“Yes, Professor Westland.” Gregory saluted. “Going to go round up the rest of us grunts now.”
Theodor returned the salute. “And you and Alba will stay at the rear. Near the baggage. The quartermaster insists she’s the best to take along to keep track of supplies—I won’t argue.”
“Kristos is not keen on staying behind.”
“He… military strategy isn’t his strong suit, Sophie. I’d like him kept out—that is, assigned somewhere he can be of the most use.”
“Out of the way. You were going to say ‘out of the way.’”
“Yes, I was. Not because I don’t respect him.” He watched me, askance, as he continued. “I didn’t know how this was going to work, a split leadership like this. I admit my bias in comparing it to a kingship—could three men lead as effectively as one?” He gripped the hilt of his sword. “Three men lead better than one, as long as they all respect one another, and we do. Kristos is invaluable to us as a visionary, as a writer. He’s invaluable to the council—just because they finalized a charter doesn’t mean they don’t have plenty to do in our absence.” Theodor sighed. “But he’s more liability than asset on the field.”
“Don’t say that to him,” I said. “I’ve a feeling that hearing his sister is more valuable on a battlefield than he is would be a blow to his confidence.”
“Confidence aside, he should probably be here for Penny, too.” Theodor inclined his head toward Penny, who counted out barrels of dried beef alongside Alba as they were loaded onto a wagon. “You’ll be an aunt before spring. Ready?”
I laughed. “Babies aren’t military campaigns. They come in their own time, ready or not.” I sobered as I watched the Third Regiment marching out of the front gate of the academy. “And ready or not, it’s time for us to go.”
44
DAWN BROKE ON THE THIRD DAY OF THE MARCH COLD AND CLEAR. I uncurled myself from Theodor, bracing myself for the rush of cold air as I peeled the frost-stiffened blanket back. White rime coated each blade of grass and the bare branches and fallen leaves in intricate filigree that broke under my shoes as I tied and retied my short cloak. Even wearing the thick gray wool, wool mitts, densely woven stockings, and layers of petticoats, I was chilled.
“Once we start moving, everyone will warm up a bit,” Theodor said as he hastily swapped the wool fatigue cap he’d slept in for his proper cocked hat. “That’s my philosophy, anyway.”
“As I recall, you required a bit more than philosophy to get you out of bed on at least one rather cold morning.” I exhaled a cloud of white.
“You stole the covers, yes. In my defense, what was in bed was much more enticing than—what was that particular event? Lady Opaline’s winter hunt?” Theodor grinned. “Cruel mercy, but my ears are cold. Now, I believe there’s a dappled gray who’s saddled and ready for you.”
“I still don’t think I ought to ride, not when the other women are walking.” I glanced at the wagons of baggage, the artillery limbers hitched to draft horses and oxen, and the women accompanying the troops, all relegated to walk behind the marching columns.
“Yes, but those are laundresses and nurses. Not a high-ranking sorceress.”
I snorted, but the elevation bothered me. I was just like them, following this army and throwing my lot in with the Reformist cause. Like them, I was here because of people I loved. Like them, I left behind a home and security and, Galatine Divine bless it, a warm stove. “Is it too much like what we’re fighting against? Too much like nobility?”
Theodor slowed his walk and turned to face me. “Nothing like that. This is pragmatism. If we come under attack, we will need to deploy you quickly. That won’t happen if you’re hung up back there with the baggage.”
I nodded, pacified but unconvinced. At any rate, riding was hardly my strong suit. The gray mare Sianh had selected for me was patient and slow, and responded well to my reluctant commands, but I felt ill at ease riding with Theodor, Sianh, and Alba, who acted as though they’d been born with riding crops in hand. At least Kristos’s seat was as awkward as mine. I missed him.
“Any word from Annette?” Theodor asked Sianh as we rode next to him.
“Not since moving north. I do not expect updates from the admiral while we are on the road. She has ships scouting the coast—they will know quickly enough when we begin our attack on the city and will convene on the port.”
“And hope she can prevent a Royalist retreat,” I recalled. “So that we end it there.” I didn’t mention the crawling fear—that was if we prevailed. Despite Sianh’s careful planning, that was far from certain.
“I had a few more questions, Theodor, about the composition of the forests near the city. Are they dense, or rather more like your Westland game park?” Sianh flashed me a brief smile.
“They’re thick, new forest near the river, lots of underbrush. I wouldn’t want to move troops off the road through there. The southern portion is mostly old hardwood, less undergrowth, and—”
Shots echoed between the hills in front of us, the sound ricocheting and amplifying the report of musket fire. The rounds found their marks as my breath caught in my throat. A half a dozen men fell at once—not many, but a tremor ran through the entire length of the column.
“Creator preserve us,” Alba murmured quietly next to me as line upon line of Royalist troops crested the hill. Our road snaked between it and another steep incline. We were bottlenecked here, underneath an onslaught from the high ground that had trapped us. “Why did we hear nothing from the advance scouts about this?”
Sianh cursed, and Theodor blanched, but both quickly recovered their composure as Sianh began shouting orders. I reined my horse back, grateful for her placid demeanor and hoping fervently that swift riding wouldn’t be in order for me.
“They are over that rise,” Sianh called, gesturing with his drawn saber. “Deploy the First in lines facing those hills, Theodor, go. I’ll join you with the Third. Captain Frissett,” he shouted, “pull the Fifth with a reserve for any flanking maneuvers and to reinforce.”
“Artillery?” Theodor replied.
“No time. Perhaps later,” Sianh amended, swallowing hard. “Sophie. Back.”
“I can help,” I squeaked.
“Yes. From behind us. Either fall back with the baggage or—”
The pounding of hooves interrupted him. As swift as a hawk alighting on a ground squirrel, a troop of dragoons thundered down the opposite hill. They swept toward not the First Regiment, which was already deploying in neat and ordered lines to engage, but toward the Second, still in marching column. The officers of the Second struggled to untangle the columns into a fighting line.
“The rise behind you,” Sianh shouted. I stared back, blank. “Your position! Forget the rear, you will not make it there. That rise!” He jabbed his sword toward a steep hill, covered heavily with brambles and squat bushes. I answered in movement only. I dismounted—the horse wasn’t going to make it up that craggy slope—and looped the reins around the branch of a nearby tree.