The Guns of Empire (9 page)

“You said you wanted to start the march at midnight, sir?” she said.

Winter nodded.

“It'll be near to eleven when we get back to camp,” Cyte said.

“It's not the first time I've gone without sleep on a campaign,” Winter said, “and I'm willing to bet it won't be the last.”

“I've got some of the Khandarai coffee left in the stores,” Bobby said. “I'll brew it up.”

Just the thought of that perked Winter up a bit, and she sat up straighter in the saddle. Edgar plodded along, placid as ever, sure-footed even in torchlight. Winter glanced curiously at Cyte, whose brow was creased in concentration.

“Was Janus everything you expected him to be?” Winter said.

“He's very impressive,” Cyte said. “He's taking a big risk with this plan, but you wouldn't know it to hear him talk. It's like he—”

“—knows what's going to happen in advance,” Winter said, smiling. “Or at least he pretends to. He once told me that half of being a genius is knowing how to take credit after the fact for things that happened to break your way.”

Cyte chuckled. “I suppose. I'd never thought about it like that.”

“Do you think he's serious about going all the way to Elysium?” Bobby said, out of nowhere.

There was a pause.

“I don't know as much about the supernatural side of things as the two of you,” Cyte said. “But as best I can tell it's strategically sound, in the larger context. If he thinks of this as a war between us and the Black Priests, then the only way to win is to hit them hard enough that they either surrender or can't continue.”

“I agree,” Winter said. “He told me back in Khandar that this was going to be the real fight.”

It was odd to think of everything that had come so far as a . . . a
sideshow
. A clearing of the minor pieces off the board, to make room for the real showdown.

“Everyone says that Murnsk can't be conquered,” Bobby said.

“Fortunately,” Cyte said, “we don't need to conquer it. Murnsk goes all the way to the Old Coast in the east. We only need to get to Elysium.”

“‘Only,'” Winter said. “It's, what, three hundred miles?”

“Closer to four hundred.” Cyte shrugged. “It's farther from here to Vordan City.”

With decent roads, and riverboats to supply us, and no enemy to block the path.
But Winter didn't say it. The truth was, if Janus wanted to go to Elysium, it didn't
matter if it was three hundred miles or a thousand. She would do her best to get there.
What else can I do?

Eventually, the campfires of the Second Division came into view, and Winter was pleased to hear the attentive picket shout a challenge. Bobby answered, and they passed the sentries and into the rows of tents, a smaller version of the vast encampment around Vaus.

“Bobby, get Abby up first,” Winter said. “Tell her I want the Girls' Own to shake out skirmishers and push north to the river, make sure we haven't got any surprises waiting. Then get Erdine to get his men up and moving. They can lead their horses until it's light enough to see properly. He's to ford the river and scout the other side, and to make sure any enemy scouts don't get close enough to see the crossing.”

“Yessir,” Bobby said, tugging the reins to turn her horse away.

“We'll need to send someone to the Sixth. Tell General—” Winter struggled to recall the man's name.

“General Ibsly, sir,” Cyte supplied.

“Right.”
Ibsly.
She'd met him, a nervous-looking captain of engineers thrust into responsibility by Janus' mysterious judgments.
Like so many others.
“Tell him to send his cavalry north and have their colonel report to Erdine. His infantry should go first; we'll bring up the rear. Oh, and tell Archer to get the wagon train moving and take it and the guns to Vaus. If we can't bring them across the river, I'm sure Column-General d'Ivoire will find a use for a couple of extra batteries.”

Cyte nodded, saluted, and rode off. Winter headed for her own tent. Not that she'd have time to sleep, but at least she'd be easy to find when something went wrong.

Something went wrong, of course. It was probably impossible to get a column of nearly twenty thousand men and women out of bed, packed, and on the march in the small hours of the morning without
something
getting fouled up. All in all, though, the operation went remarkably smoothly. A captain in Ibsly's Second Regiment got lost and led his battalion in among Sevran's troops, causing no end of confusion, and a few uncooperative horses snarled the wagon train for a time. Winter improvised solutions—the lost battalion was told to simply follow along, and nearby companies were conscripted to lift the blocking wagons out of the way until their teams could be untangled. By one in the morning, a river of blue uniforms was flowing north, toward the Ytolin, and Winter let the porters strike her tent and climbed back into Edgar's saddle.

The land sloped down to the river, then gently up again on the other side. The south bank was almost entirely farmland, irregular tilled fields surrounded by fences and hedges, which the soldiers hacked through rather than look for the gates. By moonlight, Winter could see that the other bank was hillier country, broken by small forests and the occasional bald hummock. Here and there she could see the glow of a fire at some isolated cabin.

The Girls' Own, their loose formation spread out to cover the front of the march, had encountered no resistance on their way to the river. A few of the women had already gone across, wading through water deep enough that they had to hold their muskets and cartridge boxes over their heads. Erdine's cavalry followed, the horsemen leading their unhappy mounts over the tricky footing of the riverbed. The first light of the new day showed Winter that they were forming up on the north bank, blue uniforms soaked to the armpits. She ordered the remainder of the Girls' Own across, then called a conference of the rest of her infantry commanders.

Ibsly was there, rubbing his spectacles with his shirt, along with four of his colonels. Sevran, Blackstream, and de Koste stood in a bunch, as though they didn't like being outnumbered by these strangers.

“Division-General Ihernglass,” Ibsly said, pushing his spectacles back onto his nose. “I'm glad you finally have a moment to explain things to the rest of us.”

“Is the whole column crossing the river?” Blackstream said. “There'll be hell to pay if the lobsters catch us.”

“Did the First Consul tell you if he expected us to fight?” de Koste said. He sounded eager.

Winter held up her hand. “One at a time, please. Yes, we're crossing the river, and yes, I think there'll be fighting. I want the Sixth to go first, but not to push forward until the rest of us are across. Use the time to rest and dry out, because once we move, we're going to move
fast
. The cavalry will try to keep Dorsay's scouts from spotting us, but word will get out eventually. The closer we are when that happens, the better.” She outlined the plan Janus had explained, at least as far as it pertained to her column. Ibsly took off his spectacles and began to polish them again, and Blackstream sucked a breath through his teeth.

“That's a hell of a toss of the dice,” the old colonel said. “If Dorsay gets wind of this early, he can pull his entire army over the river and concentrate against us. He'd have us two to one.”

“This is the assignment Janus gave us,” Winter said. “I haven't let him
down yet, and I don't intend to start now. We'll move as fast as we can and hit the bridge with everything we've got.”

“That's right,” de Koste said. “You should have faith in the First Consul.”

“I'd have a little more faith if we could bring our guns with us,” Blackstream said dourly, then shrugged. “As you say, sir. My boys will be ready to cross.”

“And I'd better get my men ready,” said Ibsly, putting his spectacles back on. He hesitated. “This is quite an honor, isn't it? That Janus has given us this responsibility.”

The part of Winter that had never quite stopped being a ranker told her that “honor” was something officers gave to men they were about to get killed. But Ibsly looked nervous enough, so she only smiled and nodded.

“A great honor,” Ibsly repeated, as he moved off.

“General?” Sevran said as the others departed. “A word?”

“What is it?” Winter said.

The sky was lightening now, from dark gray to the faintest of blues, and one horizon was beginning to glow in anticipation of sunrise. The Girls' Own was still crossing the river, the soldiers in good spirits judging by the way they laughed and splashed one another as they went. On the other side, some of them had stripped off their jackets and trousers to wring out. Whistles from among the cavalry were answered with good-natured profanity.

“Blackstream's not wrong,” Sevran said quietly. “I've been at this long enough that I get itchy whenever someone starts talking about flank marches and surprise arrivals. It never seems to go quite according to schedule.”

“All we need to worry about is making sure our piece
does
,” Winter said. “Besides, this is Janus we're talking about, not some idiot who happened to grow up with the king. He knows what he's doing.”

“Of course. I just think it would be prudent to keep a reserve ready. In case things don't go according to plan.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Winter said, a little more dryly than she'd intended. “Now, I believe you have a regiment to attend to.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

The April air was still chilly, but at least the sun was out, the weak morning rays struggling to dry the damp uniforms of the men and women who'd crossed the Ytolin. With the cavalry fanning out ahead of them, the column moved out, Winter ordering the bands to keep up a fast, encouraging tune while the vanguard set
a rapid pace. The Girls' Own took the lead, as usual, ready to send out a skirmish screen if they ran into the enemy.

The early stages of the march were uncontested, however, and it wasn't until nearly noon that riders came back from Colonel Erdine to report that his scouts had engaged the Borelgai. Even this turned out to be only cavalry patrols, content to fire a few shots from their carbines and withdraw in front of the Vordanai horsemen. Erdine's dispatches assured Winter that no Borelgai scouts would get within sight of the infantry column.

“There they go,” Cyte said quietly, riding beside Winter just behind the Girls' Own.

Winter looked at her quizzically, but Cyte only closed her eyes for a moment and held up a hand. Winter concentrated, and a moment later she heard it, too. Under the tramp of boots and the chatter of voices, there was a nearly subsonic rumble, like thunder in the far distance. It grew with every moment and every step Edgar took to the west, a deep, irregular grumbling. The sound of guns, far off, echoing over the hills and across the river.
Marcus is starting his attack.
So far everything seemed to be on schedule, though she was glad she'd insisted on the early start.

The soldiers in the column heard the guns, too, and the atmosphere in the ranks changed. The shouts and laughter gradually died away, replaced by muted, businesslike conversations. During their infrequent rest breaks, she saw soldiers checking and rechecking their cartridge boxes or making sure their bayonets were loose in their sheaths. A young woman—possibly one of the recruits from Talbonn—stood with her face screwed up and on the verge of tears as she strained to go through the manual of arms in front of an unsympathetic-looking sergeant. Other Girls' Own soldiers were checking the thin daggers almost all of them kept concealed somewhere in their uniform; in the event of capture, they were for escape or, worse come to worst, suicide if the alternative was unbearable.

Winter was pleased to see that there was no depression or panic, just a calm assessment of possibilities. Only the Girls' Own and Sevran's Second Infantry Regiment had seen serious fighting. The other two regiments, and Ibsly's entire division, were mostly reinforcements culled from the west and south.
This is a hell of a way to be thrown into your first battle.

Just when she was getting ready to order the column back to the march, a half dozen horsemen cantered up, with Erdine himself in the lead. The cavalry colonel was in fine form, hair golden in the midday sun under his broad hat, his
colorful plume bouncing gaily as he rode. He waved to Winter, controlling his mount with an effortless ease she envied.

“General!” he said. “I'm pleased to report that we've pushed the Borels back to their main line, not that they made much of a fight of it. As best we can tell, they don't know this is anything more than a cavalry probe, but that'll change as soon as we come over this next ridge. They've got a dozen guns on high ground.”

Winter felt a chill.
A dozen guns?
A full battery waiting for them didn't sound like the token defense Janus had promised. “Any infantry?”

“Skirmishers and cavalry were all we saw. But there's plenty of dead ground for them to hide in.”

Winter nodded. “Bobby, get the regiments formed up and ready to march. Cyte, with me; we're going to have a look. Colonel, can you lead us to a decent vantage?”

“Of course, sir. Follow me.”

They'd halted in a lightly wooded valley, where the road that more or less followed the course of the river took a dogleg to the north to cut across a stream and get around a long ridgeline. Erdine led them up the hill, ignoring the rough terrain. Cyte was a good enough rider that Winter felt like she and Edgar were holding the party back, though the gelding's calm pace meant that he could step over the rocks and fallen branches easily enough. In a few minutes they reached a spot where the spindly birches and oaks thinned out, and Erdine dismounted. Winter and Cyte followed him onto bare rock, breaking out of the tree line on the back of an enormous boulder.