In the center of the column, between the artillery and the cuirassiers, came the volunteers. They marched in a straggling mob rather than a formation, and they had nothing like a uniform. But there were thousands of them, men and women both. The first of them had started turning up at the gates of Ohnlei as soon as the army had returned, and as rumor got out about Janus’ approach their numbers had grown greater and greater. Marcus was dubious of their combat value—?for one thing, there weren’t enough muskets to go around—?but his plan called for a great deal of digging, and he’d told Raesinia he wasn’t going to turn away anyone who could wield a shovel.
More civilians turned out to line the road as the long column wound away from Ohnlei. A few cheered, but most seemed content to watch, as though they wanted to be able to say they’d borne witness, one way or the other. It was nearly the same route the army had taken last time. Some of us have marched a hell of a long way to end up back where we started. This time, of course, they didn’t have nearly as far to go. The enemy was coming to them.
As usual, Marcus spent the majority of his time riding up and down the column, straightening out snarls. As marches went, this one was easygoing, with the weather fair but cold and the road solid, well-?packed earth. The new Third Division, formed from fresh recruits and the scrapings of the depots, caused the most trouble. The recruits had spent a few weeks parading around with their new muskets and uniforms, but hadn’t yet been through a serious march, while the garrison troops had mostly never served together and were constantly getting in one another’s way. Marcus had sorted out a half dozen arguments about seniority between prickly colonels. He’d promoted David Sevran, one of Winter’s colonels, to command the new formation, and Marcus was determined to give him all the support he could manage.
They halted outside the village of Bellaia, a picturesque little place right out of a romantic landscape painting. A small cluster of houses huddled around a stone church, its double-?circle spire gleaming as the sun set. The villagers made no appearance, and no wonder. Even reduced as it was, the army camp spread over a vast area, covering the fields outside of town like a horde of locusts. At least the harvest will be in already.
There’d be another half day’s march tomorrow, to the spot Marcus had identified on the map. It had no official name, but the locals apparently called it Bear Ridge, a gradual rise in the ground to a rocky, wooded height that loomed in the distance. It wasn’t as large or as steep as Marcus might have liked, but he’d judged it the best of his limited options.
The command tent was already assembled by the time he rode up, and light spilled out through the flap. Marcus handed the reins of his horse to the guard and ducked inside, finding himself the last to arrive.
Raesinia was there, of course. There had been no question of telling her she couldn’t join the battle, not this time. She’d traded her somber dresses for riding leathers, without any ornamentation or jewels. Marcus guessed that most of the soldiers she passed had no idea they were within spitting distance of their monarch.
There was Fitz, imperturbable as always, and Winter, still looking less than comfortable in her new uniform, with Cyte at her side. The newly minted General Sevran looked more natural in his, the stars on his shoulders polished to a fine sheen. The quiet, competent Colonel Archer sat beside Give-Em-Hell, whose usual expansive mood had been checked by the presence of his queen.
As Marcus came in, there was a round of salutes from everyone but Raesinia. He nodded to the officers, bowed to the queen, and took his seat at the head of the table. A map was already laid out, annotated in pencil with the reports of the scouts who’d pushed ahead of the column. It showed Bear Ridge, roughly triangular in shape, with the longest side facing southwest. It rose from the plain between the rivers, only a few miles from the Marak to the west, considerably farther from the Vor in the other direction. The main road swung east to avoid it.
“Well,” Marcus said, looking down at it. “Here we are.”
Silent nods around the table.
“You all know what we’re up against,” Marcus said. “We’ll do the best we can, but I’m not going to pretend these aren’t long odds. When Janus comes against us, if we can hold until nightfall I’ll consider that a victory.”
“And after that?” Fitz said.
“There’s a plan,” Raesinia said. “You’ll have to trust us on that.”
Those who weren’t in on Winter’s part of the battle—?Fitz, Sevran, and Archer—?looked less than satisfied. Give-Em-Hell seemed oblivious.
“I must say,” he ventured, “it doesn’t seem very promising from the point of view of a cavalry charge.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Marcus promised. “I have written orders for all of you, but let me give you the short version.”
He picked up the leather bag containing the wooden counters, fumbled with the drawstring for a bit, then dumped them on the table. He picked out a few blue blocks and arranged them at the tip of Bear Ridge. One line stretched left, another right, so that the triangular shape of the ridge was extended into a V shape with the tip pointing northeast. The red markers he massed in that direction, where the main road came closest to the hill.
“Two refused flanks,” Fitz said, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
“Like I said, it’s the best I can come up with.” He tapped the tip of the V. “This is the Second Division. We’ll do most of our digging here, because that’s where we’ll catch the most hell. It’ll be easiest for the enemy to focus their attack there, so we want them running uphill and into our breastworks. The volunteers will be there as well, and most of the artillery.
“This”—?he tapped the right wing—“is the First Division. If Janus gets tired of trying to punch through the center, this is the way he’ll probably swing. There’s more room. The other wing is the Third, which will hopefully have the easiest time of it. But I’m going to take a few battalions from both of you and keep them in reserve here”—?he tapped a point between the wings, inside the V—“along with the cavalry.
“The idea is that it’s faster for us to move troops around inside the formation than it is for Janus to shift his reserves around the outside. Wherever he attacks, we can get there with the reserve quickly, and hopefully between that and our fortifications we’ll be able to negate his numbers. Henry, your light cavalry will take the extreme right, down to the road, and make sure he doesn’t try to slip anything behind us. The river should keep that from happening on the left.”
“And if he refuses to engage?” Sevran said.
“If he tries to just move past, he’s giving us a perfect shot at his flank and rear. If he sits tight, then we see who can wait the other out.” Marcus shook his head. “But he’ll attack. You saw the way he was in the Pale valley.”
“Why station the volunteers at the point?” Fitz said. “That puts the least reliable troops in the most difficult position.”