The Price of Valor

by Django Wexler

  There was a knock at the tent pole, and Winter straightened up, heart rising for a moment. “Come in.”

  The flap rustled, and Winter was disappointed, though not really surprised, to see Abby Giforte, Jane’s second in command. She wore the rough trousers and linen shirt that had become the makeshift uniform of the volunteers, along with a jacket hastily dyed Vordanai blue. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a frizzy knot, and her pale, freckled cheeks were red and cracking from a day in the sun.

  “Sir!” Abby said, saluting. Winter waved for her to sit.

  “Where’s Jane?”

  “She asked me to say that she’s busy,” Abby said, “and that I should speak to you in her place.” She had the decency to blush.

  Winter sighed. “She’s going to have to come out sooner or later.”

  “She will,” Abby said. “She’s just . . . you know how she is. What her temper can be like.”

  “I remember,” Winter said. “I just wish I knew what she was so angry about. It can’t just be the mixed camp. That hasn’t worked out so badly.”

  Abby opened her mouth, as though to speak, but then thought better of it. Winter cocked her head.

  “What is it?”

  “I . . .” Abby frowned. “I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to talk about this.”

  Winter studied her face, and felt a faint pang of jealousy. Abby had been with Jane through most of her Leatherback days, helping her forge a gang of scared young girls into a force that could protect itself and fight the tax farmers Orlanko had unleashed on the Docks. Somewhere during that time, Abby and Jane had become lovers. Jane had broken the relationship off when Winter returned, except for a single drunken mistake, and Winter didn’t think Abby would be willing to pick it up again. Still, for all that Winter and Jane had been together as children, in a real way Abby knew this new, adult Jane better than Winter did.

  “You can talk about whatever you like,” Winter said carefully. “I won’t hold it against you.”

  “It’s not that, it’s that I don’t know. Not really. I just . . .” Abby sighed. “I think Jane is feeling . . . lost. Envious, maybe.”

  “Envious?” Winter snorted. “Of who, me?”

  Abby nodded.

  “Why, because Janus promoted me?” Winter shook her head. “If she wants the colonel’s job, tell her she can have it. It’s just a load of worry and—”

  “It’s not that. You fit here. In the army. It looks . . . natural on you.” Abby touched the shoulders of her jacket, where a crude stripe had been sewn to mark her rank. “The rest of us sometimes feel like we’re playing pretend, but not you.”

  “You don’t play pretend with live powder,” Winter said. “How can you feel like it isn’t real when people are getting hurt?”

  “It’s not the fighting,” Abby said. “We’re used to that, or at least the old Leatherbacks are. We fought the gangs, the tax farmers, whoever needed fighting. People got hurt. We know what that’s like. It’s all this that feels like playing dress-up.” She waved a hand vaguely. “The tents, the uniforms, the saluting. Taking orders. Sometimes I expect somebody to come along and tell us to stop being silly.”

  “Nobody is going to do anything like that. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Winter said. “I’d put the Girls’ Own against any other battalion in the army, royal or volunteer.”

  “I know,” Abby said, raising her hands soothingly. “I’m just . . . trying to explain. I think Jane feels out of place, and then she looks at you and you make it seem so effortless. You just know what to do, how to behave.”

  Winter wanted to laugh. Effortless? She spent her days on a knife edge of exhaustion, worn ragged by the worry that something new would go wrong. How do I tell her that I’m making it up as I go along?

  “I think, also, she’s a little jealous,” Abby said. “She sees you pulling away from her, into this world of flags and drums and cannon, and she doesn’t think she can follow.”

  “You think she’s jealous of the army?” Winter said.

  Abby nodded. Winter searched her face for a hint of malice, and found none. It would be understandable for Abby to be angry with her. I would be, in her place. But all Winter could see in her expression was a deep concern when she spoke of Jane.

  Is that what love is supposed to look like? Wanting the best for another person, regardless of what it means for yourself? Winter closed her eyes and shook her head. Now is not the time, damn it.

  “Okay. Thank you,” Winter said. “But enough about Jane. She’ll come around eventually. What about the rest of the Girls’ Own? How are they taking it?”

  “Better than I might have expected,” Abby said, looking relieved at the change of topic. “They wouldn’t say so if you asked them, but I think a lot of the rankers are happy to have some proper soldiers around, to show them how things are done. Especially the new girls, the ones who joined up after Midvale.”

  Approximately half of the Girls’ Own was made up of women from Jane’s old building, or their friends and family from the Docks. The other half had been recruited afterward, from a steady trickle of female volunteers who’d heard the new government’s call for soldiers and followed the Leatherbacks’ example.

  “It’s the old Leatherbacks who do most of the complaining,” Abby went on. “The ones who’ve been with Jane from the beginning. They don’t like working with the Royals.”

  “Anyone in particular?” Winter asked.

  Abby shifted uncomfortably, but after a moment she said, “Becca and Winn. Becca thinks all men are rapists and murderers, and that we’d be better off without them. Winn just worships the ground Jane walks on.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do to bring them around.” Winter sighed. “The fact is that we’ve got to work with the Royals, unless Janus changes his mind. We’d better get used it.”

  “I know,” Abby said. “Like I said, the Leatherbacks aren’t used to taking orders and not asking questions.”

  “Any discipline problems on your side?”

  “Not as such.” Abby paused again. “There’s a little bit of . . . fraternization.”

  “That’s more or less the idea—”

  “I mean fucking,” Abby interrupted. “It happens when you get a lot of men and women together. Not that it doesn’t happen when it’s only men, but—”

  “I get the point,” Winter said hastily. “But the rankers sleep four to a tent. How do they—”

  “They find ways,” Abby said. “Do you really want details?”

  “I suppose not. But I don’t want anyone sneaking out beyond the sentries. We’re in enemy territory, even if they haven’t been so unfriendly thus far.”

  “I’ll pass the word.”

  Now it was Winter’s turn to hesitate. “When the Leatherbacks were in Vordan, there seemed to be a fair amount of . . . that sort of thing. I assume the girls take appropriate measures to avert . . . potential consequences?”

  Abby nodded. “We educate them quite thoroughly on that subject.”

  “Make sure it gets passed along to all the new recruits, too. And please tell the officers to keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they might be getting pushed into something they’re not happy about. I want to hear about anything like that, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Abby said. “We’re used to looking out for one another.”

  “I know.” Winter glanced at the tent flap, gauging the time by the lengthening shadows. “All right. I’d better get to dinner.”

  “Of course, sir.” Abby stood up.

  “Tell Jane . . .” Winter stopped, and stared at Abby for a moment, then shook her head. “Tell her I’m waiting for her.”

  “I will, sir,” Abby said, lifting the tent flap. “But I think she knows.”

  * * *

  When Winter had first been made a serg
eant, in what now seemed like another lifetime altogether, she’d spent her first few days in her tent, hiding from the men newly placed under her command. It had been Bobby who eventually coaxed her out, encouraging her to have dinner with the men and get to know them. It had worked on Winter then, so she had decided to try it again, on a larger scale.

  As in Khandar, enterprising locals had taken to following the army around in carts, hoping to sell their wares to the foreign soldiers. The sentries were ruthless about keeping them off the roads during the day, but in the evenings they could be found at the edges of the camp, laundering fresh clothes and hawking food, wine, and other luxuries. Cyte had managed to pry a little bit of hard coin out of the quartermasters—a bit of Winter’s back pay, actually, that she didn’t ever expect to be able to spend—and Winter had used it to bring in a better class of dinner than the rations the soldiers normally received. Every night, she brought in two companies, one from the Royals and one from the Girls’ Own, in strict rotations, and they ate together around a roaring fire in the center of camp.

  Tonight dinner was a whole roast chicken for every two men or women, purchased live from a local farmer for what was probably ten times the going rate, plus baskets of late berries sold by a pair of ambitious ten-year-olds. Winter’s guests were Lieutenant sur Gothin and his company from the Royals, and a company of new recruits from the Girls’ Own led by Lieutenant Virginia Malloy. Captain Sevran was also in attendance, with Lieutenant Novus from his staff.

  Winter had expected trouble from sur Gothin’s people, given their performance in that first abortive drill, but so far she’d been pleasantly surprised. The soldiers were apparently willing to overlook their prejudices, at least when food was involved. They milled around in eager groups, waiting for the chickens to finish roasting, mixing with the women from the Girls’ Own. Unlike the Leatherbacks, who shared a common origin either at Mrs. Wilmore’s or from the Docks, the newer recruits were a mixed bag, drawn from almost every walk of life. Some of them had distinctly upper-class accents and bearings, like Cyte, while others spoke with the broad dialect of Newtown or the twang of the country. Sur Gothin himself gamely made the rounds, introducing himself to the women and joking about the day’s handball matches.

  The other officers sat in a circle around a fire. Lieutenant Malloy was a small, dark-haired young woman with the soft accent of the Transpale and the fair skin of someone not used to working outdoors. She’d lost a bit of that during the march, but no one would be mistaking her for a sunbaked Leatherback any time soon. Her attitude, shared with Cyte and many of the other recruits, was a quiet determination to do her best and overcome any obstacles the world might throw in her way. Winter supposed that was the kind of woman who was attracted to the idea of joining up with the only female battalion in the army. She’d won her position by the good opinion of her peers—the Girls’ Own had held elections, early on, to fill out its slate of lieutenants and sergeants.

  Lieutenant Novus, on the other hand, was an entirely different sort of officer. His uniform, though dusty and sweat-stained from days on the road, was still obviously well tailored and embroidered with more gold thread than the regulations strictly called for, and the sword that hung at his belt had a chased silver scabbard and gold filigree around the hilt. The stripe on his shoulder was plain white, not silver, a distinction Winter had learned to appreciate: only an officer who was a graduate of the War College, like Marcus d’Ivoire, was entitled to wear the silver. Novus had purchased his commission, or more likely inherited it as part of the family fortune.

  The similarity to her first lieutenant, d’Vries, was striking, as though there were a printing press somewhere in Vordan City that stamped out these handsome, preening sons of privilege. Winter was doing her best to keep an open mind, although given how d’Vries had ended up, this was not easy. But Novus had stayed with the army, when many noble or wealthy officers had fled, which had to say something about his character. He was currently not helping his cause, however, by maintaining a stiff formality and refusing to participate in the conversation.

  Winter tried again, as Bobby removed a trio of chickens from the fire and set to work carving. Their fire was in the middle of the feast, and she was very aware that her conversation would be the object of everyone’s attention, if not now, then later on when the soldiers whispered about it in their tents.

  They’d already exhausted the subjects of the weather, the march, and the pleasant smell of the chicken. Every time Winter tried to get a topic going, it ran into Lieutenant Novus like a tennis ball hitting the net, as he turned his grim stare on each of them in turn. Now, as Bobby served the chickens and even the lieutenant was briefly distracted by the prospect of food, she took a deep breath and tried again.

  “Lieutenant Malloy,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve heard the story of how you joined us. If you’re willing to share it, of course.”

  “Not much t’ tell, sir,” Malloy said, not meeting Winter’s eye. She had an awed expression, as though she were dining with a live saint, which made Winter distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m from Appes, on the Fal. Family’s in wool. Papa sent me an’ two of my older brothers to Vordan City, t’ finish up a contract with a new buyer. When the king died, we heard the roads weren’t safe, so we stayed put until it all blew over. My brothers were more worried about what this would do t’ prices than about watching out for me, so I was out on the th’ streets when the Vendre fell. I watched th’ Colonials march out to fight Orlanko, and I saw you leading the Girls’ Own in the parade afterward.”

  Her eyes got a strange shine, a glow that seemed entirely independent of the firelight. She wasn’t looking at Winter, but past her, into the night sky. Novus, who’d been delicately nibbling his chicken, stopped to fix Malloy with a glare, but she didn’t notice.

  “I went back t’ my brothers an’ told ’em I was joining the army,” she went on. “They called me crazy and laughed at me. Then they said Papa would disown me, and Benji told me to stop being silly an’ tried to grab me, so I popped him one on the nose. Got blood all over his new shirt. Then they shouted at me, said I’d end up as a whore an’ it’d be no business of theirs if I did, an’ I said it was no business of theirs anyway. An’ probably some other things I shouldn’t have. Then I grabbed my stuff and left.”

  Winter was trying to think of what to say to that when Novus saved her the trouble, tossing his plate with its barely touched chicken into the fire. He got to his feet, a thunderous scowl on his face, and turned his back on the company without a word. As he stalked away, Winter got up to follow, gesturing at Bobby to keep the conversation alive. Bobby stuttered a bit, foiled by the sudden silence, but Captain Sevran came to the rescue with a question about the morning’s handball match, and everyone piled back into the talk with relief.

  Winter found Novus standing by a vacant tent on the edge of camp, staring out toward the line of lights that were the torchbearing sentries. On either side, tents stretched away, neat lines fading into the darkness. The camp was alive with conversation, the crackle of fires, and the soft sounds of horses and oxen settling down for the night. Winter hesitated, not sure what to say, and was considering leaving the man alone when he rounded on her.

  “How do you do it?” he said.

  “Excuse me?” Winter said, a bit startled.

  “Sit there and listen to that . . . that absurdity.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Winter said. “You have some problem with Lieutenant Malloy’s story?”

  “I find the sight of Lieutenant Malloy offensive, sir,” Novus spit. “It’s fucking unnatural and makes me want to vomit. It’s like someone put a wedding dress on a sow, or gloves on a horse. It’s absurd. Except you’re sending her into battle, so it’s like taking that horse and trying to make him box, or marrying the sow, taking her home, and fucking her. This so-called ‘battalion’ is a sick joke.”

  Now that he was going, th
e floodgates were well and truly open. Winter’s hackles rose, but she tried to keep the anger from her face.

  “You heard her story,” Novus said. “Every one of your ‘Girls’ Own’ has a story like that. Some father or brother or uncle that they’ve turned on, in defiance of the laws of God and man, to run off and play at soldiers. And I have to stand here and watch as my battalion, which I chose to stand with when the war came, is perverted by this . . . this ridiculous farce. If I had my way, I’d tell the lot of them they could go home, if their families will still take them, or stay here and be whores. At least then they’d be good for something.” He sneered. “They seem well on their way to that already.”

  He ran out of breath, and stood there for a moment, panting.

  “Is that all?” Winter said, keeping her voice mild with an effort.

  “You’re the one I don’t understand, sir,” Novus said. “These volunteers don’t know anything about war. But you’re a man, and you were a real soldier, in Khandar. How can you lead these girls out there knowing what’ll happen to them? They’ll be overrun the first time they meet the enemy, and those of them that don’t eat cold steel will spend the rest of the war sucking Hamveltai cock at knifepoint.” He eyed her dubiously. “Are you just too afraid of the general to speak up, is that it? If you had any balls at all, you’d resign rather than lead this freak show.”

  Winter wanted to laughed and cry all at once. She swallowed hard. “Very well. Your point is taken, Lieutenant. And what do you suggest I do with you now?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what you’re going to do,” Novus said. “Nothing. Because you know as well as I do that I’m right, and every man in the Royals agrees with me. Captain Sevran’s a coward, but if you lay a finger on me, the whole damned battalion will be on my side. We’ll see what your girls are worth then.”

  For just a moment, Winter was back in Khandar, with Sergeant Davis looming over her with his great scarred fists raised. Her breath caught, but when she blinked, the image was gone. Novus was no Davis, had none of the sergeant’s strength or brutality. Looking at him now, she could see he was scared, talking big because he knew he’d backed himself into a corner.