“What about the dragoons?” she enquired. “And all those conscripts?”
“The dragoons were stubborn, the conscripts were not. The Electress is talking to them now. It seems most of their officers had their throats cut last night, and those who didn’t are currently fleeing back up the road to Corvus. A road that now lies open.”
“Congratulations.” She gritted her teeth as Makario drew the suture tight on her cut. “The great General Arberus cements his reputation. I imagine someone is already planning a statue.”
“If so, it’s more likely it’ll be of you than me. The army is abuzz with talk of Miss Blood and her selfless courage.”
“You have Hyran to thank for all this.” She jerked her head at the surrounding corpses, adding inwardly, And Makario to thank for the fact that I’m still here.
“Even so,” Arberus said, “every revolution requires its heroes. Legends inspire, truth does not.”
“If you quote your grandmother at me again I swear I’ll shoot you.”
She watched his smile fade completely and knew any lingering hopes of salvaging their intimacy had gone. Did we ever share more than a purpose? Apparently not.
She forced a smile of gratitude at Makario as he snipped off the suture and mopped the last of the blood from her cut. “Come along, young man,” the musician said, moving to Hyran and tugging him to his feet. “I’m sure somewhere amongst this rabble someone is cooking an approximation of breakfast.”
Hyran merely blinked at him as he allowed himself to be guided from the field, empty eyes tracking over the carnage he had helped create.
“The first taste of battle is always bitter,” Arberus observed. He moved to sit at Lizanne’s side but she rose and turned away, crossing her arms and taking some small sadistic pleasure in allowing the silence to play out to an uncomfortable length.
“When this is over . . .” he began.
“You won’t be returning to Feros,” she finished. “Yes, I had already divined that.”
“Victory in Corvus won’t be the end of this war. An empire that has lasted a thousand years doesn’t just slip easily from tyranny to freedom. Building the republic will be the work of years, decades even.”
“Republic?” She raised an eyebrow in grim amusement. “Bidrosin’s great vision made flesh, at last. Tell me, just how much sympathy does the Electress have for your cherished beliefs? I’m sure her views on revolutionary philosophy make for a fascinating discussion.”
“She is committed to victory, as am I. As to what might happen next . . .”
“She’ll kill you.” Lizanne stepped closer, looking directly into his eyes so there would be no mistaking her certainty. “Once she’s done slaking her thirst for vengeance on the Corvantine nobility, she’ll kill you and anyone else who might pose a threat to her power. To her this empire is just Scorazin on a larger scale. If you think otherwise you’re a bigger fool than I took you for.”
“If the Electress also considers me a fool then I’ll enjoy the advantage of having been under-estimated.” His gaze was as steady as hers, his tone suddenly hard. “The true revolutionary does not get to wield power. Their role is to ensure power is transferred to those who were once its victims. Leonis used to say that the world we wanted to build would not welcome us, so steeped were we in blood and deceit. I have been doing this all my life, Lizanne. I know what the Electress is, as I know what I am, and so do you.”
Lizanne dropped her gaze, suddenly weary as the exertions of the previous night bore down on her, demanding sleep. “Everything that happened since I returned to Arradsia has . . . changed me,” she said. “Morsvale, Carvenport, Scorazin, all of it. Like hammer-blows beating me into a new shape. I cannot be who I was, even if I wanted to. I had hoped the same might be true of you.”
“It is,” she heard him insist softly as she walked away. “But it seems the shape I was beaten into is not the one you want.”
? ? ?
The casualties suffered by what was now being termed “The People’s Freedom Army” during its first major victory amounted to some two and a half thousand dead and wounded. The losses were immediately made good by the addition of the mutinous conscripts and the steady stream of civilian volunteers, a stream that became a flood as they resumed their northward march. A host of willing recruits emerged from every town and village they passed on the Corvus Road, so that within a week the army had risen to over sixty thousand people. The new recruits were a decidedly mixed bunch. Older veterans of previous revolutions marched alongside eager sons and daughters, their zeal fired by years of secret education in radical doctrine. As the march towards Corvus continued Lizanne began to see a partial vindication in the Brotherhood’s faith. It seemed the spark of revolution had met willing tinder after all. However, it soon became apparent that the path to the capital would not be the unopposed victory march the Electress envisaged.
“Selvurin clansmen,” Arberus said, skewering the ground with a captured sabre during the Electress’s regular evening council. The sabre’s blade was several inches longer than a typical cavalry weapon with a distinctive tassel of eagle feathers dangling from the pommel. “Attacked some Brotherhood scouts in the woods to the west around noon, made off with six heads by the time reinforcements arrived. We only caught one. He didn’t survive questioning.”
“So Countess Sefka’s relying on northern mercenaries,” the Electress mused, angling her head to inspect the sabre. “Probably paying them by the head.”
“I thought the northern provinces hated the empire,” Lizanne said.
“That they do, dear,” the Electress replied. “But there’s always loyalists in any province. A few of the horse clans sided with the crown during the revolutions. Settled old scores and got rich into the bargain. The fact that they’ve turned up so far south might actually be a good sign. Could mean they’ve been driven out of the north, or the Countess is getting desperate.”
“Desperate or not, they’re a fearsome enemy,” Arberus said. “The finest horsemen in the empire, given to worshipping gods that reward the kin of any who fall in battle. You can be sure we haven’t seen the last of them. We’re having to gather supplies as we move, and I don’t have enough mounted troops to cover every caravan. If they start raiding in earnest it will seriously impede our progress.”
“Clansmen are hunters,” Varkash said. “Like wolves, or eagles,” he added, nodding at the tassel on the sabre. “Every eagle has a nest. We have but to find it.”
Lizanne sighed as all eyes in the tent turned to her. “I’ll need a faster horse,” she said.