“Thank you,” Cyte said. She straightened up, blinking away tears. “I’ll find him, I swear.”
“I have a feeling,” Marcus said, “that is going to be the easy part.”
*
Cyte had been insistent on leaving before nightfall, taking a half dozen Girls’ Own troopers on horses reluctantly donated by the cavalry. Marcus told Fitz and the others that she was on important business, but no more than that. Better to keep them focused on our own situation.
That situation was, at best, tenuous. The locals were getting increasingly angry about the army’s requisitions of food, horses, and fodder. There hadn’t been any outright violence yet, but the farmers were more likely to hide their reserves than offer them up freely. Marcus ordered the foragers to range farther afield, where they hadn’t covered the ground so thoroughly, but that would be a temporary measure. Sooner or later, the army would have to move, or starve.
When it did move, he faced a similar choice to the one he’d outlined for Cyte. They could march to Enzport, and hope that enough supplies could be brought in by ship to feed the army indefinitely. That would be the safest course, but it meant abandoning any hope of putting pressure on Janus, which would put them out of the war for all practical purposes. Or they could march south and east, taking the long way to Vordan City, meaning months on the road and no guarantee there would be a capital left by the time they got there.
Or we could attack. Marcus found himself drawn, more and more, to that option. He almost laughed aloud when he realized why. It seems like something Janus would do. But it would mean, of course, the risk—?even the probability—?of disaster. And our last chance to help Raesinia.
That night he slept poorly, dreaming of the dead. Adrecht and Jen Alhundt, Andy and Hayver, Parker Erdine and the girl he’d killed at Satinvol. Gaunt and desiccated, they all staggered toward him, their eyes alight from within with a horrible crimson glow.
That’s wrong, Marcus told them.
Why? said Jen, her rasp of a voice a parody of the one that had whispered in his ear at night.
I’ve seen the dead walk, Marcus said. Their eyes were green.
They all started to laugh.
He awoke to a scratch at his tent flap, with the light of dawn just barely brightening the canvas. Marcus groaned and sat up, his shoulders stiff and aching.
“What?” he shouted.
“It’s me, sir.” Cyte’s voice.
“Colonel?” Marcus shook his head, trying to clear it of sleep. “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t get very far before we ran into someone looking to talk to you, sir.”
Marcus blinked and sighed. “Maybe this will make sense after I’ve had some coffee.”
“I’ve got some ready,” Cyte said. “I think you need to come with me right away, sir.”
True to her word, Cyte handed him a steaming tin cup as he emerged from his tent. Marcus drank, ignoring the heat, and let the bitter stuff settle into his stomach. Cyte waited patiently. The six women who’d been escorting her were nowhere to be seen.
“All right.” Marcus breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the coffee. “You want to explain this?”
“Just follow me, sir. We left everyone out past the sentry line.”
Bemused, Marcus walked after Cyte through the slipshod camp. There were details digging new latrines already, he noticed. Hannah doesn’t waste any time.
The sentries saluted as they passed. Cyte led the way down the river front, up a small rise with a copse of trees at the top. A number of horses were tethered there, and Marcus saw women in blue uniforms, as well as a knot of men in familiar muddy red. Borelgai. No sooner had he recognized the white-?furred shakos of the Life Guards than a short, hawk-?nosed figure was striding across the damp grass, hand extended.
“General d’Ivoire! No one I’d rather see in these circumstances, believe me.”
“Duke Dorsay?” Marcus said. He looked down at his coffee cup, then took another long drink. “I’m not still asleep, am I? Don’t answer that. What are you doing here?”
“Like I told the colonel, I’ve come looking for you,” the duke said. “We’ve had a hell of a time getting any accurate information.”
“That means my cavalry are doing their job,” Marcus said, still feeling bewildered. “Why are you looking for me?”
“It’s a long and complicated story,” Dorsay said. “But the short version is that your queen asked me to. When news of the battle at Alves reached us in Viadre—”
“Raesinia’s in Viadre? Why—” Marcus stopped. “I think you’re going to have to give me the long version.”
“Later. Right now, the important thing is that I’ve come to help.”
“I’ll take any help I can get,” Marcus said. “How many troops have you brought?”
“We’re a little light on troops at the moment, I’m afraid,” Dorsay said.
“But he’s got something better,” Cyte said, her eyes shining.
“Well. Yes.” Dorsay cleared his throat. “The First Squadron of His Majesty’s Royal Navy is anchored about ten miles downriver. Six frigates, a flotilla of heavy transports, and a few support craft. We’d originally planned to ascend the Pale, which our charts say should be clear all the way to Alves, but when we heard you were on the Rhyf, we thought we’d get as close as we could. The river’s not deep enough to come farther.” He shrugged. “We have six men-of-war as well, but we had to leave them at Enzport. Not really designed for river work, I’m afraid.”
It took Marcus’ mind a few moments to catch up to this. He drained the rest of the coffee.
“How many men will fit in your transports?” he said.
“Twenty thousand, with a fair bit of baggage,” Dorsay said mildly. “More if we heave everything over the side.”
That’s the whole damned army. “And what were you planning on doing once you found us?”
“Extracting you from your current predicament,” Dorsay said. “We’ll sail north, around the Jaw, and make for Nordart. From there we can supply easily from Borel by sea. When I left, your queen was working out the terms of the alliance with Georg, but when they’ve finished dickering, I imagine we’ll bring over some of our troops to even up the numbers. From there we can liberate Alves, cut Janus off from the north, and find a way to corner him.”
“Nordart,” Marcus said. That was a thousand miles in the wrong direction. He shook his head. “No. We have to get back to Vordan City before Janus does.”
Cyte, at Marcus’ side, nodded emphatically. The duke scratched his hawk-?like nose.
“I’m not sure that would be wise,” he said, speaking carefully. “As I said, I haven’t brought any fresh manpower. Even if we make it to Vordan City before Janus, do you think you can hold it? My impression was that you were rather roughly handled at Alves.”
Marcus winced. “That might be an understatement. We’re down to two divisions, more or less.”