Rule

by Rowenna Miller

  “No,” I whispered. “No, no.” I pushed more of myself into the casting, thicker gold, brighter light, but it was no use. At least, no discernable use—perhaps, I thought as my stomach clenched, it was helping the Third and then the First fall back in orderly, careful formation.

  Then the horse troops wheeled and cut into the flank of the Third. It was close enough that I could see Theodor’s shock and Sianh’s rapid change in commands. I could see blood on saber edges, and carved limbs and red seeping into uniform coats. Even as the Third reassembled to refuse the oncoming onslaught from the mounted troops, the artillery thundered again and twenty men in the ranks of the First fell.

  There was too much. I couldn’t guess where to turn next. The drummers changed their cadence, and the flags on the field shifted suddenly. The Third split its ranks and the First poured through their lines, dragging wounded and pushing toward the rear.

  Retreat.

  I exhaled hard through my nose and turned my attention to the rear, to the baggage. It was still blocking part of the way, but all I could do was send broad waves of golden light to settle on the wagons as though blessing the backs of the great, hulking beasts as they trundled out of the way. The retreating troops pressed hard on them, the bottleneck an invitation for the Royalists.

  “We should retreat, as well.” Alba’s voice beside me was pale.

  “Just a moment.” I pulled all of my reserves and sent a cloud of pure white charm over the retreating troops. Calm. Order. Strength. If they panicked, we would lose more men, baggage, maybe everything. The retreat was inevitable. It had to be controlled.

  I saw Sianh shouting even though I couldn’t hear what he said, and the rear ranks of the retreating men turned and began firing in swift discipline. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. They were covering the retreat, in perfect military bearing. Gold and white layers of light clung to them, a cloud burrowed into their coats, bleeding into the air around them. The charm wouldn’t last, but their stoic stand didn’t have to last long, either.

  “Let’s go,” I said, mouth dry. Any longer and our route to escape might be cut off.

  Alba didn’t reply. I turned to grab her arm.

  She wasn’t beside me.

  Instead, Alba lay on the ground in a pile of gray wool and crimson blood. I dropped beside her with a choked scream, searching for the wound that had produced so much blood. She didn’t respond as I called her name, over and over, and patted her hand. I took a shaking breath, pushing back panic, and pressed my fingers against the veins lining her inner arm.

  Nothing.

  “No, no, this can’t be right.” I shoved her veil aside, letting her ashy blond hair spill over her neck. “You can’t be.” I looked for a pulse under the curve of her jaw, but I quickly stopped.

  A round wound marred her skull. Her white veil was soaked red; on the slope, the rivulets of blood had coursed down her body, but she had died instantly where she fell. I felt a low, instinctual cry of pain and fear rising in my throat and, more, saw the black curls of curse drawing close as I reached out in unintentional anguish.

  I pushed both the magic and the tears back. The Royalists pressed down both hills, convening on the road, but they might spot me at any moment. I couldn’t let that happen any more than I could let the Royalists capture our cannons or ammunition. I was an asset. I had covered the retreat of our army and baggage, and now I had to save myself, too.

  I had to reduce the calculations to rote metrics, because there was no other way I could leave Alba lying on the hillside by herself.

  I turned and ran toward the baggage train, rolling out of the bottleneck as our soldiers formed in ever-improving ranks to refuse the Royalists trying to follow us.

  “Sophie!” Theodor wheeled his horse as I reached the baggage wagons. “Are you all right?”

  Blood stained my hands and my skirt. I nodded as I broke into tears.

  45

  OUR RETURN TO ROCK’S FORD WAS, AS SIANH SAID, A MANUAL-perfect example of orderly retreat. The baggage pushed ahead with the main contingent of the army at as rapid a pace as they could, with companies of each regiment in turn falling back to cover our race back to Rock’s Ford.

  The Royalists did not press us. They had set their trap and sprung it perfectly, effecting a demoralizing loss of life. Half of the Fourth Regiment had been caught in a pincer between the Royalist dragoons and had been captured. We had left behind many wounded, and we could only hope that the general conventions of war, which we had thus far followed, of providing medical care and quarter for enemies was respected by the Royalists. The only consolation was that our equipment and artillery had not fallen into their hands.

  “It was Sophie,” Theodor said softly as Sianh copied figures into the cipher books Alba had used. “She covered us with charms as we were retreating off the field.”

  I shook my head, numb. “They were well-trained and they did their duty.”

  Sianh met my eyes. “I am quite sure that your influence made some difference to their composure and in the enemy’s aim. It is precisely what I would have ordered you to do,” he added, giving me a long, steadying look. I averted my eyes. It was because I stayed on that hillside to cast over the retreat that Alba was dead. Theodor and Sianh agreed that it was a chance round that strayed far from its mark on the dragoons who had been engaged below us.

  I didn’t care how it happened. My friend was gone.

  It didn’t matter how often I had cautioned myself to think of Alba as an ally, not a friend, the loss tore at me. I saw a little squirrel outside my bedroom window who looked like Kyshi, and I went to tell her before remembering she was gone. I found several Kvys books and hymnals in her trunk and a black hollow ache spread through me realizing that the little prayer book she always carried in her pocket was gone forever, buried like she was in a nameless grave in the Galatine midlands.

  “I’ll write to the Order of the Golden Sphere,” I said. “And send her things to them.”

  “Most of her things.” Sianh pulled a crisp white handkerchief edged in Kvys blackwork from his pocket. “If it is not disrespectful, I would like to keep something of hers.”

  I nodded, fresh tears springing to my eyes. In their strange, sparring way, they had cared for one another. “She made her mark here,” I said softly.

  “She certainly did.” Kristos ran a hand through uncombed hair. “I fired the quartermaster.”

  “What?” Theodor started.

  “He was doing a shit job. Alba was the only thing keeping him from overextending our grain and letting the fall vegetables rot. His records were a mess.” Kristos slammed a record book, whose thick pages were crisscrossed with corrections, closed.

  “That is fair,” Sianh answered through clenched teeth, “but with whom shall you replace him?”

  “I don’t know, the Second Artillery has a trained crow, maybe we could try that?” Kristos snapped. “It can count, so I’m guessing it would do a better job.”

  “There is enough to be decided, given the annihilation of our campaign strategy, without replacing personnel,” Sianh replied, carefully controlled but terse. He gripped Alba’s cipher book with white fingers.

  “Not now,” I said, weary. “Please.” I laid my hand over my eyes. What now? The thoughts swam fast and angry and colored by a thick band of black grief. We had failed in our campaign northward. We had lost many men. We were weakened. Winter was coming on quickly, and there was no way we could remount the Galitha City campaign now.

  “We have to make these decisions now,” Theodor said, not unkindly but firmly. “And someone had better write to Niko, if anything can even get through.”

  “He got a letter through to us,” Kristos said darkly, digging a folded missive out from the back of the ledger. “It came while you were gone. He—he rejects our charter and the council. He says none of this is legitimate until we include the Red Caps of Galitha City.”

  Theodor cursed. “He can demand legitimacy al
l he wants but we needed a damn government now! Damn Niko Otni. He’s a mangy runt of a cur who thinks he can fight the wolfhounds because he has a loud bark.”

  “We’ll sort it out once we take the city,” I said. “Even bringing the city’s Red Caps in, with their votes, they can’t undo what’s already been decided.”

  Sianh huffed. “That means taking the city. And we cannot do that without rebuilding our army first. That must take priority.”

  “That could take months if it happens at all,” Kristos said, his voice dull. “We can keep recruiting, but it’s going to be difficult to write good, motivational, optimistic broadsides on the heels of defeat like this. Where are we going to find enough men for this army?”

  Sianh heaved a sigh. “It is no matter. We would be unwise to undertake a campaign on the cusp of winter. We will overwinter here, and in Hazelwhite. It is likely the Royalists will do the same.”

  Kristos bit his lip. “What if they press us here?”

  “Our position is quite defensible and we have the numbers for defense.” Sianh let no emotion slip into his face or his voice.

  “But if we don’t? We can retreat south, and they could press us right to the cliffs of southern Galitha.” Kristos relinquished the cipher book to Sianh’s grip.

  “The real problem,” Theodor said, “is that they could keep bombarding the city. If they overwinter near the city, they could have it captured by spring, easily.”

  “If they breach the walls, they must still fight the combatants inside.” Sianh exhaled through his nose, controlled, careful. “That could take a very long time.” He didn’t add what I knew was also true—it could be a bloodbath for the citizens of Galitha City, as well.

  “They could very easily turn their focus toward us, and damn it, they could outmaneuver or capture or—”

  “Those were always possibilities,” Theodor said quietly.

  “And if that possibility comes knocking? What then? We all hang!” Kristos threw his chair back as he stood.

  “Then we’ll all hang together!” Theodor roared. “Yes, this is bad. It’s very bad. We played the best hand we had and we lost. But the game’s not over, not yet. And I promise you, we all hang together.”

  “We will discuss strategy,” Sianh continued, “for every possibility we might encounter. Perhaps we should begin with our defensive strengths and liabilities.”

  At that, I stood and swept from the room. I couldn’t think about our next steps, not now while I was buried in loss. I almost ran into Penny, who was carrying a load of linens from the laundry behind Westland Hall to the field hospital in its parlor. She almost dropped them as she gripped my hand.

  “Sophie, I am so sorry—I know you and Alba were…” Penny paused. “Close is probably the best word, isn’t it?”

  I hiccuped something between a laugh and a sob. “Yes, close whether we would have chosen to be or not. We went through a lot together.” Weeks of travel, months in foreign countries, a shared fondness for berry tarts and aversion to Fenian fish stew. How could I even begin to summarize our brief but profound time together? “I’ll miss her,” I said instead.

  “Are the fellows holed up in there deciding our fate?” Penny asked.

  “Yes, I—I fear we’re stuck here for the winter. We need to recruit to replace the men we lost, we need to rework our strategy, we can’t very well engage in a long campaign in winter.” I sighed. “I’m sure they’ll make wise plans for us.” I maintained the optimistic words of a leader, but my voice belied my exhaustion and disappointment.

  Penny bit her lip. “I—I’m sure you’re really busy. And I have no right to ask. But maybe—do you think you could help me sew some baby linens? I haven’t started and I only have a couple months now, before…” She smiled. “You know. Hamish said I could have some of these shirts, they’ve worn out at the tails and the collars.”

  Impulsively, I hugged her, dodging the growing bump under her apron. “Of course, Penny. You set me to work.”

  “Should we have a slate?” she asked with a laugh. “You could write up the orders, make assignments. Tabulate numbers of tiny little shifts and gowns and caps and clouts.”

  I returned her joke with a rueful smile. “I think we’re pretty far past that, now. I miss Alice and Emmi and everyone. I—” I stopped. Were they all right? Was winter already gnawing at the supplies Niko had hoarded in the city? What would happen if the city fell? I shook my head. “Let’s start sewing those baby linens, Penny. I’ll get my housewife; we’ll sit in the family parlor like a couple of proper ladies.”

  46

  IT WAS ONLY AFTER WE HAD PRODUCED A STACK OF TINY, CAREFULLY sewn shifts and petticoats of soft white linen and little gowns of red-and-gray wool that I comprehended that Penny’s way of diverting me from the pit of grief I was tiptoeing toward was work—hopeful, familiar, and absorbing work. Work that went on regardless of a war raging around us. Work that was pointed and necessary because life, whether we won or lost, whether Galitha progressed or fell back into oppression, would go on.

  “Are you planning on him being a mascot for the Republic of Galitha?” Kristos joked as he held up a baby gown of gray wool with red cuffs and facings at the hem.

  “Him?” Penny asked with a laugh. “No, she is going to be the Republic of Galitha’s first woman governor.” The new charter replaced kings and even a single elected leader with a trio of three governors, nominated and elected by the council.

  “Not so fast,” a familiar voice lilted from the hall. “I’m not so sure that some other enterprising lady might not beat her to it.”

  “Viola!” I cried. She laughed as I nearly plowed into her. “I thought you were holed up in Pellia, counting… something.”

  She laughed again, crisp and clear like the bright early winter sunshine outside. “I was moving funds from the relative safety of a Pellian countinghouse. I didn’t have to do most of the actual counting myself, though.”

  Gregory darted into the room. “I was passing and I swore I heard—I did.”

  Viola assessed Gregory. “Greg, well met. You look like a gnome wearing something he found on the laundry line.”

  “Thanks, Vi.” He made a face.

  “It’s just so… grown-up,” she hedged, but I knew what she meant—at sixteen, Gregory was short and slender, his frame still more boy than man, and even tailored, the charmed Reformist uniform he wore was awkwardly proportioned.

  “Greg, we’re expected in an officers’ meeting.” Kristos met my eyes. Sianh had spent the weeks after our resounding defeat running numbers, tabulating losses, seeing how we could make the campaign for Galitha City work. The news was not good. There was no way we could do anything but overwinter in Rock’s Ford and push—hard—for recruits. Kristos and Gregory, sobered by that disappointment, walked silently down the hall.

  “But you—how did you get here?” I asked Viola.

  “Boat. Then another boat. Then another—well, you get the idea.” She shrugged. “I should have persuaded Annette to send one of her fleet for me, but I understand she’s otherwise occupied.”

  “Bit of an understatement,” I said, then bit back my words as worry creased Viola’s face. “We need supplies, and she delivers them. She’s been invaluable,” I added, “and she’s exceptionally cautious and sensible about our little navy.”

  Viola nodded, but the wrinkles drawing a taut line between her eyes remained. “I arrived in Hazelwhite first—last I had heard, you all were still there. I understand I’m woefully behind on the news—well done taking Rock’s Ford.”

  “Not so fast—we had a rather large setback when it comes to taking Galitha City. I’m sure Theodor will tell you all about it.” I swallowed, hard. Then we’ll all hang together—his words to my brother echoed in my thoughts, frequently. “But you! Why did you come now?” I asked.

  “That,” she said with half a wry smile, “is a very interesting story. I’ve a traveling companion who prompted me to leave Pellia in the first place. She�
��s eager to talk to you.”

  “She? Who is this mystery guest?”

  “Oh, let me have my fun! I deserve it after however many days of seasickness, don’t I? On that, Annette and I will never agree—sea travel is wretched, no matter what the purpose. But my traveling companion rather wanted to surprise you.”

  I narrowed my eyes, not sure if Viola was teasing or in earnest, and decided it was all in jest for her. Still, the mystery envoy she had brought with her wanted to meet me with no preparation on my part. I had seen enough of the dance of diplomacy and negotiation at the Five-Year Summit that I knew surprise and lack of expectations could be, in the right hands, useful tactics.

  I had developed a keener sense for politics, schemes, and betrayal in a few short months, every installment in the war from Isildi to Rock’s Ford providing opportunity for instruction. Before I could decide if I would press her or not, Sianh strode into the parlor. The floorboards creaked beneath the heavy fall of his boots.

  “Lady Viola, do you wish to explain the presence of Dira Mbtai-Joro? Has she any reason to be here? Despite certain mutual interests drawing us together, or her help in Isildi—”

  “You ruined my surprise!” Viola cried with a half-joking pout drawing her roses-on-porcelain face into a frown.

  “Dira?” I asked. “Dira Mbtai-Joro?” I hadn’t thought about the Equatorial woman since Alba had penned and I had signed an unanswered letter asking for assistance. I hadn’t expected aid from the Equatorials—though they were strong allies of a united Galitha, and their formidable military would have stood by any foreign invasion, they had little interest in dabbling in our civil strife. At least, until now.

  “One and the same.”

  “I shall summon Theodor and Kristos, then, if—”

  “Not so fast,” Viola said. “Dira wished to speak with Sophie first.”