Only roughly two-?thirds of the army had made the journey south to Vordan City—?specifically the First, Second, Third, Fourth, Sixth, and Eighth Divisions, leaving the Fifth, Seventh, Ninth, and Tenth on the frontier. The split had seemed like the right idea at the time, with the units that had seen the least fighting remaining in the north to keep an eye on the Murnskai border, while the battered divisions that had borne the brunt of the campaign went back to Vordan for reinforcement and training. Now, though, Marcus was acutely aware that he’d left four nearly fresh divisions, some thirty-?six thousand men, far beyond his immediate reach, while the six that he had to hand were either well below strength or had a high proportion of raw recruits.
On the positive side, apart from divisional batteries, the bulk of the artillery had come south with the army. The same was true of Give-Em-Hell’s cavalry, although casualties in that arm had been particularly appalling. Still. We’d better hope that Alek’s spies are wrong, or at least that not everyone in the north goes over to Janus. The odds are way too close for my liking.
The news was already loose. Marcus could feel it as he rode through the camp. The normal raucous chatter of the evening was gone, replaced with hundreds of furtive, whispered conversations. Messengers rode to and fro. Even if Raesinia hadn’t warned him, Marcus’ instinctive sense for camp life would have told him that something was badly wrong. As it was, he had to restrain himself from kicking his horse into a gallop.
His own dwelling was a tent, albeit a large and comfortable one. He’d refused Fitz’ offer to build him a more permanent shelter, wanting to set a virtuous example; now he looked at it and saw only how indefensible it was, how easy it would be for any attackers to get inside. Stop. It won’t come to that. It had better not.
A sentry outside held two horses, and saluted as Marcus dismounted.
“Division-?Generals Warus and Solwen to see you, sir! They’re waiting inside.”
“Thanks.” Marcus slid from his saddle and handed the man his reins. “Send someone for coffee, would you? I think it’s going to be a late night.”
Inside, much of the tent was taken up with a folding table, adrift in maps and paperwork. Marcus’ humble camp-?bed was concealed behind a thin curtain, leaving the rest of the space for interviews and planning. He still had most of Giforte’s old staff to help him, though he badly missed the man himself. But Raesinia had greater need of him, and until tonight it had seemed like there wasn’t any chance of action soon. Damn, damn, damn.
The two men waiting for him were some of the longest-?serving soldiers in the army, Old Colonials both. Valiant Solwen—“Val” to nearly everyone—?was a short, wide-?shouldered man with a ruddy face and a pencil mustache. He and Marcus had each commanded a battalion in Khandar, back when they’d been captains at the edge of the world. Marcus had gone there voluntarily, running from everything after he’d heard about the fire that had killed his family. Val had been banished for some slight, terrifyingly important at the time, which had long since been forgotten in the uproar that had followed.
Fitz Warus hadn’t even been a captain in those days, just a staff lieutenant serving under his older brother, Colonel Ben Warus. He’d changed very little since then, outwardly. A decade younger than Marcus and Val, he was as slender as a blade, always impeccably uniformed even in the harshest conditions. Looking at him now, though, Marcus was struck by the thought that even dependable Fitz had changed in the last year. He’d not grown up exactly—?he’d always been the responsible one—?but grown out, taking responsibility on his own instead of serving as Marcus’ right hand. Something in the way he carried himself exuded competence. There was a good reason Janus had made him commander of the First Division.
“You’ve heard?” Marcus said, as he let the tent flap fall closed behind him. No need to specify what.
They both nodded.
“I think everyone knows by now,” Val said. “Or will shortly. Rumors are the damnedest thing.”
“Some of the carters have admitted they were tipped to spread the story,” Fitz said. “Someone wants all of Vordan to know about this.”
“Right. So no point trying to keep things under wraps.” Marcus eased himself into one of the camp chairs. “Have you talked to your colonels?”
Fitz nodded, but Val shook his head, staring fixedly at Marcus.
“I wanted to come here first,” he said slowly. “Just to... check on things.”
“To check...” Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Ah. To make sure I wasn’t about to declare for Janus, you mean?”
“Not that I really thought you’d do it,” Val said hastily. He gave a harrumph. “I just didn’t want you to say anything you’d regret later.”
Or else you wanted to make sure to be on my side, whatever I did, Marcus thought ruefully. Val was a good man and a respectable commander, but he had no head for politics—?witness his getting banished to Khandar in the first place. He’d negotiated the tricky waters of the revolution and subsequent wars by sticking close to Marcus, whatever happened.
There are a lot of soldiers in that position. Without a particular ideology, or at least not one they’d bet their lives on, but with a great deal of trust in their commanders. It’s like I told Raesinia. The army will obey the generals. He took a deep breath. We just need to make sure of the generals, then.
“I’m not sure of anything at this point,” Marcus said. “I’m not convinced that this really came from Janus, or that he’s acting of his own free will. But whatever happens, my loyalty is with the people of Vordan, and that means Raesinia and the Deputies. Is that clear?” I made that choice once already.
“Of course, of course,” Val said. “I just thought... heat of the moment, you understand...”
“Thank you, Val,” Marcus said. “I must admit that my first instinct was to ride north to see what was going on for myself. Thankfully, Raesinia was there to point out that it might have looked... politically dubious, under the circumstances.” He looked down at the table, with its burden of paperwork, and frowned. “What’s our first priority?”
“So far the men are under control,” Fitz said. “There’s been a lot of whispering, but no action. I’ve warned my colonels to be on the lookout for spontaneous demonstrations. We may want to institute a curfew.”
Val nodded vigorous agreement. “I told Lieutenant Fylar to make sure everyone stayed put. He’ll keep my division in line.”
“That accounts for the First and the Third,” Marcus said. “What about the rest?”
“The Fourth is temporarily under my command,” Fitz said. “Pending the trial of General Kaanos.”
Morwen Kaanos—?Mor—?had been, along with Adrecht Roston, the other half of the commanders of the original Colonials. Adrecht had led a mutiny against Janus, and nearly killed Marcus himself; he’d been left to die in the desert with his coconspirators. Mor had served in the revolutionary army until the Murnskai campaign, but he’d made no secret of his distaste for Janus and Raesinia, and it had come to a head just before Marcus’ return, when he’d tried to assume command. Raesinia had outmaneuvered him, and he’d been arrested, but his trial had been postponed until the appointment of a new Minister of War.
“Given Kaanos’ attitude toward Janus,” Fitz went on, “I doubt any of his officers are likely to be leading their men in that direction.”