. “Coffee, general?”
“I thought you would never ask, your majesty.” Grant waited for the queen to sit and for her to accept the first cup.
“I’ve heard Alenann enjoys excellent coffee. I will apologize for this slop my chefs keep pouring. It’s barely an excuse for coffee.”
Grant chuckled. “In the field, hot is usually good enough.”
The queen’s aide returned to the room with bread and cold meat slices on a wooden platter. Grant was intrigued by this leader who ate with her people and didn’t need porcelain cups to make her feel powerful.
“The countess warned me you would try something like this,” the queen said after fixing a small sandwich. “You can be persuasive, and it seemed to work on my captain.”
“Your majesty—” Grant tried.
“General, we are both commanders in the field. Save the ‘your majesties’ for the court. I get enough of that there. I think we have more important matters to discuss.”
“Good, I’m terrible with diplomacy,” Grant said.
“But you brought a bard. Someone familiar with the Nanteene court, if I’m not mistaken by her accent.”
Rienne bowed while still seated, and she was just as impressed by the Queen of Eklund.
“She’s a good adviser and speaks your language, but your mastery of Alenann is impressive.”
“Benefits of a noble education,” the queen said. “What is that you want, general?”
“We need to end this campaign.”
“Strange words from a mercenary. That old fool Alexander run out of money or something?”
“You won’t win in the High Forest. You can’t.”
“You don’t know my plans.”
“I have met your advisers and senior leadership. Alenann can’t match them.”
The queen nodded as she sat back and sipped on the steaming brew. Her nose wrinkled with the bitter blend of overcooked coffee. “We have better tactics and training.”
“And a bloody nose from slamming it into my wall in the High Forest. I think your supply train will bog down in the snow, and I doubt you’ll conscript enough reinforcements to replace your losses in High Forest. I can fall back to Semturm and make your winter miserable.”
Grant choked on the coffee. The queen was right—the camp’s coffee was terrible. Alenann favored the dark stuff, but this was particularly bad. He reluctantly put the steaming cup back on the table. She caught his move and nodded her approval.
“What is the meaning of this, your majesty?” A blast of cold air accompanied the sounds of indignation and the high voice. “Well, well, isn’t it special that the general found his way here?”
“Please join us, Berge.”
“Your majesty, I should always be here when you entertain discussions with members of opposing forces. I can offer sage advice—”
“I thought being regent meant I could make decisions.” She motioned for Berge to take a seat at her left hand. The man scurried forward, pulled his black cloak off his shoulders with a theatric flourish, and laid it across the back of the chair as he sat down. At least he was quiet.
“You were saying, general?” the queen asked.
“We have a bigger enemy, your majesty.”
“This is where he tells us of the emperor’s mad stories about an apocalypse. You don’t need to waste your majesty’s precious time with this insanity. Let me—” Adviser Berge couldn’t hold back.
The queen held up her hand to end the rant. “Let him finish.”
“Your agreements with the Tul put us all at risk when their invasion comes,” Grant said.
“I don’t have agreements or treaties with the Tul.”
Grant looked at Berge, who bit down his rage.
“You want me to explain it?” Grant asked Adviser Berge.
“Your majesty, he speaks lies. They are losing. Even now—”
“Your majesty, I’m sorry for being late. I didn’t realize we were having a strategy meeting.” Countess Stenmark came to a stop when her eyes adjusted to the firelight in the room. “You.”
Grant waved.
The queen gestured for her to sit at the chair to her right. Aides brought an entire pot of coffee, and Grant wasn’t tempted to top off his cup.
“The Tul?” the queen prompted.
“Yes, your majesty. The Tul are involved in your campaign,” Grant said.
“Your majesty, you don’t have to deal with these lies. I’ll take him and that traitor, Lindroth, out to the firing squad right now,” General Stenmark said.
The queen motioned for both advisers to settle down. A knowing look crossed those gray eyes as she looked back at Grant. “You were saying, general?”
“The Tul are playing us all, your majesty. I once thought they would emerge on the horizon with massive armies. We’ve read the histories, but that was a hundred years ago. They are dangerous and subtle now—”
“Your majesty. I object to these baseless accusations,” Berge said.
“Berge, he has accused no one of anything.” She looked back at Grant.
“I’m not sure if your staff informed you, a Tul assassin killed Crown Prince Christoph and aided in the kidnapping of Heiress Sina. In Semturm, someone released a dangerous virus to kill off Touched individuals. The Tul were involved in every case. There are even signs of it in your camp. Today, we are killing good soldiers when the threat isn’t between us.”
The countess sat back and considered the words, but Berge was outraged and bit his lip to avoid another outburst. Even the physical pain couldn’t hold back his words.
“Your majesty, the Alenann are losing this campaign. Bit by bit, your tactics and our strategy deliver battlefield results no one could consider twenty years ago. This campaign is yours, and you can negotiate with a diminished emperor, not some mercenary general.” Berge couldn’t spit out the last words fast enough.
“Before the Mage Wars, no one considered combat on this scale.” The queen ran her fingers along the lip of her coffee cup. “The Mage Wars changed everything. What is the place for people with powers that rival nations?” Those gray eyes bounced between Grant and Berge. “That’s why we fight. We have different visions. The emperor sees the Touched as tools. Others see them as a danger to humanity.”
The queen fell into silence. Her eyes tracked each wisp of steam as it came off the cooling cup of coffee. She rose without warning. Berge knocked over his chair as he clambered to his feet.
“You’ve given me a great deal to think about, general.” She looked at her advisers. “Captain, bring the general back at dawn. You others may attend.”
59
CEASEFIRE
Soldiers in the field learned to sleep anywhere. Grant could lay out his bedroll and bury himself in a cloak in any terrain if it meant a couple of hours of rest. Life as a commander presented few opportunities even to catnap.
Their house arrest accommodations in a servant’s room over the headquarters’ kitchen were better than any tent. The bed had fresh straw and a clean sheet. The shutters kept the cold drafts out of their room, and the glowing embers from the fire added a pleasant glow to their accommodations. The queen didn’t threaten his safety, but he lay awake and stared at the beams in the ceiling.
The headquarters was eerie with its silence, like the camp held its breath. Word must have slipped out about a potential end to the hostilities, and everyone hoped their battle would be over. Those rumors were impossible to stifle, especially when the next day’s battle threatened to renew with the dawn.
Grant pondered his potential failure. The queen could continue the battle and brush aside the remaining Alenann forces. From the sound of Berge’s tone, a firm push in the morning would send the Alenann forces reeling back toward Semturm.
The independent city would fall. General Lasch was a good leader, and the lord mayor was a resident who would stay and fight. The performance of the Alenann army wouldn’t stop the Eklund advance, and the queen would have a crown jewel for negotiations with the emperor.
Grant was in a terrible position to negotiate. His theory about the Tul was flimsy, and his evidence was anecdotal. He had to pull the pieces together to understand their grand strategy, but he couldn’t fathom the depths of the treachery surrounding him since Varenne.
He tried to calculate the reason for Eklund to negotiate now. A stiff High Forest defense anchored by his Arcane Mercenaries bought precious days. If Semturm resisted long enough, the queen would face the bitter cold in hostile terrain. Partisans and irregular forces would pillage her supply lines, and Alenann would gather its strength for the spring. It was possible but too optimistic.
