The Price of Valor

by Django Wexler

  When they were alone, he said, “I must say, Colonel, you look worn out.”

  Winter looked down at herself. She’d changed from her mud-spattered uniform into a fresh one, but there hadn’t yet been time to do much else. Her hair was getting shaggy, and her face had to show the effects of several nights of poor sleep and days of exertion and fear.

  “I am worn out, sir,” she said.

  “And how fares the Third?”

  “Worn out as well. We lost half our strength on the march. They’re still trickling in, and we’re hoping to recover the rest when our wagon train finally catches up.” She thought of Molly, sweating and pale. “Most of them, anyway.”

  “I must apologize for the exertion I asked of you. In spite of what Colonel Gordace would have you believe, I am not infallible, and Baron di Pfalen is a canny soldier, if somewhat lacking in imagination. He behaved more aggressively than I had expected, and my timetable had to adapt accordingly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your men and women did a fine job under extremely difficult circumstances. Please convey to them my thanks, and tell them the entire army is in their debt.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will.”

  “As for you, Ihernglass, I see that I was not wrong in considering you an extremely promising officer, regardless of your other qualities.” He cocked his head. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Why do you continue your . . . charade? Your current position would seem to be a good one for revealing the truth.”

  “A few people know, sir. Bobby, Jane, some of the Leatherbacks. For the rest . . . it just seems easier to keep things as they are.” Winter thought of Novus and his tirade. “It would be one thing if I had just joined up, but it’s been so long. People might be upset that they’d been fooled. And . . .”

  Janus raised an eyebrow. Winter hesitated.

  “It’s all right for the Girls’ Own,” she said. “They joined up because Vordan needs them, and when the war’s over they’ll go home. I . . . I haven’t got anywhere to go.” She tugged the collar of her uniform. “This is who I am now, for better or worse. This is my home. After the war, maybe it will be all right for a woman to keep this on, but . . . maybe not.”

  Winter found her throat getting thick. She’d never put it that way before, never even thought it so bluntly. This is my home.

  “I leave it to your discretion, of course,” Janus murmured, after a moment of silence. “What of Captain Verity?”

  Winter took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ve put Abby Giforte in command of the Girls’ Own, sir, and kept Jane on my staff. I’d appreciate your official endorsement of Abby’s promotion, incidentally, on the off chance that we ever get the chance to claim any of our pay.”

  “Certainly. Captain Giforte—the younger Captain Giforte, I suppose I should say—seemed a most capable young woman. But it was Captain Verity I was asking about. Have you encountered difficulties with her?”

  Winter hesitated, but something about Janus’ penetrating gaze made her think that trying to conceal anything from him was a lost cause. “A few, sir. But we’re working them out.”

  “If it would make things easier for you, I could order her back to Vordan. I’d make it clear it wasn’t at your request.”

  Winter’s breath caught. The thought of sending Jane away made her want to curl up and die on the spot, but her immediate protest froze in her throat. If it means no more days like yesterday . . . no more standing by and waiting to see if she stumbles out of the cloud of smoke, or if I’m going to find her sprawled and cold on some battlefield . . .

  “No, sir,” she said after a long moment. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “As you like,” Janus said. “Now, I received your report concerning the attack in Desland. You’re certain the three assassins were Penitent Damned?”

  Winter blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Uh . . . no, sir, not completely certain. But they wore the obsidian masks, and all three seemed to have . . . abilities that were more than ordinary. One bore a demon for certain—I nearly devoured it with the Infernivore. I understood that only the Penitent Damned carried demons.”

  “The truth is more complex, but only slightly. You haven’t seen them since?”

  “No, sir.” Winter frowned. “If they wanted to kill me, on the march would have been an ideal time. Our security fell by the wayside after the rains started.”

  “I can imagine,” Janus said. “So either they were no longer interested, or some other target had become a priority.” He grimaced. “I can only think of one that would qualify. If they knew you carried a demon, they must also know that we have the Thousand Names. I fear poor Augustin must have fallen into their clutches.”

  Winter had almost forgotten about the aged manservant. “We never found a trace of him.”

  “You wouldn’t have, if he was abducted by Penitent Damned.” Janus sighed. “He had served my family his whole life. This was a poor way to repay him. I hope he didn’t suffer unduly.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Well,” Janus said, “I’m glad you escaped, and I thank you for the information. I will do what I can. We still have work here—”

  “General Vhalnich?” a voice called, from farther down the slope. It took Winter a moment to recognize Fitz Warus. The young man had acquired an air of authority that matched his advancement in rank.

  “Yes, Colonel?”

  “A party’s just arrived from the capital. It’s—you’d better come and see, sir.”

  * * *

  The last time Winter saw de Ferre, he’d been slinking off with his tail between his legs, summarily sacked by Janus after his performance at the battle of Diarach. If he’d had a tail, it would have been bristling now. He rode a tall white stallion, and a dozen officers and as many guards, all mounted, rode in his train. The eagles marking his colonel’s rank were gone from his shoulders, replaced by silver stars amid a tangle of gold braid.

  A ranker stood nearby, waiting to take de Ferre’s horse, but he’d apparently refused to dismount until he saw Janus approaching. Now that he’d sighted the general, he swung grandly out of the saddle, gilded spurs jingling on the stony ground. His escort followed suit. They’d halted on the open ground south of the camp, where the uneven lines of tents petered out. While much of Janus’ army was off digging fortifications or standing guard against the possibility of a Hamveltai sortie, a good number of off-duty rankers had drifted over to see what was going on.

  “Colonel de Ferre,” Janus said, no hint of surprise on his face. Winter stood respectfully behind him, flanked by Fitz. “What brings you back to the Army of the East?”

  “General Vhalnich,” de Ferre said. He strove to keep his expression neutral, but didn’t have Janus’ control. There was the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and his tone was that of a man savoring every word. “Orders, of course. But I must correct you. It is General de Ferre now.”

  “So I see,” Janus said, looking over the officers and men de Ferre had brought.

  “In accordance with the orders of the Secretary of War”—de Ferre raised his voice—“as of this moment, I am assuming command of the Army of the East.”

  A mutter ran through the crowd of watching soldiers. Winter suppressed a start and tried to emulate Janus’ carefully bland expression.

  “May I examine these orders?” Janus said. “For form’s sake.”

  “Of course you may.” De Ferre stepped forward, pulling a sealed paper from his breast pocket, and handed it to Janus with the air of a fencer delivering a killing stroke. Janus examined the seal for a moment, then broke it with his thumb and read.

  “I see,” he said. “By the order of Secretary of War Johann Maurisk.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And I am further orde
red to place myself under your authority,” Janus said quietly.

  “You are.” De Ferre was openly grinning now, decorum forgotten.

  There was a long pause. Janus folded the document, carefully, and handed it back.

  “General,” he said finally. “I wonder if we might speak . . . more privately.”

  De Ferre’s eyes narrowed. “Surely you don’t intend to question the Minister’s orders?”

  “Of course not. But there are matters of . . . operational detail that you should be made aware of.”

  “Very well. Colonel Pahn will accompany me, if you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. Colonel Ihernglass, Colonel Warus, would you also join us?” Janus stepped aside and picked out an officer among the watching men. “Captain, would you make sure the rest of the general’s escort and their mounts are cared for?”

  The man saluted, and Janus led the way through the tents to his own. It was, Winter noticed when they went inside, even more spartan than she remembered, presumably because of the lack of the missing Augustin’s touch. A folding table, a camp bed, and an open trunk packed full of books were the whole of the furnishings. De Ferre’s lip turned up in a sneer; clearly he was used to more comfortable surroundings.

  “I think,” Janus said when they were all inside, “that you—”

  “Sir,” de Ferre growled.

  Janus paused.

  “The Minister has placed me in command of all soldiers of the Army of the East, including you. You will therefore address me as sir.”

  Winter sucked in a breath, and waited for the explosion.

  “As you wish, sir,” Janus said mildly.

  “Very good.” De Ferre waved a hand magisterially. “Continue.”

  “Matters have progressed a bit further than the Minister was aware when he gave you your orders. We have fought and won a great battle here—”

  “And you think that will reverse his decision?” de Ferre snarled. “Not this time, Vhalnich. Your luck has finally run out.”

  “I think nothing of the kind, sir,” Janus said. “But it means our strategic situation is changed. The army is currently laying siege to the fortress of Antova.”

  “I’m not blind, thank you.”

  “While Marshal Jindenau’s army approaches from the north,” Janus went on, “I am curious, sir, if you have any thoughts on what our next move should be.”

  De Ferre frowned. “Obviously, we storm the fortress at once, before the enemy can unite his forces. Basic strategic principles.”

  “It is my opinion that any attempt to storm Antova will very likely be repulsed with heavy loss. Sir.”

  “Oh, I see. That’s your opinion, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like you to consider—”

  De Ferre drew himself up and sucked in the considerable stomach that his tailored uniform could not quite conceal. “Let me tell you what I think, Vhalnich. I think you’ve bought in to your own legend. The military genius, the hero of the hour. Of course you know better. Us ordinary mortals can only watch and learn, eh?” He waved a finger under Janus’ nose. “The fact is that there’s nothing special about you. You’ve been lucky on the battlefield, that’s all. That may be enough to make the rankers worship you, but it will not work on me, do you understand?”

  “Of course, sir. But I might offer some suggestions—”

  “So you can take credit for my victory?” De Ferre snorted. “I think not. I have been commanding troops since you were in britches, and I like to think I know my way around a siege. All I require from you is that you obey my orders and provide such information as I request. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Janus said. His huge gray eyes were impassive.

  “Now. You will instruct your colonels to prepare detailed reports on their strength and dispositions. Send along any plans you’ve already drawn up for the assault so my staff engineers may assess their merit.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Janus saluted, as crisply as any War College sentry. “If you’ll excuse me, then? I have a great deal of work to do.”

  “Indeed.” De Ferre turned around with a jangle of spurs. Colonel Pahn, a small, rat-faced man with an unhealthy-looking mustache, gave Winter and Fitz a sneer and followed. Janus stood silent and unmoving until their footsteps had faded away.

  “I wonder,” he said thoughtfully, “if that was as satisfying as he thought it would be. He clearly spent the whole ride over practicing.”

  “Sir . . . ,” Winter said hesitantly.

  “Colonel Warus,” Janus said, still not turning around. “In the small case by your feet, there’s a crystal bottle. Would you be so good as to hand it to me?”

  Fitz bent, plucked up the bottle, an elegantly carved thing that looked out of place in the sparse tent. It was half-full of something that looked like liquid gold. Janus accepted it, opened the stopper, and took a deep breath.

  “They make this in the mountains at home,” he said. “A sort of apple liquor. It’s an acquired taste.” He drained the bottle in a few gulps and made a face. “I don’t know why one would bother, to be honest. But Augustin always insisted we have some along, for medicinal purposes.”

  Then, fast as a snake, he spun and hurled the bottle at the trunk on the other side of the tent. It struck the leather-bound side and shattered with a satisfying crunch, spraying fragments of glittering glass into the air.

  For the first time Winter could remember, there was fury in Janus’ face. His eyes burned. His lips curled back from clenched teeth, an animal’s snarl.

  “It’s too soon,” he said. “Too fucking soon. Blind, blind, how could I have been so blind! That clever goddamned bastard.”

  “De Ferre, sir?” Winter said.

  Janus barked a laugh. “De Ferre couldn’t plot his way out of a sack of puppies. I mean our eminent President of the Directory for the National Defense, who is now also in his person the Minister of War.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened, sir?” Fitz said. “News from Vordan takes days to get here, but—”

  “That’s the point. That’s exactly the point.” Janus took a deep breath. “I received word, by private means, that there had been major changes back home. Maurisk has seized power for himself.”

  “What?” Winter said. “But—”

  “It was bound to happen,” Janus said dismissively. “He’s not the sort of man to be easily satisfied. I had a number of scenarios ready. But I thought I would have more time. If de Ferre set out the moment of the coup, he’d still be riding through the pass, a hundred miles away.”

  “Which means he set out beforehand,” Fitz said.

  “Exactly. Maurisk gave him postdated orders and sent him out before he made his move. Probably to wait somewhere nearby for a prearranged signal. An obvious move, in retrospect.” Janus turned to Winter, with a fleeting smile. “If we extricate ourselves from this situation, please remind me of this the next time someone claims I am infallible.”

  “So Maurisk stole a march on you,” Winter said. “But that would only be a few days, wouldn’t it?”

  “A few days can make all the difference. In a few days’ time, the army would have been on the march. Even de Ferre would have hesitated to interfere. Now, though. If he sits here assaulting the walls, everything I’ve done this season will be for nothing!”

  “We could work with the colonels to plan the assault,” Fitz said. “Make suggestions to de Ferre through them.”

  “It won’t work. If we’re fortunate, we might take the fortress, but we’d never hold it against Jindenau’s army.” Janus’ expression darkened again. “And Antova is the key to the valley. Without it, we’ll have no option but to retreat when winter sets in.”

  “Not to mention,” Winter said quietly, “how many soldiers we’ll lose.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Though I doubt that enters
de Ferre’s calculations.”

  There was another moment of silence.

  “Antova must fall,” Janus said, half to himself. “It must fall, soon. A fortress can fall by storm, by siege, by betrayal, or by surrender. We can’t storm it with a good chance of success, and they’ve got more than enough supplies to hold out until Jindenau gets here and forces a field battle we won’t be able to win.”

  “You had a plan,” Fitz pointed out.

  “The beginnings of one,” Janus admitted. “But de Ferre will never agree. And it’s moot in any case if he gets half the men killed in the first assault.”

  “Finding a traitor inside the fortress would take more time than we have,” Fitz said.

  “And why should they surrender?” Janus said. “They know their army is on the way.”

  Winter chewed her lip for a moment, then said, “There’s a new Vordanai general. A cruel, heartless bastard. He’s brought twenty fresh regiments to storm the fortress, and he promises to kill everyone inside the walls, soldiers or not. No quarter, unless they surrender at once.”

  Fitz and Janus looked at her, then at each other.

  “It might help,” Fitz said. “If they believed it.”

  “But why should they?” Janus said.

  “I have . . . an idea. Let me talk to my people. And we’ll need some help from the other colonels.”

  “I’m sure they’d be willing, if the alternative is storming the walls,” Fitz said. “Sir?”

  “Do it,” Janus said. “Whatever you need. De Ferre will be watching me, so I won’t be able to be much help.” He glanced at the remains of the bottle. “I apologize for my . . . nerves.”

  “Understandable,” Winter said. “Frankly, I’m surprised you managed not to punch him in the face.”

  An hour later, with the sun sinking toward the horizon, Winter sat in her own tent with Abby. The story of de Ferre’s arrival had made the rounds of the camp by now, in various distorted versions, and she’d been full of questions. Winter explained what had happened in Janus’ tent, and laid out her idea. Abby gave a low whistle.