"I reckon they might want to recover it."
"They might, but a commander with half a brain would just knock the tower down, and us in it. Set out pickets. Let them know I want no shots fired."
"I'll be picking men with sharp knives."
"Good, and it will be a cold camp. Can't afford fires alerting the Ryngians. If we are to take that fort, our only ally will be surprise."
They studied the Ryngians for a full day and learned some useful facts. The tower garrison consisted of six soldiers. To change the garrison, six men paddled a canoe across the river at dawn and the garrison hopped into it and paddled back. The exchange took ten minutes at a landing a mere twenty yards from the woods. During the exchange the tower remained unoccupied.
Fort Cuivre sent out hunting parties and wood-gathering parties several times a day, beginning at dawn. The hunters carried muskets, but the soldiers sent to gather firewood only carried axes. Both groups disappeared into the forest in the course of executing their duties.
At noon on the twenty-fifth, Forest gathered his officers together. "Fort Cuivre's garrison probably has three men for every two of us. Tomorrow morning we'll capture a dozen of them. From them we'll learn more about the garrison's condition. They look a bit scrawny, but no less so than we."
Nathaniel smiled. He'd always been on the lean side, but Makepeace had complained he could see his own ribs. Most everyone else had clothing hanging looser on them. Benjamin Beecher had become positively skeletal. He sat quietly and looked as if he'd stop breathing at any time.
"Now we really can't lay a proper siege to the fort because of those corvettes. They can sail on down, get supplies, and come back. There's nothing we can do to stop them."
Thomas Hill-one of the Summerland boys-raised a hand. "Me and some of the others sailed a mite. Get us aboard one and we can deal with the other."
"Getting your ship out of the docks before the landward cannons and the other corvette sink it? I would not want to risk your life on that." Forest frowned. "Unless the Ryngian commander is a complete idiot, he has no reason to come out and engage us. He has the fort and we have to come take it."
Caleb raised a hand. "Permission to speak, Major."
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
Caleb stood, picking up a stick. "What if we give him a reason?"
Forest nodded. "How would we do this?"
Caleb drew a diagram in the dirt. "Fact is, we have one advantage. All of our men are sharpshooters. Over half of us have rifles. They've left us plenty of cover to shoot from. We could, fairly easily, snipe sentries and gunners."
"Interesting, but he can just keep his people under cover."
"The point, Major, is that it's like the Battle of Ajiancoeur, when King Henry defeated the best of the Ryngian knights. His Kyr longbowmen peppered the Ryngians at long range. That made them angry, so they had to come out. If they don't come after us, more of them will die."
"I suspect, Caleb, the Ryngian commander has read many of the same histories as you. He may have learned from them." Forest nodded kindly. "Still, this idea might work."
Benjamin Beecher roused himself. "You cannot possibly consider that strategy, Major!"
Confusion flashed over Forest's face. "You have an opinion, Reverend Beecher?"
"That is not how warfare is waged, sir." Beecher climbed unsteadily to his feet, one of his holed-hose slipping down to mid-calf. "I may be Mystrian, but I have been to Norisle. There are rules to warfare, proper rules and proper conduct. You should form up and offer the Ryngians proper combat."
Nathaniel snorted. "And what if he ain't about accepting our invitation?"
Caleb shook his head. "What if he declines it by blasting us with his cannons?"
"Well, then, he would be in violation of the rules. The moral victory would be ours."
Makepeace laughed. "I don't reckon that would stop us from bleeding."
"Gentlemen, please, Reverend Beecher's argument deserves respect." Major Forest took the stick from his nephew. "Many of you have killed other men, but not in cold blood. And that's what it will be. You'll be laying in wait, timing that sentry as he walks his watch. You'll see him come to the end, pause and turn. Right there, right where he slows down, you'll make his wife a widow, his babies orphans. Chances are he's just hungry, lonely, and scared-and would have surrendered given the chance. Are you ready to murder men who would rather be an ocean away?"
A chill ran up Nathaniel's spine. He'd killed his share. Hell, I've killed enough to account for all the Bookworms and double for Beecher. Damned few were the ones he'd regretted. All the men he'd killed needed killing, but some of them only needed it a little bit. If someone had talked sense into them, they might be on the green side of grass even today.
What surprised Nathaniel was that while Caleb had been speaking, he'd been looking at the problem the way Prince Vlad would have. It was all a matter of angles and powder, elevation and wind. Nathaniel even figured that wounding a man was better than killing him, since there wasn't quite anything like a grown man shrieking to take the steel out of other men's spines.
He hadn't been thinking about morality. Sure, the men were men, but they were men whose existence threatened his. The connection might be slender, but if the Ryngians had their way, they'd sweep all Mystrians off the continent. What he was doing might have been pre-emptive, but there wasn't any denying the Ryngian threat.
Nathaniel stood. "Well now, Major, you done given me something to be thinking on for a bit."
"Good. I don't want any men who aren't willing to think, and who aren't willing to take responsibility for their actions." Major Forest nodded slowly. "I want you all to think about it. We'll reconvene at dusk but, in the meantime, get crews together to make canoes to get us across that river."
Kamiskwa, the Altashee, and Lanatashee worked with the Mystrians to shape canoes. The Shedashee had lost four warriors, two from each tribe. In entering Seven Nations territory, Kamiskwa had met with representatives of the Waruntokii, whose land they were moving through. The Waruntokii were wary of du Malphias because of his close association with the Ungarakii. The Waruntokii would do nothing to help the Rangers, and demanded four hostages against any hostilities by the Rangers on the Waruntokii.
As evening fell they completed five large war canoes that could carry ten men each. The plan was to move downriver, out of site of Fort Cuivre, and string a line across. In an hour or two they could ferry their complete force north.
Major Forest studied the faces of his officers as they met in a hollow. A few logs burned in a fire pit, casting red illumination that made everyone appear as if dwelling in Hell. "Your thoughts, gentlemen?"
Makepeace nodded. "I done me some cogitating and praying, more one than the other, truth be told. Begging the Reverend's pardon, but seems to me that the Good Lord done used a lot of trickery in war in the Good Book. Now iffen He wanted to give one of us a horn what would bring down the walls of that there fort, we'd be counting it a miracle, nothing more be said. Just because a bunch of men put laws to warfare don't go amending God's Laws. I reckon as long as we treat honorable what surrenders, I'm willing to drop those as don't."
Beecher blinked several times. "But, gentlemen, this will put your immortal souls in jeopardy."
Rufus Branch spat into the fire. "Ain't like it ain't there already. I'll kill those opposing me. If they're gonna surrender, best do it right quick, or I'll kill them, too."
Nathaniel stood and ran a hand across his jaw. "I reckon you all 'spect me to be agreeing with Makepeace. I ain't saying I don't. I also ain't saying Reverend Beecher don't have a point. Seems to me that iffen we all agree on shooting all the Ryngians we can, we still got us a problem. As the Major said, ain't no reason the Ryngians cain't all just stay hunkered down. And, see, here's where Caleb and Reverend Beecher has their points."