“Well.” Abby blushed. “I apologize for making you fret, sir.”
Marcus walked back up the hill, satisfied that section of the work was well in hand. It was the most critical part, the tip of the V, where the heaviest attack could be expected to land. More trenches lined the flanks of the hill, petering out where it sloped down onto the flats. Here the line would have to be more mobile, and they didn’t have the spare manpower to extend a full breastwork over such a distance. Still, men were digging gun pits, sloped at the back and deep enough to provide some shelter for the cannoneers. When a cannon fired, its recoil would drive it up the ramp, and then gravity would help run it back into position.
Just past the bottom of the slope was the boundary of the first plowed field, marked by a fieldstone wall that was already mostly dismantled. Immediately beyond it was the cutter’s station for the Second Division, several large tents with their sides tied open, operating tables already set up inside. Around them, lower tents were ready to shelter the wounded, at least until the beds filled up.
Hannah Courvier, the Second’s head cutter, was standing outside one of the tents, talking to a thin young man Marcus didn’t recognize. To his surprise, Raesinia was with them, accompanied by her two Girls’ Own bodyguards. Marcus went over in time to catch Hannah’s frown.
“Well.” She looked at the young man, then back to Raesinia. “I don’t hold with foreign mumbo ?jumbo, but you come highly recommended. Can you do anything with a broken foot? We’ve got a light cavalry lieutenant who fell off his horse.”
“I will do my best.” The young man glanced at Marcus and nodded. “General.”
Marcus nodded back. Hannah stomped away, and the young man followed. Raesinia looked up at Marcus. “How are the preparations going?”
“Well, for the moment. If they come tomorrow, we’ll be ready. It would be better if we had one more day...”
“But you don’t think he’ll give us that,” Raesinia said.
“I wouldn’t,” Marcus said simply.
“Winter says she’s ready as well,” Raesinia said. “But she doesn’t know how long it will take, once the battle starts.”
“I’m assuming we’re going to have to hold out until dark,” Marcus said. “After that, we should be able to break contact and retreat down the road to Vordan City.”
“It won’t come to that,” Raesinia said.
“No harm in being prepared. We don’t know exactly what will happen, even if Winter wins.”
Raesinia nodded, her eyes distant, as though she were lost in thought.
*
There were more lines to inspect, more preparations to confirm. Marcus caught up with the Preacher as the sun was setting. Torches lit the way for the final preparations of the artillery.
“Oh, Almighty Karis, preserve us.” The artilleryman’s rasping voice was audible most of the way down the hill. “Captain! What kind of cannon is this?”
The answer was impossible to hear, but the Preacher’s response was clear.
“Correct! And it fires twelve-?pound balls, is that right?” Another pause, and then, “So what, exactly, were you planning to do with these boxes of eight-?pound balls? Hurl them at the enemy with your bare hands? Do you think you might find somewhere they could be put to slightly better use?”
Marcus grinned as an anxious captain dashed past him. A moment later, he found the Preacher standing beside a cannon, running his fingers through his long gray beard.
“General!” The Preacher saluted.
“Colonel,” Marcus said with a nod. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Well.” The Preacher rolled his shoulders with a sigh. “I said I was getting too old for this, but young Viera disagrees, and she’s a hard one to argue with.” He grinned crookedly. “Besides, your lads came to the school and hauled all the cannon away. I didn’t have anything left to teach with. Or any students, for that matter.”
“Sorry. Most of the artillery was captured at Alves. We need all the metal we can get.”
The Preacher waved a hand, then patted the barrel of the gun next to him. “This is what they’re for, not moldering away on a drill field.” His face went dark. “I only wish it were infidels we were pointing them at, and not Vordanai.”
“I think everyone here agrees with that,” Marcus said. “Let’s hope this will be the end of it.” He frowned. “Do you want a command? I’m sure—”
The Preacher shook his head. “Colonel Archer offered, but I thought I could serve best as an aide. Dispensing my expertise, as it were.” He glared at the errant boxes stacked nearby. “Ammunition is going to be a problem. Some of these guns are older than I am, and we’ve got balls in a half dozen obsolete sizes to deal with. We can’t be spendthrift.”
“You’ll manage,” Marcus said. “At least we’ve got decent ground.”
“No complaints there.” The Preacher looked out at the darkening horizon, where the flat fields stretched into the distance. “But ground isn’t everything. I’m leading a service tonight, if you have time.”
“I’ll try to make it,” Marcus said, though he knew he wouldn’t, and suspected the Preacher did, too. It was an old dance between the two of them.
“Colonel!” Viera stalked up from farther down the hill, her blue uniform spotted and stained with mud. “Are you lazing about?”
“He’s obliging the general,” Marcus said.
Viera paused at the sight of him, saluted, and then turned on the Preacher. “They’re making a mess of things down at the third battery. When I pointed it out, one of them patted me on the head.” She sniffed. “I considered tossing a torch into their caisson to administer a sharp lesson, but I didn’t want to waste the ammunition.”
“That was probably wise. Karis teaches us mercy, even for the lowest.” The Preacher sighed. “Give me a moment.”
He turned back to Marcus, who grinned. “Try not to let her blow anything up.”
“Oh, I’ve given up on that. I just try to keep her pointed in the general direction of the enemy.” His smiled faded. “I meant to ask you, when I got the chance. Do you know what happened to General Solwen?”
Val. He and his men had been taken by surprise before the Battle of Alves. Marcus shook his head. “Captured, I hope. I can’t imagine Janus ordering a slaughter, and Val at least wouldn’t fight against us.” Unless he’s out there right now with glowing red eyes...
“I will say a prayer for him,” the Preacher said. He saluted again. “With your permission?”
“Of course. Good luck.”
He walked off after Viera, whose Hamveltai-?accented Vordanai was just as loud as her mentor’s. They’re well matched, I suppose.