He got a stick and redrew the fort. "Now iffen they keep their heads down, they cain't see what we is doing. That works to our advantage. And if they's angry with us, they ain't gonna be thinking straight if they do see something. And they is Ryngians, so they is going to be worried about their honor. Iffen we did form up, they might come out after us, accepting that battle when they see how pitiful we is."
Major Forest watched him, a smile fighting its way onto his face. "You have something in mind, Captain Woods?"
"I do, sir. Glimmerings, anyway. I reckon that in three days we can have them Ryngians so confused they ain't got no idea what's happening. I reckon that's when surrendering will sound good. One quick trick, and that fort will be ours."
"I await your plan, Captain Woods." Forest chuckled. "Let's hope your trick saves a lot of blood."
Beecher shook his head. "Duplicity is not honorable! I forbid this."
Forest's expression tightened. "You need to understand two things, Mr. Beecher. The first is that you are here as a courtesy to Bishop Bumble. Your duties consist of providing spiritual comfort. Second, war itself is not honorable. There is no honor in slaughtering men. Moral right, perhaps, especially when your family and your freedom are under attack, but never honor. Dying with honor is a myth promulgated to ease the grief of survivors, nothing more."
Beecher stiffened. "I shall write the Bishop about this."
"Please do. Do it now, in fact." Forest nodded to the cleric. "My men and I have a war to plan."
Chapter Sixty
July 25, 1764
On the Shores of Anvil Lake, Mystria
T hough it remained high summer and Prince Vlad had pulled a blanket around himself, he could not shake the chill. The Mystrian contingent arrived at Anvil Lake by mid-morning. The whole of the space in which he had considered putting Fort Hope had already been cleared. Stumps had been pulled, holes filled, and ground leveled. The lumber had been trimmed and stacked neatly, waiting for construction.
The Tharyngians had even supplied a sign proclaiming the site to be Fort Hope. Prince Vlad had not confided that name to but a handful and the enemy already knew it. The Ryngian's skill at ferreting out information impressed the Prince.
And it explains why we faced so little harassment on the way here.
Clearing the site of Fort Hope was not the lone improvement the Ryngians had supplied. They cut a fifteen-foot-wide road to the southwest, presumably running all the way past the Roaring River outlet and right up to the Fortress of Death. Count von Metternin and Owen had already traveled a ways upon it and returned to report that excess wood had been split into firewood and stacked for their use.
Vlad had immediately sent runners back to fetch Lord Rivendell. He dispatched work parties to clear campsites well away from the foundation of Fort Hope. While it would have been easier to let the men set up camp there, it was also possible that du Malphias had positioned mortar emplacements in the woods and had them angled to drop explosives on the cleared ground. Vlad organized hunting parties to scour the hills looking for those sites and set pickets out along the road.
He wished he had Nathaniel or Kamiskwa on site. Either of them could have told him how long ago the work had been done. He was guessing, given that bare shoots were the only undergrowth at Fort Hope, that the ground had been prepared two weeks previously. He also suspected the road had been cut at fifteen feet to mock their meager eight-foot effort.
The Prince left Mugwump to Baker's care and found Owen. "Why would he do this?"
Owen frowned. "Winter slowed the pasmortes down. All this work means they are revitalized. I would bet that the winter's dead from Kebeton City never made it into the ground. He will have the Platine Regiment, and whatever dead he could ship west."
Count von Metternin joined them. "This is a foul business. The road extends fifty miles and is twice as wide as ours. In two weeks he has cut what it would have taken us a month and cleared this space. When we come to the Roaring River, I am certain there will be a bridge."
Lord Rivendell and Colonel Langford rode up. Rivendell surveyed the area and smiled broadly. "Bravo, Highness. This is splendid. Splendid. Your men have outdone yourselves."
"Not our work, Lord Rivendell." The Prince nodded toward the sign. "Du Malphias did this. He even cut us a lovely path to his domain."
"Doubtless thinking I will be merciful in my gratitude. Excellent. A broad boulevard-that's their word, ain't it-for our victory march. Even Harry's men won't be too sad to march it."
"I believe you are missing my point."
"Trying to think like a soldier, are you, Highness? Leave that to the professionals." Rivendell stood in his stirrups and looked at the road. "He's not the sort to ambush us."
Vlad frowned. "But he did send the Ungarakii to attack you on the road."
"He's not responsible for the actions of his heathen allies, Highness. They don't understand our ways of war. But we showed them." Rivendell turned to his aide. "Make a note of that, Langford. Du Malphias showed me the honor due for my actions at Villerupt. We'll have an entire chapter about such honor in my book."
"Yes, sir."
"Canoe approaching, under a white flag."
The Mystrian sentry's shout brought all eyes to the shore. A birch-bark canoe glided over placid water reflecting the blue sky and high clouds. A soldier in the Platine Regiment's uniform held a white flag aloft, while two civilians provided propulsion. Sentries ran knee-deep to help drag the boat ashore, but only the soldier alighted.
He marched stiffly up the beach, then saluted. "I am Major Lebouf. Do I have the honor of addressing Prince Vladimir?"
"You do."
Rivendell rode forward. "I am the commander of this expedition. Anything you have to say you should address to me."
The Major smiled politely. "And you would be Lord Rivendell?"
"I would."
"Then my master has a special greeting for you. He says he looks forward to meeting you face to face, since the last time you met, he only saw your back."
Rivendell blanched, then lashed out with his riding crop. He caught Langford across the chest. "Do not write that down, you idiot."
Langford snapped the journal shut.
Prince Vlad waved the sentries back to their posts while they could still contain their mirth. "You have a message, Major?"
"Yes. The Esteemed Laureate Guy du Malphias requests the pleasure of your company, under a white flag, for dinner this evening. If you proceed up the road for ten miles, you will find the pavilion he has created. He asks that you join him by seven. He said he would be pleased if you brought Lord Rivendell, Colonels Langford, Thornbury, and Exeter with you. With apologies, he did not include Count von Metternin."
"I see."
Rivendell swept off his hat. "Please convey to your master that we accept his invitations. We shall be pleased to discuss terms of surrender as well."
The Major smiled. "He has anticipated you, sir. He said he would decline your kind offer, as he is not prepared to accept your surrender yet."
"My surrender? My surrender?" The color which had previously left Rivendell's face flushed back swiftly. "It is not our surrender of which I speak."
Vlad held up a hand. "Please tell the Laureate that we will join him."
"I shall, thank you." The Major bowed, then turned toward Owen. "And you, sir, would be Captain Strake?"
"I am."
The Ryngian officer reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a sealed missive. "I was asked to give this to you."
Owen accepted it, but did not break the seal. "You've done your duty."
The Major returned to the canoe, and Owen shoved it back into the lake. The paddlers steadied the boat as the Major sat, then bent to the task of propelling it across the water.