It was Ambrose.
Theodor’s brother was pale as snow, his lips cracked and gray. I rose from my chair and silverware clattered to the floor as I jostled the table. Sianh stepped aside as Theodor rushed toward his brother.
“Ambrose!” Theodor said as he embraced him, but he swayed under the weight. Theodor ushered him to a chair. “What’s happened to you?”
“A few months in a jail cell in the Stone Castle,” he said, “followed by bombardment of the city by the Royalists and a rather uncomfortable trip to get to you.”
“Jail cell?” I looked at Ambrose and then at Kristos, who hung back from the tableau unfolding before him. Dira and Hysso watched with polite but intent interest.
“I was an enemy of the Galatine people,” he said, glancing at Kristos as though assessing him, too. “Anyone of noble lineage or—what did Niko Otni call it?—guilty of ‘excessive consort’ with the nobles, that’s right.”
“But you were in the city? All along?” Theodor said, and I spoke at the same time, “I was there, I asked—”
“I know. The names of those jailed weren’t made public. I think the idea was to quietly dispose of us later—I’m not sure, maybe I’m being uncharitable. But Otni couldn’t afford public trials and disagreements over what should be done with nobles who stayed—sweet hell, especially not nobles who stayed and helped.”
“You did help, didn’t you?” I said. “When they stormed the Stone Castle, you opened the secret door from River Street.”
Ambrose’s tired eyes lit up. “How did you know?”
“I heard that the Stone Castle was breached, and that someone opened that door,” I said. “Someone who knew it existed, how to open it—I didn’t think Otni did.” I shook my head. “Of course he was happy to take the credit for it.”
“Of course he was,” Ambrose repeated in a tired echo. “Yes, the uncomfortable fact that the victory over the city had something to do with the interference of a noble would have come out if he did anything public with me. And several others, I might add—a dozen of us from the university alone were actively assisting the efforts of the Reformists in the city. But Otni wants to start fresh, I think.” Silence settled around us.
“He can’t start fresh,” Kristos said finally, through gritted teeth, “by killing people united under the banner of the Republic of Galitha.”
Ambrose’s brow creased, then shot up in surprise. “Republic of Galitha! Brilliant! I can see it in the history books now. The formation of the great nation of—” He broke off in a fit of coughing.
“Damn Otni’s eyes, Ambrose, you’re ill.”
“Not important.” Ambrose coughed. “There are plenty who agree with you, Balstrade. While the city was under bombardment, the first time the Royalists got within range to strike at the city center, the Stone Castle took some slight damage—nothing serious, but we didn’t know at the time that the whole place wouldn’t come down around our ears. Some of the guards decided they didn’t want our corpses on their consciences.”
“It’s bad in the city, then.” Theodor stood slowly from beside his brother and paced toward the opposite wall, sharing a glance with Sianh. “The bombardment has begun in earnest.”
“It’s begun, and I don’t mind telling you that you had better get there before it’s ended in earnest.”
Sianh swore. “Why has this Niko not sent word?”
“I thought he must have,” Ambrose mused. “He’s not a great enough fool to think he can outlast them.”
“He’s not?” Theodor snapped.
“Divine Natures, I hope not.” Kristos sighed. “I suppose it’s possible his messengers didn’t make it through.”
“And Theodor’s consumptive brother did?” Viola said. “No offense, Ambrose.”
“It’s plausible,” Ambrose said. “I left the city immediately—clearly I had no good reason to hang around and see if I was going to get arrested and imprisoned again. And I know the countryside.”
“No,” Kristos said slowly. “I know Niko. He sent Fig, and Fig made it. He’s sent letters, when he wanted, and those made it. He could have sent someone. He thinks he can hold the city on his own. And he thinks if he does he’ll be able to leverage his way on giving Galitha to the Red Caps to govern.”
“He is mistaken,” Sianh said. “Whatever fool thinks he can withstand bombardment and blockade on his own is a fool indeed.”
“He has always been bold. Too bold. It doesn’t matter,” Kristos said. “We have to go north. Now. March on the city. Now.”
“Our troops are ready,” said Hysso. “Ready for this—history with Galitha.”
“Well put,” Theodor said, burying any reticence he felt. “And we are ready, as well.”
“But in winter,” Gregory said. “It’s against every military manual out there.”
“Perhaps so,” Sianh said slowly. “But it is perhaps not unwise. One,” he ticked off, “the Royalists will not anticipate it. We may in fact surprise them, at least to some degree. I would venture that they have made their encampment outside Galitha City to overwinter and will therefore be massed there, which means that, two,” he counted, “they will not be a great impediment on the move northward. And finally.” He swallowed. “We either win this campaign or we lose the war. If we fail, it is over. We shall spend winter on prison barges or in the ground.”
“We’ll all hang together,” I murmured to no one but myself.
“Then we move now,” Kristos said. “Galitha City is where it started, and Galitha City is where it’s going to end.”
49
THE SPEED WITH WHICH THE ARMY COULD PACK UP AND MOVE surprised even Sianh, who watched in the pale gray before dawn as the lines of men moved northward, the wagons of supplies and gear trundling on behind. “I am very grateful we were able to requisition oxen,” he finally said.
“Pastoral Galitha has its advantages,” I replied. He smiled in reply. It was the last time I saw him smile on the march toward the city.
Scouting troops cleared our path of any belligerent Royalists, and we rejoined them as we marched, our numbers gathering strength as we approached the city. We all knew, with fear and excitement fusing our thoughts with our nerves, that this would be our final battle. There were only two outcomes. We might win a victory here, and though skirmishes and rebellions might follow the war, we would effect the surrender of the Royalists.
Or we would be defeated. Summarily, once and for all. The Republic of Galitha would die before it had even really begun.
The day we came within sight of Galitha’s towers, Sianh halted us for a short respite before we would march through the night and attack at dawn. The leaders of the army gathered by a small fire, warming hands and finalizing the plans for the morning.
Theodor caught my hand as we walked to join the others. “This is it,” he said. I slowed my pace and turned to him. He searched my face, waiting. He wanted a moment of quiet, a moment to mark the importance of what we were about to undertake. Some words, some pledge, some promise.