The Price of Valor (26 page)

“That's something we have in common, then. So there hasn't been much trouble?”

Cyte shook her head. “No, sir. Nothing significant.”

“A few incidents of . . . overexcited carousing,” Bobby said. “But Sevran and Abby have been keeping things under control.”

“Abby? What about Jane?”

Bobby looked embarrassed. “You'll have to talk to her about that, sir.”

What the hell am I supposed to say to Jane, anyway?
She'd blown up at her on the battlefield, in the heat of the moment, but ultimately she'd meant every word.
I don't care what she thinks of the Royals. You can't leave fellow soldiers to fight on their own if you've got a choice.
Just thinking about it made Winter feel angry, but that only made things worse.
I can't lose her. Not again.

The citadel was surrounded by a stone curtain wall, three stories high, enclosing a drill field and a stone keep along with various wooden buildings. The huge doors, solid oak planks banded with iron, stood open. By the rust on the hinges, Winter guessed they hadn't been closed in decades. She was gratified to see sentries on the wall walk, though, Girls' Own and Royals both.

Passing under the wall—the ceiling was full of holes, where medieval defenders in the gatehouse could have poured boiling oil on attackers who'd breached the first set of gates—they emerged into the courtyard. About half of it was taken up with tents; Winter guessed the citadel only had room for a few hundred. In the other half, several companies were drilling while a group of men in regulation uniforms inspected a cartload of crated goods. Soldiers were everywhere, maintaining gear, cleaning linens, or just sitting in the weak autumn sun.

As soon as Winter entered, silence spread throughout the yard, spreading like a ripple from a stone dropped into a pool. The shouts of the drilling sergeants quieted, and every head turned to stare. The closest soldiers to Winter, two Girls' Own rankers and a royal corporal working on coiling ropes, bounced to their feet and saluted. Soon that was spreading, too, every man and woman in the yard straightening up and putting a hand over their heart. Winter heard Bobby and Cyte follow suit.

Winter was certain her cheeks were flaming red. She waved a hand awkwardly.

“Thank you, everyone.” She patted the bandage that ran around her head. “I'm all right, as you can see. Thank you.” Winter paused. “The general asked me to tell you, ‘Well done.'”

No one moved, but she saw smiles spreading.

“That's all,” Winter said. “Thanks.”

The crowd of soldiers relaxed, and a low buzz of conversation began again. The three directly in front of Winter stood aside to let her pass.

“You don't have to keep thanking them,” Bobby said. “You're the colonel here.”

“Sorry,” Winter muttered. “I couldn't think what else to say. Is Sevran in the keep?”

Cyte said, “I'll take you up. Bobby, you need to go find Marsh, don't you?”

Bobby blushed but nodded and hurried away. Winter stared after her a moment, then shook her head.

“You don't approve?” Cyte said.

“It's hardly my place not to.”

Cyte shrugged. “You seem to worry a good deal about her.”

“Bobby . . .” Winter sighed. “It's just that I knew Bobby in Khandar, and . . . she feels very young sometimes.”

“War has a way of burning that out of people,” Cyte said, then laughed. “Look at me. Half a year ago I'd never swung a sword in anger, and now I can act cynical with the best of them.”

Winter smiled. “Don't let Graff hear you say that. He considers cynicism his personal prerogative.”

“Sir!” Sevran said, rising. “It's good to see you on your feet.”

“Right now I'm eager to get
off
my feet,” Winter said, collapsing into a chair and waving away the captain's salute. “This is quite a hill they've stuck us on top of. Could I trouble you for some water?”

“Of course!” Sevran gestured at one of the young rankers waiting by the door, and the boy dashed off.

Winter waited, but the captain remained standing. Eventually she felt compelled to break the silence. “Is something wrong?”

“Sorry, sir. It's just . . .” He straightened back to attention. “I wanted to say that I realize I acted against orders, during the battle. I advanced my battalion from the position I was assigned. Captain Verity was correct not to—”

“No,” Winter said. “She was not. I didn't just leave you orders, I left you in
command
. That means making decisions. You saw a threat, and you acted to forestall it. It was the correct decision. Whether or not Captain Verity agreed with you, you were within your rights to order her to support you.”

Sevran deflated slightly. “Thank you, sir. I recognize that it's put you in a difficult position.”

“My personal life is my own problem,” Winter said with more confidence than she felt. “It's not your responsibility, Captain.”

The ranker returned with a glass carafe, still cold from the well. He poured a cup, which Winter took gratefully.

The keep reminded her a little of the barracks of the Heavenly Guard in Ashe-Katarion. It was richly furnished, with solid furniture, wall hangings, and rugs, but there was no concealing the fact that it had originally been intended as a fortress. The ceilings were low, the walls stone, and the windows were narrow slits that let in hardly any sun. Captain Sevran had taken an old common room on the second floor for a planning room, laying a map of the city out on the big polished table and surrounding it with scraps of notepaper carrying various details. A desk bore stacks of paper, both flimsy army foolscap and thicker pages that must have come from civilians in the city.

“I've made a start on getting the supply lines organized,” he said, following Winter's gaze. “Janus left us several wagonloads full of people from the quartermaster's office, and they're working on securing what we need. Our biggest problem is upriver transport. Goods move north from here mostly by barge, and a lot of the bargemen are Hamveltai. So far they haven't been very cooperative.”

“If that's our biggest problem,” Winter said, “we're having an easy time of it. We haven't had any riots, protests, that sort of thing?”

“No, sir. Not so far. The Vordanai community here has been very accommodating, and the Hamveltai are keeping their heads down. We're eating better than we have in weeks.”

“That's something to look forward to. How are your men holding up since the battle?'

He pursed his lips. “I'd say they're doing well, sir. The . . . uh . . . story of your altercation with Captain Verity spread pretty quickly, and it seems to have done a lot for their respect for you.” He smiled. “I haven't had a single formal complaint, not even from the noble-born lieutenants. Although Lieutenant Novus' dismissal may have something to do with that.”

“People heard what I said to Jane?” Winter winced. She'd hoped to keep that between them. “The Girls' Own can't be happy about it.”

“You'd have to ask Captain Verity or Lieutenant Giforte about that, sir, but my impression is that a lot of them think you were right. There may be . . . pockets of grumbling, though.”

I'll bet.
Jane's old cronies—Becca, Winn, and the others from the Leatherbacks—wouldn't be so quick to forgive Winter for humiliating their leader.
Thank God Abby seems to have a good head on her shoulders.

“With your permission, sir, I'd like to begin daily drill again tomorrow. I'd like to use an old racecourse down in the city. I think it would do everyone good to get most of the regiment practicing at once, and it can't hurt to be seen exercising a little discipline. A lot of people are still frightened.”

And if the locals
are
thinking of turning on us, a little show of force might be a good idea.
“Do it,” Winter said. “Use everyone you can spare from other duties. I'll tell Abby.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sevran cocked his head, listening. “I believe I hear Lieutenant Giforte now.”

A moment later, Abby swept in from the corridor, with several other Girls' Own officers trailing behind her. She looked unhappy until she saw Winter, and then her expression became one of relief.

“Sir! Are you feeling better?”

“Enough to walk short distances, anyway,” Winter said. “I think we need to talk.”

Abby nodded emphatically. “Virginia, Nel, go over my plan with the captain and get his notes. Colonel, I think we can use the room next door.”

With some reluctance, Winter levered herself up from her chair and followed Abby out into the corridor. The freckled young woman was showing some serious signs of sunburn on the back of her neck, and she'd tied her frizzy brown hair up into a bun that bobbed as she walked. She opened the door to the next room over, which was a dusty pantry that looked as though it hadn't been used in months. A handful of empty crates lay on the floor, and Abby grabbed one and brushed it off before presenting it to Winter.

“Who was using this place before we moved in?” Winter said as Abby cleaned off another crate for her own use.

“An outfit called the Falcon Guard. Strictly ceremonial, sons of privilege riding around in fancy costumes, that sort of thing. After the real army surrendered, they've been too embarrassed to show themselves, and the merchant's council said we could help ourselves. They're eager to be seen being helpful.”

“Let's hope nothing changes their attitude.” Winter had no illusions that the
Deslandai had suddenly seen the virtues of the revolutionary cause. Their loyalty would last up until the moment Janus' army was no longer a threat. “Sevran said things have been going well.”

“More or less.” Abby sighed. “I've had to keep the Girls' Own from going out nights. There's a lot of strange rumors going around about us.”

“I can imagine. Do what you need to keep them safe.”

“I will, sir. But they're not happy about it. The Royals get passes to go out on the town.”

Winter nodded. “Let me think about it.”

There was a moment of silence, which stretched out into an awkward pause. Winter finally said, “I wanted to thank you for what you did in the battle. Your squad carried the farm.”

Abby shrugged. “I was only following your orders, sir.”

“It still took a lot of courage. I'm glad you're all right.”

“Thank you, sir.” Abby sighed. “But it's not the battle you want to talk about, and you know it. It's Jane.”

Winter winced. “I'm that transparent?”

“More or less.”

“So, where is she?”

“Last I heard,” Abby said, “she was in a tavern called the Loose Cannon, about a mile from here. But they may have tossed her out by now.”

“Is she alone?”

Abby shook her head. “Most of the older Leatherbacks are with her. Becca, Winn, and the rest. Forty or fifty in all. They take over a tavern and drink it dry, then move on to the next.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since the battle, I think. Things got a little confused when we entered the city.”

“Saints and martyrs. What the hell is she up to?”

“Celebrating, she calls it. I think she's still hiding.”

“From who?” Winter said.

“You? Me? Sevran? The rest of the Girls' Own?” Abby looked uncomfortable. “The Leatherbacks are still mostly behind her, but the newer recruits weren't happy when she told us we couldn't go and help the Royals. They'd just as soon be rid of her.”

Winter looked at Abby thoughtfully. She still lacked a formal uniform, but her rumpled blue jacket seemed to fit her like a second skin, and the battered
leather bandolier that went over her shoulder looked like a natural fit. She'd become a soldier, somewhere over the past few months, in much the same way that Khandar had molded Winter herself into one.

“You've been running the Girls' Own in the meantime?” Winter said.

“More or less. I don't have any actual authority, but the others listen to me.”

“I'm changing that, as of now. You're acting captain.”

“What about Jane?”

“Jane is obviously not terribly interested in the job,” Winter said, unable to keep a certain bitterness out of her voice. “I'll deal with her, but it may take some time. It's my fault for letting this thing between us get so bad. In the meantime, the battalion needs a commander.”

“Understood, sir. Just . . .” She hesitated.

“What?” Winter said.

“Don't be too hard on her. Please.”

“I'll do my best,” Winter said.

The soldier's life had never agreed with Jane, not in the way it obviously suited Abby. She wasn't used to drills, discipline, taking orders.
She was never good at taking orders.
Even the mistresses at the Prison had given up trying to get Jane to do anything she didn't want to do, until they'd finally thrown her in a closet and married her off to a brute.
The army is never going to be her home, not the way it is for me or Bobby.

Winter shook her head and got to her feet. “All right. Have I got a room in this place?”

“Of course, sir. You've got the commander's suite on the top floor. I'll show you the way.”

*   *   *

The commander's suite turned out to be almost ridiculously luxurious, like the bedroom of a particularly avaricious king. It was so crowded with gold and silver bowls, candelabra, plate, and other precious odds and ends that there was scarcely room to do more than make her way to and from the big bed, and the sitting room was a mass of elegant paintings, vases, and polished hardwood. Winter decided that first thing tomorrow she was going to have the clutter packed away into a cellar. As it was, she felt that if she turned around too quickly she'd bump a spindly little table and shatter some priceless heirloom.