“I just wanted to be clear where we stand.” Abby frowned, looking up at Marcus. “You know that most of the women in this regiment joined up to follow Jane and Winter.”
“I know.” Jane Verity, the street tough turned officer who’d been widely rumored to be Winter’s lover, had ultimately betrayed Janus and been imprisoned for it. She’d later died, under somewhat mysterious circumstances. “I’ll do my best to follow their example.”
“Good. Winter was always very clear about the Girls’ Own being an equal part of the division.”
“You’re afraid of the other regiments taking advantage?” Marcus looked sympathetic. “I’ll speak to the colonels and make it clear it won’t be tolerated—”
Abby snorted. “We can take care of ourselves on that front, General. Not that we need to—?we’ve got them pretty well trained by now. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Woman or not, being an officer demanded a certain code of behavior. Marcus fixed Abby with a frosty stare. “You’re concerned about my ability?”
“I have no doubts as to your ability,” Abby said. “We all know what you did in Murnsk after the river flooded. I’m more worried about your character.”
Marcus, who’d unfrozen slightly, resolidified. “My character?”
“That you might have some crazy ideas, like maybe keeping my regiment off the front line, or sending us where you think it’s going to be safe.” Abby grinned. “Winter always said you had an excess of chivalry. I’m telling you that if you try to apply that to us, you’re going to have a lot of angry soldiers on your hands.”
Ah. Marcus paused uncomfortably. Winter wasn’t wrong, he supposed. Marcus had opposed the creation of a female unit, back in the beginning, out of a visceral feeling that letting women put themselves in harm’s way went against everything he was supposed to stand for. Janus hadn’t shown any such scruples, however, and it had been hard to maintain his opposition in the face of the enthusiasm of the Girls’ Own and other volunteers. Then there’d been Andy, who’d served as his aide all through the coup and the Murnskai campaign, until she’d been killed during the retreat. Her name still brought him a pang of guilt, though she’d chosen her own path every step of the way.
“General Ihernglass... has known me a long time,” Marcus said. “But I like to think I’m capable of learning, at least a little bit. I can’t pretend I’m completely comfortable, but I promise I won’t hold this regiment back.” He shrugged. “I’d be a fool if I tried to. You’re widely agreed to be the best skirmishers in the Grand Army, and any commander who was handed a weapon like that and didn’t use it would deserve to lose his battles.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.” Abby’s grin widened. “I’ll hold you to it, General.”
“Please do,” Marcus said. “Now, may I ask you a question?”
Abby raised her eyebrows again. “Of course, sir.”
“My guess is a lot of your... soldiers joined up because of Janus, too. Are we going to have any difficulty now that he’s on the other side?”
Abby gave that some thought, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. We might have, once, but the old hands have been through two campaigns together now. We owe one another more than any commander, even Janus. And the latest batch of new recruits is from after Janus resigned as First Consul.”
“What if Winter Ihernglass turns up at Janus’ side?”
Abby’s smile faded. “That... might be difficult. But I don’t believe Winter would ever fight against Vordan.”
I might have said the same about Janus. Marcus decided not to press the point. Despite Abby’s optimism, the odds were that Winter was dead, his frozen body lying somewhere in the Murnskai mountains along with so many others.
“All right.” Marcus looked around. “I suppose I’d better see if my baggage has arrived. Was there anything else?”
“No, sir. Not for the moment.”
“Good.” He hesitated. “Your father sends his regards, by the way.” He hadn’t, in so many words, but Marcus felt certain he would have, if asked.
Abby laughed. “My father and I have agreed to a truce. I pretend we’re not related, and he pretends I don’t exist.”
“He’s a good man. We wouldn’t have gotten through the coup without him.”
“I’m sure he is. Maybe one day he’ll be okay with the fact that his daughter is a good soldier.” She shrugged. “You can tell him I said hello, if it’ll make you happy.”
“I doubt I’ll see him soon, but I’ll keep that in mind—”
There was a scratch at the tent flap, and Marcus paused. A woman’s voice from outside said, “Messenger for the general, sir!”
“Come in,” Abby snapped.
A moment later a boy ducked through the tent flap. He was a corporal, but no older than sixteen. His wide eyes suggested he’d absorbed the same scene Marcus had outside, but been a bit less polite about staring.
“Sir. Sirs.” He came to attention. “Message for Column-?General d’Ivoire.”
“That’s me,” Marcus said. “What is it?”
“Compliments of Column-?General Kurot,” the boy said. “He’s arrived, and he wants to talk to you as soon as possible. I’m to take you to him, if you’re ready.”
Marcus had hoped for another day or so to get settled in to his new command. No such luck, apparently. Though it was probably a good thing from the point of view of the army as a whole. At least Kurot keeps a quick pace.
“Then let’s not keep the general waiting,” Marcus said. “Lead on.”
*
The new commander of the Army of the Republic had clearly only just arrived, but his staff were unpacking with impressive efficiency. A large command tent was already up, and others were rising around it. Several carts full of neatly labeled and organized supplies stood nearby. Marcus’ guide brought him to the central tent and scratched for entrance, and was greeted by a barked “Come!”
Marcus nodded to the boy and stepped inside. Column-?General Thomas Kurot sat at a folding table behind a portable writing desk. Very little else had been unpacked yet, but the table was already prepared with maps and a set of tiny wooden soldiers, complete with long rakes for moving them about. Beside the map stood a chessboard, pieces carved from black and white marble, apparently abandoned midgame.
Kurot himself was in early middle age, his brown hair fading to gray and receding toward a bald spot atop the dome of his skull. He wore thin, square-?lensed spectacles, which combined with a peaked nose to give him an owlish look. Deep blue eyes gave a strong impression of intelligence. Marcus saluted, finding the reflex a little rusty.
“Sir,” he said. “Column-?General Marcus d’Ivoire, reporting as ordered.”
“General d’Ivoire.” Kurot looked up, and his smile held genuine warmth. “Please. Come and sit.”
Marcus crossed the room, a little uncertainly, and pulled out a folding chair near Kurot. The general looked him over a bit longer and gave an approving nod, as though he liked what he saw.
“Let me first say,” Kurot began, “that it’s an honor to serve with you. I have read your accounts of the Khandarai campaign with great interest, and I’ve heard many stories from the more recent Murnskai expedition.”