by Alma Boykin
“No, m’lady, unless you count a runaway pony-trap as interesting. It stopped before it crashed,” the senior man told her.
That after noon she reported to the palace. Emperor Thomas, Karl Grantholm, Dominic Montoya, and Captain Martin waited for her in one of the military training rooms, one with a wall-sized map of the continent for them to use. “It’s official. The Bergenlands have sided with Frankonia. Archduke Gerald André is on his way home as we speak.” Thomas began without preamble. He was wearing his army uniform, as were Elizabeth and Ulli Martin. “Grantholm?”
Karl pawed through some pages in a ledger. “We’ve lost access to half our iron ore, over half the earth coal, ten percent of the copper and negligible amounts of gold and silver.” He looked over at another page, adding, “And some of our timber imports, but those we can easily make up from the Dividing Range. But it puts Frankonia at our throat.”
Elizabeth turned partly to the map, careful not to show her back to Emperor Thomas. She folded her arms and rubbed under her chin. “We’re good for artillery this season, your majesty, my lords, and the new powder is much better than what the Bergenlands are selling. The army is not in the metals market this time of year, Godown be thanked, so the price spike won’t hurt our preparations just yet. In fact, grain prices will stay low, if the Bergenlanders decide to buy elsewhere.”
“They are,” Count Montoya grumbled. He limped up beside her, also half-facing the emperor. He picked up a pointer with his mangled hand. “Poloki, or so rumor has it, and Frankonia of course. And from the Turkowi.”
Captain Martin coughed, his way of being discreet. “Yes?” She inquired.
“Your majesty, my lords, they are not buying from the Turkowi. They tried, but the cost of shipping was too great now that we control the entire Donau Novi.”
“And you know this how?” Montoya demanded.
Ulli Martin shifted a little. “We have someone talking to the spring traders as they come through. Not as an official government agent, but he has a gift for getting information of this kind, my lord.”
Montoya turned to Elizabeth. “And you trust this source?”
“With my life. I trained him and he’s been vouched for.” That proved sufficient and Montoya put down his pointer. “The Sea Republics are concerned, because of the Bergenland treaties. Col. Destefani reports that if Frankonia attacks the Republics, the Bergenlanders will not provide aid to either party. But if Frankonia attacks east, the Sea Republics may find themselves caught.”
Thomas walked up and clasped his hands behind his back, studying the map. “Do they have treaties with the Poloki?”
Montoya stepped back, his artificial foot thumping on the wooden floor. “The Bergenlanders, your majesty? No, not yet, as best we can tell. They seem to be disappointed about that, in fact, your majesty.”
Elizabeth snorted silently. No, they misread the Poloki. The Poloki nobles like having the vote, but they do not want their commoners getting ideas about elections. And I heartily concur.
Thomas stepped back and turned to Elizabeth. “Duchess Sarmas, it is early, but I want you to.” He stopped, frown lines appearing between his eyes. He rephrased the request into a proper command. “You will begin mustering the army to fight the Frankonians near or, Godown forbid, in the Bergenlands.”
“Very good, your majesty. Under what conditions would we move into the Bergenlands?”
Thomas looked to the much larger Grantholm. “Karl?”
“If the Frankonian army advances past the Whaar River, your majesty. At that point they are half-way through the Bergenlands and can threaten us, the Poloki, the free cities, and anyone else.”
“Sarmas, use the Donau Novi,” Thomas ordered. “Don’t start anything, but I want you ready for whatever does happen.”
Elizabeth considered the long blue line of the river, tracing it with her eyes west and slightly north from Vindobona through the hills, then up, into the high peaks that gave the Bergenlands their name. “Pardon my question, your majesty, but you seem very certain that the Frankonians will do something.”
The slightly-built, dark man turned to her, then back to the map. “He has to. Laurence needs something to restore his pride. Between your defeating him last year, and the loss of the navy at Morrisport, he will have to attack. Annexing Louvat is not enough, not for him. If he moves north, then the Sea Republics will deal with him. If he moves east, we have to. He needs loot as well, or his armies do,” Thomas amended. “That leaves the Sea Republics or the Free Cities, Sarmas. Go to the Donau Novi, muster my army, and watch the banks of the Whaar.”
Elizabeth bowed. “As you command, your majesty.” And so the season begins, as it always does. I wonder if we’ll ever stop fighting someone? Probably not in my lifetime.
“You are dismissed, for now.” He turned away and Elizabeth bowed again, nodded to Grantholm and Montoya, and strode out of the room, Ulli Martin on her heels. They went to the main workroom, where Lts. Chow and Esposito were supposed to be. Luckily for them, the two junior officers were, indeed, sitting at their desks, reviewing supply lists and comparing them with the previous year’s inventory records.
“At ease,” she ordered, before they realized she was there. “We’re going west, north of the Triangles. Along the Donau Novi. Start organizing things. Peilov, Donatello Bend, Albinez, Eulenberg and Jones are the first line. Grantholm and Bierski are second and Grantholm already knows. Starland will cover the south, as usual. We’re not hiring out, not for the moment at least. Ulli, let Maj. Lucien know that we don’t need the siege guns with the first line this time and don’t let him convince you otherwise. This season we can’t float them down the Donau Novi to meet us, and remind him of that. Often,” she grinned as Ulli gave her a tired look, “and loudly if necessary.”
Ulli shrugged. “Artillery. Bigger is not always better, yes, my lady.”
“At least he can’t sneak them along with us,” she pointed out.
“There is that, my lady.”
She looked through a pile of correspondence and reports to see if anything new had arrived. One personal message, from Lazlo, sat on top of the pile and she noted with approval that the seal remained intact. She tucked the letter into her inside jacket pocket, signed the initial orders to notify those nobles and colonels who needed to begin mustering, and strolled out to where her guards and Stubbs the mule waited. She sensed a new energy from the soldiers and civilian clerks as she passed. The uncertainty had gone away, at least for the moment. They had a goal and orders, and even though it would be weeks before the formal muster, the men and women set to work with a will. Or at least, they did as she passed by.
That evening she read Lazlo’s letter. “My dearest beloved,” it began, “I am well. I agree with you and Lady Ann’s thoughts on the mule situation. We’ve found a market that pays. There’s no reason to damage our reputation for the sake of a few thalers in the short term. Even here, Donatello mules are considered superior and fetch very high prices, the few that travel this far.”
His next words stopped her heart. “I will be joining the Republic army if it marches this spring, as an observer. Marischal van Looie is certain that the Frankonians will attack, and he is determined to stop them before they get past the falls of the Schell (what we call Shelly). Before you protest, my love, I assure you that I will set a new speed record for retreating should anything less-than-good happen. It seems, well, I’m not in a position to add more, but this spring may prove to be somewhat different from what Laurence V anticipates.
“The fashion for powdered hair has spread to the men, alas. I refuse. What is tolerable on gray uniforms is not attractive on dark blue. Yellow coats are popular among the ladies.” Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to imagine what she would look like in bright yellow. Horrible is what I would look like, even if I had not sworn never to wear Selkow’s color. Ugh. She continued reading.
“The weather is gray. Even more gray than Vindobona, if you can imagine such a
thing. The rivers have started rising and everyone is dreading the flooding this year. The reports are that the snowpack in the Triangle Range exceeded that of the past twenty years, on the northern slope at least. The fishermen are complaining about the damage it will do to the oiling catch later this spring. Axel, Godown rest his soul, would have fit perfectly with the master fishermen here. The waters are too high or too low, too warm or too cold. The catch is small and everyone will starve or go bankrupt. The catch is too large and prices are low and everyone will starve and you know the rest.” She had to smile, because that’s exactly what Axel would have said, had he been a fisherman instead of farm manager.
“Beloved, heart of my heart, love of my life, if there is any way you and Lady Ann could send a shahma ham or sausage to me, I will swear you my eternal gratitude. I am now familiar with more ways to cook pig and fish than I had ever dreamed of being. My stomach yearns for shahma as a saint longs for Godown’s glory.” Elizabeth laughed until tears flowed down her face and her stomach ached. Lazlo, you hated shahma almost as much as Archduke Lewis did! And now you are begging for some? Oh, how the haughty have been humbled. Although, she admitted, if I had nothing but fish to eat for half a year, I’d probably be willing to eat pig and lagom without blinking. Maybe.
“Be careful and keep out of the wet, my love. Your most affectionate husband, LKD.” Elizabeth reread the letter, then ran her fingers between the lines of text. No secret messages this time, but if he had nothing he could tell her, there was no need of any.
“Well, beloved,” she told him, “I will see what Lady Ann has to say about shipping shahma, and will confirm our plans for the mule sales.” She puffed out the candle and looked up at the darkness, folding the letter by touch and putting it away with the others. She’d burn them before she left for Donatello Bend and the war. Don’t go with the army, my love, I beg you. That’s not your job. You’re an ambassador, not a mercenary captain. Please, Lazlo, I need you safe. Holy Godown, keep him safe, please, please, please.
“Elizabeth, you have to be joking,” Archduchess Ann Starland-Babenburg laughed. They’d stolen an afternoon and were riding out to look at the Donatello Bend shahma herd before it went up into the hills for the summer. “Please tell me you are joking.”
“No, my lady, I’m completely serious. Colonel I-won’t-eat-that is begging for shahma ham or sausage. I’m tempted to send him a parcel of the dried meat just to see if the winds will carry his wails this far.”
They passed a farmhouse and Ann waved to some children, who waved back before taking up their game again. She pointed at Elizabeth with her riding stick. “Even better, send him that powdered shahma for the camp bread mix. It will truly make him long for home.”
“That or he’ll use it to make bricks with and hurl them at my head. Ann, as much as I love him, I know better than to make him that desperate.” Stubby lunged to the side of the track, intent on sampling the yellow-rod growing through the fence. “Quit! You are such a mule, I swear.” Elizabeth hauled him away from the tempting blossoms. “You are not living up to the reputation of Donatello mules. You should be ashamed.” He shook his head, scattering slobber across the countryside and Ann’s riding habit.
“Ugh! Mule,” Ann threatened, “If you don’t behave, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll have you gelded. Again.”
Stubby snorted but subsided, at least for the moment. Elizabeth turned her attention to the stock in the pastures. “So, what do you think about the Sudland stud?”
“I think Kossuth was right. He’s too nice. I’m very, very curious to see what his get look like. He’s taking to the jenneys quite well, for all that he’s been on mares until now.”
“Oh good. I’d worried about that.”
Ann gave Elizabeth a long sideways look. “Just what do you think Col. Destefani might be willing to do for two shahma hams and the rest of the barrel full of sausage?”
“Probably everything in the paintings in the second bedchamber, or so I’d guess,” Elizabeth blurted, then turned scarlet as Ann stared, then began laughing.
“Wah, ha, ha, hee, hee,” she gasped. “Wheeeee, oh my, I never thought I’d hear that from you.” Ann picked up the hem of her skirt and wiped her eyes. “The look on your face… You know, to the day he died Lewis thought that Lazlo followed St. Jenna.”
They’d reached the shahma pastures and dismounted, tying their mounts to the fence. “Yes, yes, that’s why you have a grazing bit, Stubby,” Elizabeth sighed, making certain that the mule couldn’t reach anything noxious or poisonous. “Devour the flowers, go right ahead.” Then she looked up and gasped, “Oh!”
The sight in the pasture took her aback. She’d expected to see a hundred or so of the barrel-bodied, long-necked shahma. Instead, creamy white and light brown shapes filled the pasture as far as she could see. A few lambs nursed or napped on the well-nibbled grass. “Good gracious, how many do we have?”
“Over four hundred in this batch, yer grace,” a herdsman told her, beaming with pride. “Three batches already in the hills, and four to go up yet, once the river drops, yer grace.”
Ann nodded, leaning on the fence. “Almost eight thousand animals, Elizabeth. We’ve reached the limit of the pastures, so some are summering on Peilovna, others are up on the hills not far from Eulenberg’s hunting land.” The white-haired woman straightened up as the herder gestured his agreement. “I want to split the flock, or to set up a large kitchen so we can slaughter at least a quarter of the animals every year and sell the meat, before they eat us out of the estate and we have shahma living in the manor house.”
Elizabeth threw up her hands. “Do what you think is best, whatever his majesty will allow. I know mules, not the shahma meat market.” They watched the animals for a while longer, then turned to ride back to Donatello manor.
“When are you leaving?” Ann asked at last.
Elizabeth watched the track ahead of them, alert for birds. Stubby spooked at birds. “Three days. Everything’s ready, the men have gathered and the Peilov muster is complete.”
“This is it, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
Ann shifted in her saddle before answering. “This is Laurence’s death throw. He has to win, and he can do it by using the Bergenlands as his base. From there he’s got the Donau Novi, and he can strike at Vindobona and end the wars.”
If I were a man I’d laugh at your fears and reassure you. But you deserve far better than a pretty lie, my lady. Elizabeth weighed her words. “I don’t know, my lady, but I sense that it might be. We’re already dancing to his tune. We have been since Rudolph died, no slight to Emperor Thomas.”
“Will Laurie the Loathsome take the field?”
That was far easier to answer. “No. No, he needs to stay glorious and majestic, which he won’t be after spending a season with his army, no matter how large his baggage train. That’s the Empire’s advantage, Ann. The Emperor is distant but wise, the power lurking just out of sight, like, forgive me, Godown. The Emperor is neutral, and the free cities as well as nobility can turn to him as a mediator and protector. The Emperor has mortals to fight for him, replaceable men. Laurence does not. He can’t risk his reputation by leading the army in person.” She thought for a moment, adding, “And if his figs are as bad as rumor has it, he’d have to lead from a padded carriage anyway. That or march. I’d pay money to see that.”
“Elizabeth von Sarmas, that has to be the most disrespectful, hilarious mental picture I’ve had in years,” Ann scolded. “How dare you think such things about Laurence V, Godown’s anointed king of Frankonia, protector of Louvat, guardian of Martinstaadt, eh, what am I missing?”
“Owner of the biggest sausage in the kingdom,” Elizabeth snapped. “Or so the rumors he had planted proclaim. My mother said that his early mistresses had a rather less flattering opinion of his attributes.”
The hill with Donatello manor house appeared in view, around a bend in the track. Ann and Elizabeth rode in silence for half a kilome
ter, until Ann stopped her horse. “You’re wound up tighter than a ball of worsted wool, Elizabeth. What is wrong?”
Tell her. She has to know anyway, in case… A lump grew in Elizabeth’s throat, and she swallowed hard. “Lazlo’s riding to the guns. With the Marischal of the Sea Republics. Damn it, I know he’ll be fine, he promises he’ll be fine, but he’s all that I have now, Ann.”
Her friend’s quiet, bitter response almost knocked her off Stubby’s back. “Now you know how we’ve felt all these years, Elizabeth. Lewis, Lazlo, me, Quill, watching you disappear down the road every spring. And you’re an officer, the commander. Imagine how the women here feel when their men march off.” Ann tipped her head back to stare at the pale blue sky. “Sweet Godown, but I hate spring and I hate these bloody wars. Do you know, if it hadn’t been for the siege, I’d still have a husband.”
“Ann, that was over twenty years ago.”
“I know very well how long it has been, believe me,” Ann snarled, glaring. “Lewis saved his brother’s ass and empire both and got nothing but contempt in return. Lewis came down with that damn summer fever during the siege, and it killed him slowly, fifteen years it took but it killed him, weakening his heart until the winter cough finished the job.” She looked back up into the sky, adding in a conversational, quiet tone, “I envy you, Elizabeth. You are too damn busy to worry, too high up to suffer like the rest of us left here to make sure you have the dried meat and flour, the mules and men you need to keep your glory intact. I could hate you very easily, you know.”
Elizabeth stared at Stubby’s ears. What do I say? There’s nothing I can say, not without causing more pain. She pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking at her friend, Believe me, Ann, I know very well what the men go through. You don’t see the medical tents. You don’t see the bloated bodies, swelling in summer’s heat. You don’t hear screams in your sleep, you don’t sick yourself after every battle. Why do you think I loathe Laurence of Frankonia so much, for forcing us to fight him? The better I am, the fewer men we lose, and the less likely others are to attack us, damn it. At last Ann clucked her mare into motion and Elizabeth followed, still silent. She had no answer, because there was none.