Gisella took his left hand and led him inside. The Count, Owen Strake, and others joined them. The Prince ordered the distribution of food to the people of Hattersburg. The entire town erupted into a spontaneous celebration, lessened not at all by Rivendell and his cavalry claiming their horses and setting off on the ride back to Temperance.
Gisella had not been wrong. Gates' beer had lost the sour edge. The tavern-keeper roasted two steers, slicing off thick slabs of meat which the men devoured happily-all the while jesting about how they missed road rations. Stories began to be told about what had happened at Fort Hammer, and many a mug was raised in the Prince's honor.
Through it all, Gisella held his hand, and when men cheered for him, she squeezed. She listened intently as the recollections flowed. "And then alls I knew," claimed one man, "the guns had stopped and Mugwump done smashed the wall. To the top it was!"
Vlad had looked at her. "They exaggerate."
"Not enough by half." She took his hand in both of hers and raised it to her mouth for a kiss. "But I understand. What you did was for them, not for yourself. That is the man I love."
Chapter Sixty-Six
August 12, 1764
Hattersburg, Lindenvale, Mystria
"A in't you gonna come celebrate?" Nathaniel, standing in front of Gates' Tavern as dusk crept over the town, gave Kamiskwa a puzzled look. "Ain't no reason you shouldn't."
"Prince Vladimir has already made his thanks to the Shedashee known." Kamiskwa smiled. "Each warrior has two horses, even those who fell, and all the grain those horses can carry. It is not far from here to Saint Luke and the Lanatashee villages. Our people will be very grateful. He also allowed us each two jackets from the fallen Ryngians, and shot and brimstone to replace what we used."
Nathaniel frowned. "That ain't telling me why you won't be celebrating. I know you gots something on your mind."
"My brother is very perceptive." Kamiskwa glanced down. "You know our ways. We celebrate great victories. We mourn our losses. We recount great courage in songs and stories."
"As do we."
"And for you, this is a great victory." The Altashee smiled. "And I shall sing of Prince Vlad's courage, and Mugwump's effort. There shall be much joy at hearing these things. My father will again ask the Prince to take my sister Ishikis as his wife."
"I reckon Princess Gisella ain't going to be having none of that."
"No. My brother, I honor the effort of this army, and yet I fear it." Kamiskwa pointed toward men wandering through the town, musket in one hand, bottle in the other. "You have taught farmers and shopkeepers that they can travel into the wilderness and kill other men. They will come to see the Shedashee as enemies, for we deny them land as the Tharyngians did. Old alliances will be forgotten, old prejudices will rise, and more blood will flow."
Nathaniel frowned. "I reckon you're more right than I care to admit." It wasn't so much what Nathaniel had heard in stories about the battle, but how the stories got told. Among the men there wasn't room for great amounts of exaggeration. That would come later, the further distant they were from the fight and others who could keep them honest. Three thousand men had taken part on the Mystrian side of the battle, but there'd be three or four times that many claiming to have been there in a year or two.
He caught himself. It hadn't been the Mystrian side of the battle; it had been the Norillian side, but men were already casting it as a Mystrian victory. And that wasn't that far from the truth, given that Mystrians had taken Fort Cuivre, had sailed the sloop down the river, and had taken the upper fort. Men were beginning to see themselves as Mystrians, not Norillians, and they weren't ever going to see the Shedashee as Mystrians.
He scratched at the back of his neck. "I reckon I'm going to need to do some thinking on this. I can tell you, I ain't gonna let it happen."
Kamiskwa braced him on both shoulders. "I know you could do this, my brother, but how much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice?"
"That don't really matter, do it?" Nathaniel shrugged. "Iffen I don't do something, people I love will suffer."
"But to make the changes in your people, you will have to become part of them. You have a start, as Captain Woods. They respect you and will listen to you. If you remain apart, your influence will dry up and blow away."
The Mystrian shifted his shoulders uneasily. "I ain't never going to be citified."
"I know this, but you might have to become more Mystrian."
"That stings more than getting shot."
Kamiskwa shook his head. "You would sacrifice yourself for the Altashee. And I would sacrifice our future for you to remain as you are."
"'Praps there is some room in the middle for meeting."
The Altashee thought for a moment, then nodded. "If there is not, we will create it."
"I like that. We make the choice and others have to live with it." Nathaniel laughed. "Ain't gonna be a lot that likes it, but I reckon they will get over it."
Kamiskwa pulled Nathaniel into a hug. "Be well, brother mine, and not too long away."
Nathaniel returned the hug, then pulled back. "Need to get down to Temperance, let folks know I done survived."
"My regards to Rachel." Kamiskwa smiled. "I have packed the two small uniforms you took for William and Thomas; and the silver gorgets for their mothers, and the silver buckles for your daughter."
"Thank you. Tell them I will see them soon." Nathaniel looked up at the sky and thin streams of clouds. "Early winter, you reckon?"
"Late, but cold."
"Good." Nathaniel smiled. "I gots me some ideas about getting the Prince one of them wooly rhinocer-whatevers he wants. Might have time to get it before the snow flies."
"If it can be done, Magehawk can do it." Kamiskwa took a step back, half disappearing into the twilight. "I look forward to hearing your plans. Soon."
"Soon." Nathaniel watched Kamiskwa go, and almost headed out after him. He would have, too, save for his friend having reminded him that he was Captain Woods. He had responsibilities. He had men who looked up to him, some figuring he'd even somehow saved their lives. If he were just to abandon them, it would rob them of part of their pride. It was as if his being there and treating them as if he liked them, kept all the fear they'd felt on the battlefield at bay.
He did like his men-the ones he'd gone to Fort Cuivre with and then brought down on the ship. The others, well, they'd gotten it into their minds that a lucky shot that had killed someone trying to kill them had come from his rifle. Pure nonsense, and he'd tried to convince a few of the absurdity of their notions, but they weren't having it. Their belief connected them to him-same as men were connected to the Prince through what he did.
Nathaniel sighed. He'd been willing to accept the responsibility of leading men into battle, but he'd not figured that the responsibility would extend beyond that. He'd made a lifetime commitment, and it wasn't one that would go away just because it would make his life easier.
The Mystrian made his way into Gates' Tavern, shaking hands and getting his back slapped. He smiled, nodded to men, called a few by name. Someone shoved a mug of ale into his hand and he took a gulp. It surprised him. He figured Gates must have gone and gotten a new, young horse for pissing into his casks, and he hoped it was one of the best stolen from Captain Percy Abberwick.
He moved deeper into the room, raised his mug toward the Bone brothers. The three of them had come through things without a scratch, though Makepeace was still nursing his bruised arm. He hadn't wanted anything to do with the swivel-guns on the sloop, even after the Summerland boys offered to teach him the proper spell. When he learned of what the Prince and Count had done on Mugwump, he'd been in absolute awe.
The Prince and the Count book-ended Princess Gisella. The rest of the men took note of her, of course. As they told their stories, they played up to her and were certain to let her know that Prince Vlad and Count Joachim had been the heroes. She seemed to delight in every story, even though it was the same story told over and over again. She looked up at Vlad with pure worship on her face at the end of each one.