“Do your best to keep things peaceful,” Marcus said. “Try not to use force if you don’t have to.”
He turned to Fitz, who raised one eyebrow. “Nothing to report that I didn’t say yesterday,” he said. “Sick lists are way up, and desertions are getting worse. If this keeps going, it will get a lot easier to feed my division.”
“It’s the same in the Second,” Abby said, settling down at the table with a weary sigh. “The Girls’ Own is holding up, but Sevran says there’s ugly talk among his men.”
“Mutiny?” Give-Em-Hell said. “You can’t stand for that, sir. Pick an example and give—”
“They don’t want to fight for Janus,” Abby said. “They just want to stop marching, and I have a hard time blaming them. They say we should have surrendered after Alves.” She looked up at Marcus. Her eyes were dull and flat. “It would help if we could tell them where we’re going.”
“You can read the map as well as I can,” Marcus said. “We haven’t got the strength to hold the line of the Vlind. If we can make it as far as the Rhyf, then maybe—”
“That’s another hundred and fifty miles,” Abby said. “We’re not going to last that long.”
“She’s right,” Fitz said quietly.
Cyte finished marking up the map and sat back. They all stared at it, lost in thought.
What can I tell them? That, in the end, they were just buying time? If we surrender, Janus will be free to march on Vordan City. This way they were luring his forces farther and farther south, far from where they would need to be. Every step they took following the Army of the Republic was a step they’d have to retrace. Raesinia can assemble new armies. Get help from the Borels. Something. But he doubted that sentiment would go far to fill empty bellies or soothe aching legs.
“We’ll go as far as we can,” he said. “That’s the long and the short of it. I don’t intend to waste the lives of our men—?if Janus surrounds us, we’ll surrender. But while we can march, we’ll march.”
“Well said, goddammit,” Give-Em-Hell roared. “Never give in while you’ve got an ounce of strength left!”
“I’ll tell Sevran,” Abby said, then muttered, “though I’m not sure if he’ll pass that along.”
“Once we cross the Vlind,” Fitz said, “I suggest we shift to a more westerly course. We’ll have to screen the Pale crossings, but I think that will be substantially easier than pressing south into hill country. We may even be able to ease the pace somewhat if General Stokes can delay the enemy flanking columns.”
“It’s an idea,” Marcus said. “But...”
An hour of discussion followed, the gritty details of marches and foraging assignments, spoiling attacks by the cavalry and what could be risked. A sergeant came in with steaming bowls of army soup, prepared by the old reliable method of boiling whatever you had in a pot until it was soft. Marcus wolfed his down mechanically, not paying enough attention to notice the flavor.
There was no resolving many of the questions, not unless the situation changed radically, and eventually they simply ran out of energy for further argument. Even Give-Em-Hell’s indefatigable impetus was flagging. And while Fitz seemed, on the surface, as impervious as ever, he withdrew into himself, answering only in clipped, precise monosyllables.
“Enough,” Marcus said. “Get some sleep. We’ll pick this up later.”
No one argued. In a few moments, only he and Cyte remained in the tent.
Two days to the Vlind. Marcus looked down at the map. There were a few rivers between the Vlind and the Rhyf, but none of them large enough to present a strategic barrier. If we make it to the Rhyf, it’s only another hundred miles to Enzport. He didn’t dare say that out loud to the other commanders. Even Marcus had to admit that making the trek, at their current pace, seemed impossible. But it’s our only choice, apart from surrender or a glorious last stand somewhere. Enzport had a deep?water harbor and modern fortifications. Once inside, the army could be supplied by sea, and keep Janus tied down in front of its walls indefinitely.
“I’m worried about Abby,” Cyte said, after an interval.
“Oh?” Marcus said.
“Erdine’s death hit her harder than she’s letting on. She’s... not coping well.”
Marcus had almost forgotten about the loss of the colorful cavalryman. It was the all-?pervading effect of exhaustion—?anything that wasn’t crucial to immediate survival fell out of his mind almost at once. The cavalry detachments of the divisions had been merged into Give-Em-Hell’s depleted command, so he hadn’t had to worry about finding a replacement.
“She seems to be attending to her duties,” Marcus said.
“She’s working herself to death,” Cyte said. “She doesn’t sleep more than four hours a night, and she’s barely eating. At this rate, she won’t last.”
Marcus shook his head. “What do you want me to do? I can’t afford to tell her to take a few days off.”
“I know. She wouldn’t do it anyway. It’s just... Jane’s gone, Winter’s gone, and now Erdine. The Girls’ Own is all she has left.”
“Can you talk to her?”
“Me?” Cyte hesitated. “I can try. It would be better if it were Winter.”
“Winter’s not here,” Marcus said gently. “And I doubt it would help, coming from me. Try.”
Cyte nodded jerkily. “I’ll do my best.”
“What about you?”
“Sir?”
“How are you holding up?”
She gave him a level gaze. “I’m tired, sir. We’re all tired.”
“Take care of yourself as best you can.” Marcus sighed and rubbed his temples. “God knows I couldn’t keep all this running without you.”
*
They crossed the Vlind at a town called Zeckvol, a dot on the map no one had ever heard of. It turned out to be a few streets’ worth of plaster-?and-?timber buildings, a brick church, and a bridge. Only the last mattered to Marcus. No inhabitants were in evidence, the townspeople all having either fled or taken shelter.
The bridge was a short wooden span, beams anchored to a rock in the middle of the river. Fitz looked at it thoughtfully as he and Marcus reined up on the east bank, while the infantry filed across in a long, bedraggled procession of weather-?beaten blue.
“Shouldn’t take much, sir,” Fitz said. “A little powder and it’ll burn nicely.”
“Good.” It wouldn’t make the locals happy, but there was little choice. Give-Em-Hell’s light cavalry were ranging up and down the river, burning or blowing up every bridge they could find. If Janus’ army wanted to cross, they’d need to use a ford or take a long detour.
Cannon rumbled across, hitched to the back of their caissons, their metal-?shod wheels making the planks rattle.
“If this slows Janus down,” Fitz ventured, “maybe we can afford a short march tomorrow. Give the men some rest and the foragers more time to work.”
“Maybe,” Marcus said. He wasn’t optimistic the river would hold their pursuers for long. “The cavalry will keep watch to see where they cross.”
They sat in silence for a while, as another infantry regiment began crossing.
“I hope Val had the sense to surrender,” Marcus said.