The Guns of Empire

by Django Wexler

  Raesinia returned his gaze levelly. After a moment of silence, she said, “May I ask a question?”

  “You’re the queen,” Kaanos said. “You can ask whatever you like.”

  “What have I done to so offend you?”

  There was another pause. Kaanos shifted the blanket around his shoulders and ran his fingers through his bristly beard.

  “You know I served in Khandar,” he said.

  “With Column-General d’Ivoire,” Raesinia said. “I know.”

  “Do you know why?”

  She shook her head.

  “Sometimes it’s hard for me to even remember,” he said. “There was a fight. Some noble brat who said some things he shouldn’t have in a tavern. That sort of thing happens every night, but shiny spurs went out a window and landed badly. Broke his leg, and the cutters said he’d need a cane to walk. He went to his father, and his father talked to his friends . . .” He spread his hands. “And there I was, eating sand for the rest of my career.”

  Raesinia nodded. Marcus had told her that Khandar was used as a dumping ground, a hardship post for officers who’d ruined their careers.

  “It was just as well, I told myself,” Kaanos went on. “In the old Royal Army, captain was as high as someone like me could ever make it. We were just about worthy to keep a battalion pointed in the right direction, as long as someone with the right blood was actually in charge. At least in Khandar I only had to put up with old Colonel Warus.

  “Then everything went to shit there. You have no idea what that was like. One minute we owned the city, and the next minute mobs of grayskins were killing anyone in a blue uniform.”

  “I might know more than you think,” Raesinia said quietly. “I was at the fall of the Vendre.”

  Kaanos inclined his head, conceding the point. “It was Marcus who got us out of that. We all would have ended up roasted if not for him. He kept the Colonials together long enough to get clear of the city and send for help.”

  “And my father sent you Janus,” Raesinia said.

  “Another goddamned noble with a brilliant plan,” Kaanos said. “I told Marcus we ought to have stuffed him into a dune and taken ship for home.”

  “But Janus won. He beat the Redeemers.”

  “And what good did that do anybody? I lost friends all through that fight, and in the end we left everything behind and scuttled back to Vordan to save you.”

  He didn’t know about the Thousand Names, of course, or the secret war against the Priests of the Black. Raesinia felt an unexpected surge of sympathy.

  “He’s mad,” Kaanos said. “You know that, don’t you? Vhalnich’s crazy. He’d have to be crazy to bring us to a place like this. Snow in June!”

  “So what are you doing here?” Raesinia said. “You could have left the army after the revolution. Why stay?”

  “Because Marcus asked me to,” Kaanos said softly. “Vhalnich had his hooks in deep by then. I couldn’t say anything to Marcus, so the only thing left was to go along for the ride. I owed him that much.” He shook his head. “Now they’re both dead.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We didn’t leave them any supplies. If they’d broken through, we’d have heard by now. They’re dead, Your Majesty. Marcus left me in charge of this army, and I’ll be damned if I let it starve in the snow. Tomorrow we’ll break Dorsay’s line, and then we’ll get the hell out of this godforsaken country.”

  There was grief in his voice, under the anger. Raesinia considered. If I tell him the plan, I might be able to bring him around. But that would sacrifice the element of surprise if he didn’t agree. And he won’t. He’d fixed the idea of an attack in his head, one more charge to avenge Marcus and show everyone. She felt sorry for him.

  “Division-General,” she said. “I believe that Marcus will make it back alive. But more important, if he were here, you know he’d do whatever he could to keep the soldiers safe—”

  “Bullshit,” Kaanos said. “If that were true, we’d never have come this far. Marcus would do whatever Janus told him to, because Janus hypnotized him along with the rest of you.” He sighed. “First chance Vordan’s ever had to be rid of the whole batch of noble parasites and the revolution turns things over to Janus bet fucking Vhalnich first chance they get.”

  “All I’m trying to do is make peace,” Raesinia said.

  “Then you shouldn’t have chosen that mad bastard for First Consul. Now Dorsay has us where he wants us, and all we can do is try to fight our way out.” He fixed her with an angry glare. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, I’d like to get a little more sleep. God only knows what’s going to happen in the morning.”

  He gave a stiff, shallow bow, and turned away. Raesinia watched him for a moment longer, then left the tent, nodding her thanks at the guards. They’d most likely heard every word, but they stared straight ahead and said nothing.

  Sothe and Cyte were waiting for her back at her own tent, with Barely and Joanna.

  “No luck?” Cyte said.

  “He’s in mourning for Marcus,” Raesinia said. “I don’t think he heard a word I said.”

  “Dorsay’s people are waiting for the signal,” Sothe said.

  Raesinia turned to look south, across the frozen river. The lights of Polkhaiz were just visible.

  “Do it,” she said.

  —

  The Grand Army was thrown into chaos at first light by the smell of frying bacon.

  It came from the Second Division camp, where the Girls’ Own had taken down some tents to make a clear space and set up makeshift tables. Bonfires had been lit, with big cauldrons set to boiling above them. When cooking equipment was lacking, the soldiers had improvised; bacon sizzled on upside-down kettles, on the backs of shovels, and even carefully laid out on bayonets.

  When soldiers from the other divisions came to investigate, they were welcomed. Parked beyond the frying bacon and the cauldrons of army soup were wagons full of bread and vegetables, a bounty that seemed to the hungry men to have been shipped in from a different world. It had been easy to forget, over the past few weeks, that there was a land beyond this endless, unnatural snowscape with its dark forests and frozen rivers. Now they were forcibly reminded.

  Rumor spread beyond the ability of the officers to control it. Girls’ Own soldiers drove smaller wagons into the other camps and tossed loaves of fresh-baked bread into grateful hands, unloaded box after box of hardtack, and even brought fresh meat for the pots. All across the Grand Army, men piled up anything that would burn, shoveled snow into cauldrons, and watched the flames grow with desperate hunger.

  The queen, the women told the other soldiers. The queen had negotiated with the Borelgai, and this was the result.

  Raesinia sat in her tent, cutting slices from a ham that the Duke of Brookspring had sent to her in particular, with his compliments. One by one, the generals arrived, and Sothe led them aside and spoke to them in low tones. Then they waited by the side of the tent; Raesinia was amused, though not surprised, to hear stomachs growling.

  Kaanos was the last to appear. His face was bright red with fury under his vast spray of whiskers.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said, stalking past Barely and Joanna to stand in front of Raesinia. “We ought to be getting into formation right now. Do you have any idea how much danger this puts us in? If the Borelgai were to attack at this moment, they could roll up the whole army before we could fire a shot!”

  “They must know that,” Raesinia said. “And yet they don’t attack. Odd, no?”

  What it meant, she knew, was that Dorsay’s faction still held sway over Orlanko’s. But no need to tell him that.

  “This is treason,” Kaanos said. “You’ve sold us out.”

  “I’ve negotiated for food when we were starving,” Raesinia said. “That’s a strange defi
nition of ‘selling us out.’”

  “You’ve undermined my authority!” Kaanos shouted.

  “Ah. As to that.” Raesinia pushed back from the table and stood up. The top of her skull barely came up to Kaanos’ chin, and she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. “Division-General Morwen Kaanos, you are under arrest for refusing to obey orders from your queen.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Kaanos looked up at the other generals. “You’re not going to stand for this, are you?”

  “The queen has my support,” said Cyte.

  “And mine,” Giforte added.

  “The thing is,” Solwen said wretchedly, “the thing is, Mor, I’m not sure what I can actually do about it.” He scratched the side of his head, looking embarrassed. “I mean, she is the queen, when all is said and done.”

  “She doesn’t have any right to give orders here!” Kaanos shouted.

  “She disagrees,” Solwen said. “And what should I do, order my men to shoot her?”

  “Put her under arrest for treason!” Kaanos looked from Solwen to de Manzet. “You both know I’m right. If you bring your men here—”

  “My men are mostly enjoying their first hot breakfast for weeks,” de Manzet said quietly. “What do you think they’d say if I told them to put it down and come arrest the queen?”

  “That’s about the shape of it,” Solwen said.

  “My men won’t stand for it,” Kaanos said, whirling back to Raesinia. “Unlike these fucking cowards.”

  “As Division-General de Manzet said,” Raesinia murmured, “your men are . . . busy. And we will explain things to them.”

  “You highborn are all the same,” Kaanos hissed. “Traitors, all of you.”

  Raesinia gave a tired shrug and nodded to Barely and Joanna. They had a half dozen hard-eyed women behind them, handpicked by Colonel Giforte for reliability. Joanna took Kaanos by the arm, and all the fight went out of the general. He seemed to deflate.

  “Hell,” he said. “It’s your party, then.”

  He left, the soldiers falling in around him. Raesinia turned back to the other generals.

  “Legally,” she said, “since the Deputies-General have yet to approve a full constitution, the procedure may be a bit unclear. But I think we can speak in broad terms. The Crown and the deputies designated the First Consul, Janus bet Vhalnich, to command the armed forces of Vordan. He is now missing, however, and in his absence that authority descends back to where it has traditionally rested—that is, with the sovereign.” She let her eyes roam down the short row of officers. “Are we in agreement on this?”

  Cyte was grinning. Even Giforte smiled, though his face was still haggard. Solwen’s face was pinched, and de Manzet’s calculating. But they both nodded, and all four of them chorused, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Good.” Raesinia turned to Sothe. “Please fetch General Solwen’s second in command, so we can inform him of the situation.”

  That commander, a young colonel named Sebatish, turned out to be very understanding. Raesinia put him in charge of the Third Division and made sure that he publicly acknowledged her authority. The others were doing the same. It wasn’t a guarantee against mutiny, but if the common soldiers knew who was supposed to be in command, their officers would be less likely to take their loyalty for granted.

  “Neatly done,” Sothe said, when they were finally alone again.

  “Never underestimate what can be accomplished by a little bacon at the right moment,” Raesinia said. “Kaanos didn’t want to turn the army against itself, but he would have if that were the only way out I’d left him. I had to take it away before putting pressure on him.”

  “Will you execute him?”

  “Oh God, no. We’ll find a diplomatic place to put him, assuming we get out of this at all.” Raesinia leaned back in her chair. “Speaking of which. Any word from Dorsay?”

  “He’s agreed to a meeting. We’re working on a mutually agreeable venue.”

  “Don’t nitpick too hard. Kaanos was right that he’s got us where he wants us. Our only advantage is that he doesn’t want us destroyed, but if Orlanko gets control, that won’t last—”

  There was a frantic rap at the tent post. Sothe shot to her feet, one hand dropping to the hilt of a knife.

  “Come in,” Raesinia said, sitting straighter.

  “Your Majesty.” A ranker poked his head through the tent flap. “It’s Division-General Stokes.”

  Give-Em-Hell? But he was with Marcus— “He’s here?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. He’s wounded, but he said he had to see you immediately.”

  Raesinia met Sothe’s gaze for a moment. “Bring him in.”

  They pulled the sheets off the bedroll while two rankers carried the general in. Give-Em-Hell’s uniform was filthy, crusted with blood on one side and stained with dust and sweat. His breathing came fast, and he looked around for a moment as though he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Then his eyes found Raesinia.

  “Your Majesty,” he gasped out. “Thank God Almighty.”

  “Lie down, General,” Raesinia said. “Someone get him some water.”

  Give-Em-Hell allowed himself to be lowered onto the bedroll, coughing. He took a greedy gulp from a proffered canteen, then handed it back.

  “Been riding for days,” he said, mustache quivering. “Left the others behind. Very important.”

  “What’s important?” Raesinia said. “Where you with Marcus? What happened?”

  “Marcus! Yes!” He shook his head. “Mind’s not working straight. Marcus. At a ford upriver from Isket, a few days’ march.”

  “That’s where you left him?” Raesinia said eagerly. “Was he all right?”

  “Pinned down,” Give-Em-Hell muttered. “Too many. White riders, bone men. Still fighting, I hope to God. Don’t know for how long.” He took a deep breath. “Help him. Please.”

  Then, with a sigh, the cavalry general sank down on the bedroll and closed his eyes. A few moments later his mustache began to vibrate with a colossal snoring.

  “Fetch a cutter,” Raesinia told one of the rankers. “And bring me whoever is in command of the cavalry at once.”

  “Your Majesty,” Sothe said, as the two young men hurried to obey. “General Stokes didn’t mention Janus.”

  “You think that means he’s dead?” Raesinia said.

  “I think that means we don’t know,” Sothe said. “And if he’s not, and we manage to win through to them, matters might become . . . complicated.”

  There was a long silence.

  “We are hard-pressed as it is,” Sothe went on. “A rescue mission would be extremely risky.” She looked down, avoiding Raesinia’s eyes. “This is the nature of command, Your Majesty. Difficult decisions sometimes need to be made.”

  Difficult decisions. Raesinia glanced from the sleeping Give-Em-Hell to Sothe and back again. Is that what this is? Sacrifice thousands of men, or let things get complicated?

  She closed her eyes, and saw Marcus holding out his hand.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WINTER

  Winter awoke from a dream of an endless, freezing hell and found herself lying in a comfortable bed, covered by a warm, scratchy wool blanket.

  She struggled to keep her breathing even. Calm. She tried to think, eyes closed. We found . . . someplace warm. And then . . . She remembered helping the rest of her diminished party through the crack in the rock, into the pleasant air of the strange valley. Alex had been saying something, something urgent, but Winter hadn’t been able to focus. Days of exhaustion and terror, too long deferred, had come to claim their due.

  So where am I? Carefully, she cracked one eye. Her bed was at one end of a long row of beds. The room was carved from stone, with rock walls and a rough, low ceiling. Thick wool carpets covered the floor, dyed in colorful, abstract patt
erns. A narrow window—more like an arrow slit—gave Winter an abbreviated view of the green valley she remembered, hemmed in on all sides by massive snowcapped peaks.

  Her uniform was gone, she realized. Peeking under the blanket revealed that someone had dressed her in a loose woolen shift. There were also bandages she didn’t remember, one around her leg and another on her arm. The wrappings on her hand were fresh, too. She tried to flex her fingers, automatically, and a wave of pain crashed over her, so powerful that she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  There was the scrape of a chair, and footsteps. Winter hurriedly closed her eyes again and feigned sleep. Whoever had taken them might not intend immediate harm, but until she knew what was going on it was best to be cautious.

  “Well?” The voice was Alex’s, speaking Hamveltai. “Are they going to kill me?”

  “The Eldest is very angry with you.” This was a young man’s voice, grave and solemn.

  “That’s nothing new,” Alex said. “And?”

  “Maxwell argued very passionately on your behalf. The Eldest has agreed to postpone judgment until we know what sort of trouble you have brought with you this time.”

  “I told him—”

  “The Eldest would prefer to hear from the strangers themselves.”

  “Fine.” Alex sounded frustrated. “Can I at least go back to my room?”

  “Or to Maxwell’s?” There was a faint teasing note in the young man’s tone.

  “That’s my business,” Alex sniffed.

  The young man sighed. “The Eldest says you have freedom of the temple, provided you swear not to leave before the matter has been decided.”

  “Fine,” Alex said. “Let me know when he’s made up his damn mind. I won’t hold my breath.”

  “He’s only trying to keep everyone safe,” the young man said. “Honestly, Alex, what the hell were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that everyone in this damn place would rather talk about a problem than actually do something about it. I was thinking that we might miss a chance that would never come again, because the Eldest would rather spend years discussing it than take the slightest risk.”