“Good. How long will it take to fix the axle?”
“I sent some of the insurgents to find us a suitable tree. It’s going to take several hours to cut and shape a new axle. Lucky for us we’ve got a whole forest to choose from.” Kerish rolled the wheel to one side. “I don’t think this army is going anywhere for a while. We aren’t the only ones who took damage.”
“All right. Felix, why don’t you come with me?”
“Is that safe, Willow?” Kerish asked.
“As safe as anywhere.” They had no idea how long it took an Ascendant to replenish her source without a dowser to speed the process along, but it couldn’t be quickly or they’d never be able to defeat them. “I’ll be back shortly.”
They found Soltighan with some of his captains, surveying the impromptu battlefield and the bodies being dragged toward the newly-dug graves. Soltighan eyed Lady Godfrey suspiciously. “You allow her to walk free?”
“Lady Godfrey has sworn oath to King Felix and wants to prove her loyalty by telling us everything she knows about Terence’s plans and resources.”
“And you trust her?”
“I’m giving her a chance to prove she’s trustworthy. Will you interrogate her? You’ll know better than me what questions to ask.”
“Not right now.” Soltighan signaled to a soldier. “We’ll put her under guard for now.”
As the soldier led Lady Godfrey away, Felix said, “Is it okay for me to be hungry?”
“Of course. What kind of a question is that?”
Felix nodded in the direction of the graves. “Everyone is having to bury their friends. I thought maybe it was wrong to think of anything else.”
Willow crouched and hugged him. “Felix, it won’t bring those people back for us not to think of other things. But you have a loving heart, to worry about it. How about you and I go help with dinner? I’m sure you’re not the only one who’s hungry, and everyone else seems busy.”
“Will they let me help?” Felix’s eyes lit up. “Even though I’m King?”
“What would Hilarion say about that?”
“That a King serves his people in many ways. But I don’t think he meant cooking.”
“That shows Hilarion had a lack of imagination. Come on, I’ll race you.”
***
It was fun, helping with the noon meal. Willow chatted and joked with the soldiers and the insurgents and felt relaxed in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Her faint guilt at being happy when so many others were dead stayed well at a distance. Felix, too, was cheerful, glowing in the light of the friendly respect he received from everyone he handed a chunk of bread. He’ll be so much better off once he isn’t King, Willow thought, and her heart ached with longing for that day.
Eventually, the flow of people trickled off, and Willow guided Felix back to their wagon, ignoring the glances from the “kitchen staff” (really just more of the soldiers and insurgents) that suggested she ought to stay and clean up. They’d worked hard and were entitled to a rest. Not that Willow was going to get one. Nolanger’s batman had come through the line, accepted food for his superior officer, and left without saying much, but it had reminded Willow that she had an unpleasant responsibility to see to.
She left Felix with Kerish, watching the men shape a pine tree into an axle, and strode through the camp, nodding in acknowledgement of the men and women’s greetings. Now that the unusual camaraderie of the dinner line was past, everyone treated her with the distant respect she’d come to take for granted. Thank heaven Rafferty was as informal as ever, because she didn’t want to become some entitled lady, demanding people bow and scrape to her. Even Soltighan, who called her by her first name, kept his distance. It was unnerving.
Nolanger’s tent was bigger than any except the command tent, far bigger, Willow thought privately, than the woman really needed, captain or no. As Willow approached, she heard raised voices. Nolanger, and a man whose voice Willow didn’t recognize. Reflexively she slowed her steps, silencing them though she didn’t think her boots on the soft grass would be audible over the shouting. She came to a stop outside the tent and listened.
“It’s not what we’re here for!” That was the unknown man.
“I determine our strategy, Robinson, not some foreign curry-eater,” Nolanger said. “Throwing our soldiers into the maw of a passel of Ascendants will get them killed.”
“We’re meant to defend the King, and that means attacking,” Robinson said. “Holding back is cowardice.”
“Are you accusing me of being a coward?” Nolanger’s voice went low and intense. Willow judged it was time to intervene. She clapped her hands three times smartly outside the tent door to announce her presence.
Everything went so quiet she could hear the distant sound of axes bringing more wood for the campfires. “Who is it?” Nolanger said.
“Willow North.”
The silence became tangible. Finally, a woman Willow didn’t know held open the door for her, and Willow entered.
A few lanterns brought the light level within the tent to nearly as bright as midday. A swath of canvas hung from the center beam of the tent, dividing it into two rooms. Willow guessed the second room was where Nolanger slept. A table bare of anything except a spyglass not as fine as Soltighan’s took up most of the space in front. Nolanger sat behind it, her narrow eyes regarding Willow closely. Two men stood nearby, one to the side and one directly in front of the table. The woman who’d opened the door let the tent flap fall, dimming the room significantly, then trimmed the lamps so they shed a brighter light. Everyone else stood so still Willow felt as if she’d walked into one of those Eskandelic living sculpture displays, moving so slowly it was impossible to perceive their motion until they’d completed it.
“I want a word with you, Captain,” she said. “In private.”
Nolanger’s gaze flicked from one man to the other. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my commanders.”
Willow’s palms prickled with sweat. This was a bad idea. And yet, they’d all know her decision soon enough. She hoped they had the discipline not to attack her. “All right. Captain, I understand you ordered your men to hang back during the battle today.”
“It was sound military strategy. You wouldn’t understand.”
The man in front of the table made a quiet sound. Robinson, perhaps? “I’m told you allowed the Eskandelic forces to take the brunt of the attack. You should have attacked simultaneously.”
“Running into the teeth of an Ascendant isn’t a good idea. That’s how people get killed.”
“My understanding is that soldiers deliberately put their lives on the line to protect others. Getting killed is sometimes a result of that.”
“I judged it best that my soldiers hang back until it was certain your Devices had done their work.”
“Takjashi Soltighan told me your strategy was a bad idea.”
“With respect, I don’t think a foreigner is a good judge of Tremontanan military strategy.”
Willow turned her attention on the man standing before the desk. “What’s your name?”
“Captain Robinson, my lady.”
“Captain Robinson, what say you?”
Robinson looked briefly at Nolanger. Warring emotions flitted across his face. Then he said, “We failed to meet the enemy’s attack with alacrity. Holding back put our allies at risk.”
“Robinson, how dare you—”
“I dare because it’s the truth,” Robinson said. “You’re overly cautious, Nolanger, and it cost men their lives today. I’m not going to lie to Lady North.”
Nolanger stood abruptly, knocking her chair over. “Robinson!”
“What about the rest of you?” Willow asked.
The second man bowed his head and said nothing. The woman said, “It’s not my place to speak against my commanding officer.”
“According to Lady Heath, I am your commanding officer,” Willow said. “Give me an honest answer. Were Captain Nolang
er’s actions justified?”
The woman’s blue eyes were very wide. She shook her head. “No, my lady.”
“I will see you all hanged for treason!” Nolanger shouted. “And you, you…upstart, nobody from nowhere, the ink barely dry on your patents of nobility, you I will drag before Lady Heath as evidence that she backed the wrong side!”
“Captain Robinson,” Willow said, “will you take Captain Nolanger into custody pending her return to Rannis for court-martial?”
Nolanger’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Robinson took her by the arm and dragged her around the desk. Nolanger fought him, kicking and punching, until the other man stepped in without being asked and helped subdue her. “You two,” Willow said, pitching her voice to carry over Nolanger’s swearing and pointing at the woman and the second man, “you’ll take her back to Rannis and testify at her court-martial. I’ll write a letter to Lady Heath explaining the situation. Captain Robinson, you’re promoted. I’ll expect you to meet with Takjashi Soltighan to work out a unified plan of attack that you’ll present to me in the morning, before we ride out. Any questions?”
“We’ll need a guard. Just the two of us can’t stand watch constantly,” the woman said.
“Pick ten soldiers—in fact, take some of the wounded. And one of the wagons. You’ll leave at first light.” Another letter to write. She was getting better at them.
Robinson handed off the spitting, swearing Nolanger to the woman and held the tent flap open for them to leave. “Don’t think I’m ungrateful for not thanking you for this promotion,” he said.
“I can’t imagine it’s what you wanted. Has Captain Nolanger always been so…risk-averse?”
Robinson shook his head. “Peacetime goes a long way toward making conflict seem more terrible. Not wanting to see death is laudable.”
“But not in the commander of the armed forces.”
“No.”
Willow couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Maybe she would never understand the military, but some things were obvious, and one of those was when you committed to protecting someone, you did it even at the cost of your own safety or even your life. The Huddersfield militia was sworn to protect Felix, and she was going to make sure they did it, whatever it took.
“I overheard what you said to Nolanger,” she said, and felt him stiffen. “You were brave to stand up to her.”
“You have to do what’s right, unless you want to be a stranger to yourself,” Robinson said.
“I guess that’s true.” She’d never thought of it that way. “Report to Soltighan, and tell him I’ll speak to both of you in the morning. We need a better strategy if we’re going to face more of those Ascendants.”
She strolled back through the camp, contemplating what she’d told Nolanger. It was true, she was no military leader, but it was her job now and she intended to do it. Maybe she didn’t understand everything about the military, but some things were common sense. And that, she had in big buckets, or she wouldn’t have survived this long. Protect Felix, find a new ruler for Tremontane: those were her goals, and if she kept her eye focused on them, they would guide her through the snags and pitfalls life delighted in throwing at her.
Chapter Seven
Willow had only ever seen a handful of cities in her life, but she thought Magrette might be small for a city. Certainly it was small for the capital of a barony. What made it look like a city were the roofs. All of them were shingled with the same blue slate instead of tiles or thatching, giving it a uniform, prosperous appearance. I wonder what it would be like to run across those roofs, Willow thought, then scolded herself. She was done midnighting, and she didn’t miss it. Much. Certainly not by comparison to what she had in Kerish and Felix.
Magrette lay in the folds of a valley, surrounded by gentle green hills dotted with sheep like tiny clouds snagged on the grass. Willow had never seen anything so placid outside the pages of a picture book. She steered the wagon down the slope and said, “It’s hard to imagine war coming here.”
“I know,” said Kerish. “Though it’s an illusion. They’re as vulnerable to attack as anyone. More so, given their lack of a defensive wall and their position at the bottom of this valley.”
“Let’s hope Silverfield is willing to give its allegiance to Felix and there won’t be a fight.”
“What do you think the odds of that are?”
“Lord Heath is the Baron of Silverfield’s friend. He might be able to persuade him.”
Kerish put his arm around her. “But you’re not confident.”
“These provincial lords take a huge risk when they side with us. As far as they know, they’re signing up for a brigade of Ascendants to pour into their lands and tear them into tiny, burned pieces. I almost can’t blame them if they want to take the safe route. Not that it’s all that safe.”
“If Terence isn’t reining in the Ascendants’ excesses, that might be their fate anyway.”
“Exactly.” Willow tugged the brim of her hat closer over her eyes. “That looks like a messenger. Huh. I haven’t sent a rider to Lord Frazier yet.”
“We’re not exactly inconspicuous. And that fight near the border drew all sorts of attention.”
“Even so.”
“Should I go back for Felix?”
“Let him stay with Gianesh for now. We don’t need his presence until we’re face to face with Lord Frazier.”
A lone rider detached himself from the column and trotted toward the message rider. Willow handed the reins to Kerish and sat forward, watching intently. There was some milling about when the two met, then both returned to the head of the column. “I should join them,” Willow said, but at that moment the message rider, accompanied by Soltighan, headed in her direction.
“Lady North,” Soltighan said when they were close enough for conversation, “this rider bears a message for you.”
“From who?” Willow said as Kerish brought the wagon to a stop.
“My Lord Donald Frazier, Baron of Silverfield,” said the message rider, a tall, loose-limbed man with a large mouth and drooping eyebrows. “He awaits your reply.”
“Well, he can await me a while longer.” Willow looked behind her. “Where’s Lord Heath? I want his opinion.” She cracked the seal on the letter the rider handed her and withdrew a single sheet of paper. Seeing “Lady Willow North” written across the top still felt odd, like looking at her reflection and seeing it wave at her. Lady Willow North, and then Donald Frazier’s name and titles, and below that—this had to have been written by the Baron himself, because there was no way he’d employ a scribe with such terrible handwriting.
I must deny your request and reaffirm my allegiance to the true King of Tremontane, Terence Valant. Your ridiculous ploy to gain the Crown for your impostor child is doomed to failure. I will not allow my Barony to become tangled up in this affair. If you choose to attack us, be warned that we have resources and allies greatly surpassing yours, and your defeat at our hands is assured. Your only hope is to turn the impostor over to me, and pray the King will be generous with your fate.
“Huh,” Willow said.
“What?” asked Kerish.
“Just…something’s off about this message. It’s disjointed.” She flicked a glance at the messenger, who was looking off into the distance, his face under his drooping eyebrows impassive.
“May I?” Kerish said, holding out his hand. She gave him the letter and watched the messenger for clues. Nothing. The man might as well have been a statue. That was it. He was too calm.
“Lady North,” said Lord Heath from behind her. “You have news?”
“Kerish, let him read it when you finish.”
Kerish handed the letter over. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
“It’s just a feeling. It’s probably wrong.” Had she seen the messenger twitch just then?
“No, something’s not right,” Lord Heath said. He flicked the paper with his fingernail. “Letitia didn’t s
ign this.”
“Letitia?”
“Lady Frazier. She and Donald are co-rulers…every official ruling, every communication that comes out of Silverfield has both their names on it. And Donald is never this formal-sounding. I’d bet ten guilders someone else dictated this to him.”
“But who?” It came to Willow as the words left her lips. “An Ascendant.”
“Someone’s pulling his strings,” Lord Heath said.
Willow eyed the messenger. “What do you know about this?”
“Nothing, my lady,” the man said. He didn’t look at her; his eyes roved the procession.
“Nothing? You weren’t given instructions?”
“Just to deliver the message, my lady.” His horse took a few restless steps, and he calmed it with one hand on the reins and the other…why did the word “free” come to mind when she contemplated his hand?
“Willow! Are we stopping here?” Felix shouted. The messenger’s head came up like a dog on a scent. Willow yanked her wand free and pointed it at the man as he raised his hand in an all-too-familiar gesture.
“Ascendant!” she shouted. Fire blossomed around the Ascendant’s hands, then shot away in a blazing arc toward Felix. Felix screamed and dove for the bottom of Gianesh’s wagon as Gianesh threw himself over the boy. Too late, the silver disc on Willow’s wand turned bright gold. The Ascendant gasped as his source drained away. Then Kerish tackled him. The two sprawled on the ground, wrestling for the upper hand, while Willow aimed her wand again and again until she got only a weak golden glow. “He’s dry,” she said. “Felix!”
“He is well,” Gianesh said, rising from the wagon’s bed rather stiffly.
“But you’re not!”
“It is a slight burn, nothing of consequence. You have captured your man?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Kerish said, pinning the man to the ground. “Somebody help me tie him.”
It took a few scrambling moments to find rope, but eventually the Ascendant was tied hand and foot, cursing the whole time. “You can shut up now,” Willow said. The Ascendant spat at her, forcing her to take a few steps back. “That was actually very clever, riding right into our midst like that. Whose idea was it? Not yours.”
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