Book 2, Chapter 17: A Reckoning

“I’m not going to order the execution of over 6000 men.” I cocked my head in dismay, hands on hips, speaking to my general, two majors and Morry. A little girl ringed by four imposing adults. Imposing, murderous adults.

“They surrendered and forfeited their rights.”

“Jesus!”

“Excuse me, what was that?” asked Brundle.

“Look, Princess,” Morry began, “this is war and they lost. They chose a more peaceful way to die than getting stabbed in the belly. A quick death over a lingering one.”

“And, what? We’ll just build a fortress with their bodies? Block up the bridge?” I couldn’t believe what they were asking, expecting.

“No,” Rand said, “we’ll have them dig their own graves first, and-”

I waved my hand at them. “No. Nope. Not what we are doing. Give me different solutions, gentlemen, and I use that term loosely!”

Gunmack added, “Your Highness, these are the men who pillaged your lands and killed your father. How many of our people have they brutally killed? Enslaved?”

I turned my back on them. Off near the tree line, soldiers were clearing the road, fixing it as the baggage train rolled on. It was a peaceful sight compared to the battle we’d just had, the arguments I was being given. Men laboring under the sun. Clearing bush, moving dirt. I slapped a mosquito on my neck.

“What about slaves then?” asked Brundle. “We have enough provisions, certainly, and we can use them to build up the fortifications at the bridge.”

“Afterward, they might turn a profit,” added Morry.

“Mass murder or slavery,” I really was turning into Alexander the Great. Those were his pastimes. “What about sending them back to their armies?”

“To add them back into our enemy’s ranks? That would be foolish and undoing.”

“How about stripping them of everything but their clothing and sending them upriver?”

“Princess,” Morry began, “you don’t want to send 6000 soldiers to descend upon your cousin’s peasantry, armed or no.”

“You have a point there,” I conceded. “Alright, I guess slavery is the lesser of two . . . hey, what’s that wagon doing?” A wagon had broken off the baggage train and was racing alongside the road rather than on it. More were following, dangerously racing along uneven ground. A dust cloud was billowing out of the forest up the hill where the road entered the valley.

“Form ranks!” shouted Brundle, “Go!” Rand and Gun took off, racing back to their regiments, shouting along the way. He turned to me, “it’s the second army, catching up to our baggage train. They’ll be here any minute, we’ve got to get behind our troops!”

“I’ve got the princess,” Morry said, picking me up and dropping me onto a horse. He then mounted and we sped toward our army. In a flash, we were galloping down the hill, over the stream and behind our troops.

Our line formed up behind the creek that ran the length of this little valley. Some of the wizards were over at the baggage train, doing their best to protect the stragglers. Several wagons had broken down on the side of the road in their rush. People were frantically unhooking horses, leaving their belongings behind.

“How much of our baggage train, our people, made it out of that forest?” I asked Morry.

“I don’t know.” He looked grim. “Maybe two thirds, maybe more.”

He’d set us down on a hilltop overlooking the battlefield, behind our troops. Brundle was already there, calling out orders. He was getting the phalanx formed up some fifty yards from the creek, ranged behind them, peltasts and skirmishers on the left, near the forest, cavalry on our right.

“What are we going to do about the POWs?” I asked Brundle.

“The what?”

“Prisoners of war. The slaves! Now that their countrymen are here . . . “

“I’m lining them up in front of our troops. We’ll send them at the enemy army to slow them down.”

“That . . . doesn’t sit well with me.” Unarmed soldiers, surrendered, being used as meat shields to cause confusion.

Brundle turned to face me, “Your Highness, we can’t let those prisoners get behind our men. They are roughly one third our entire army and could retake their weapons and add to our problems. The enemy army is nearly double our size – we were lucky with the bridge, we are not lucky now.”

“I see. Ok, yeah.” I buried my face in my palms. I didn’t know what to do. Brundle was probably doing everything he could. I was wracking my brains – was there something I’d forgotten? Some trick from Macedonia or Rome I could remember?

The enemy phalanx breached the tree line, tightening up their formation as they left it. The air above them began to shimmer, their wizards preparing for our wizard’s assault.

One last wagon burst from the forest along the road, racing dangerously fast down the valley. A cavalry squad emerged, chasing them, easily catching up. The lead horseman raised his spear and threw it at the driver. He ducked, somehow avoiding it. The wagon raced on, tilting left, right. Another horseman rode up, throwing his spear into the left lead wheel. Loud cracking sound carried right across the valley, the wagon fell left, dragging then flipping over in a cloud of dirt and dust. All I could see after that was cavalry men, dismounted, spearing into the debris. No one emerged from it.

“Damn.” I closed my eyes. “Morry! Get me those snipers back! Brundle, I’m going to need another ranged contingent. Maybe we can overwhelm their mages again.” If they really were 30000 to our under 20000, we’d need to gain magical supremacy. Or we were dead.

***

In a perfect world, battle plans would survive intact after the engagement begins. This world was the furthest from perfect I’d ever known. And we didn’t really have much of a plan other than taking a defensive position. We had to make that creek crossing count.

Their phalanx grew and grew as it exited the forest, roughly one third again as large as ours. 15000 men strong. Dust raised from the valley in front of them, a wall of dust, dirt and debris that had to be our wizards at work. Unfortunately, it fell apart as their wizards entered the valley opposite ours. As the dust fell and rolled down the hillside, the formation of surrendered troops yelled and whooped and raced off for their comrades.

A few archers shot, a few men were killed, but the bulk of these unarmored soldiers made it across the creek. Brundle ordered our ranged to stop attacking them, to save ammunition. Some of the peltasts still slinged stones into them, for what good it did.

The unarmed enemy soldiers did, momentarily, slow the pace of their phalanx. They lowered their pikes at the former POWs, had some exchange between them, the pikes raised, and the weaponless men ran between their ranks and into the forest above.

To the left and right of their phalanx emerged light foot soldiers, the skirmishers and peltasts, as many as we had phalanx. Finally, their cavalry formed up, also divided to each side. Their total seemed roughly the same as our total, but we had our cavalry entirely on our right.

“Hmmm, it’s not so bad as I thought,” said Brundle.

“How so?” Their army was far larger than ours was.

“The bulk of their troops is light infantry. If we can destroy their cavalry, we can win today. And we have the defensive position. They have to cross the creek to fight us. Your Highness, I’d like to send our reserve ranged to our left flank, behind the skirmishers.”

“But I need them up here if we’re to take out those wizards.”

“As you wish, but if we can’t slow down their cavalry at the creek, our line is in serious danger.”

The snipers had come but we were waiting on the arrows. I’d sent someone to the weaponsmith to get them back, but they weren’t here yet. If we could reduce their wizards, ours could slaughter their troops like before. But if their cavalry got across to our left flank, our phalanx wouldn’t be able to hold at the creek.

“Ok, sure, send the ranged.” I turned to the snipers, “You guys, stay here. Hopefully, we’ll get those arrows soon. We’ll just have to manage without the covering barrage.”

***

Lots of jeers, taunts from each side. The enemy had come into the valley, formed up on the opposite bank of the creek, not engaging as of yet. I wasn’t sure what they were waiting for. Surely, they knew we wouldn’t attack them first, being only two thirds their size.

They’d sent down a phalanx equal to ours, 10 000 soldiers strong, keeping two large contingents of 2500 each in reserve. Our reserve was perhaps just over 200 soldiers strong. Our left flank consisted of 1000 archers and 4000 peltasts and skirmishers. They outmatched ours with 5000 peltasts and skirmishers, with 2500 cavalry. I doubted we’d hold our left flank long.

We fared better on the right flank, with 5000 cavalry, mixed light and heavy in equal proportions to their 2500 cavalry and 5000 skirmishers. Brundle hoped we’d overcome their regiments, then hit their centerline from behind. But I wasn’t so sure, given their reserve phalanx. They could trap our cavalry between two walls of pike. At least our light cavalry carried short bows.

The enemy advanced on our left flank, their peltasts firing stones across the river. Gun had ours answer in turn but held the archers off until the enemy was in the creek.

I turned to Brundle, “What about spreading our phalanx thin? To five rows deep. They’d still have pikes out.”

“We could do that. Might even have to. But if they get their cavalry behind a thin phalanx, that’d be it for us.”

Our skirmishers had set up a shield wall along the creek, peltasts firing stones over their heads, archers off to the side, choosing targets carefully. So far, we were holding the creek.

Meanwhile the wizards were doing their strange dances, air crackling above them, neither gaining an advantage. At least they weren’t sending fireballs into our army. I kinda wished we were sending them into theirs, though.

“Where are my arrows?” I yelled. We needed that magical advantage! “Boy,” I grabbed a runner, “go find my arrows from the weaponsmith. Find out why the other boy hasn’t returned! No, wait, don’t bother, just get the arrows!” He ran off.

On our left flank, their cavalry turned and headed into the woods beside the road. “Brundle, why are they doing that?”

“Damn.” He said, “They’re either going for our unprotected baggage train or using the woods to escape our ranged.”

“So, they’ll charge out of that forest on our left flank soon?”

“I fear so.”

“We need to get some cavalry over there then!”

“Too late, look!” Off to the right, Rand sent his heavy cavalry regiments into a full charge into their skirmishers, with his light units firing arrows into the enemy cavalry. It broke them up. Skirmishers fled in every direction, enemy cavalry couldn’t get through the ranged assault to help.

“Wow. That pessimist has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Arrows! Arrows, Your Highness!” The second boy ran up, panting, handed me the case holding these special arrows.

“Thank you and well done.” A thunderous boom from our right flank assaulted our ears and I flinched, nearly dropping the case.

A red lightning bolt fell from the sky near the bridge, exploding one of our mages. We all looked. “Shit!” Brundle said, “Enemy mages, crossing the bridge! We are going to be out magicked soon!”

I turned to the snipers. “Take these arrows. Kill four of them – in the main group! Do not miss.” I picked up my gold and charcoal spear, headed for the nearest horse.

“What’re you doing?” Morry yelled at me, “You can’t fight them!”

I paused, holding the reins. “I’m the only one who can.”

I jumped on the horse and headed off in a gallop, leaving my bodyguard behind.

An enormous pillar of fire descended upon our mages, crashing upon an invisible shield, curling back up into the sky. They all pushed their hands skyward, then toward the battlefield, and a lightning bolt arched in from above, crashing into one of our wizards, exploding his body, fragments flying.

I raced across the field toward the bridge where six robed figures had emerged. Five of ours faced them both were doing their strange hand weaving dance at each other, the air shimmering and so heavy the bridge behind them looked zigzagged and broken. The six spread out, yet ours remained clumped together. Perhaps that was better for defense, I didn’t know.

As I barreled toward the nearest, he turned and waved his hands menacingly. It did nothing, like one of those fake ki martial artists, and my horse crashed into him. The horse paused, reared up and slammed its hooves into his body. Loud crunching sound, slight whimpering. Damn, I thought, war horses, and patted him on the neck.

The next mage, a man, noticed and waved fanatically, panicking when nothing slowed our charge. I raised my spear and slammed it into his chest. It was like hitting a wall, the shock ran up my arm into my shoulder and sent me flying off the horse.

I managed to sit up, watching in horror as the horse neighed and screamed, steam rising from its body before it bleated, collapsed, and cooked. I looked at my gold and charcoal chainmail. No wonder Morry had been worried. This was no place for the living.

Regaining my feet, I headed to the still alive wizard. He struggled, trying to dislodge the spear. I walked up, planted my boot on his shoulder, pressing him into the ground, pulled out the spear, jammed it into his neck, and moved on. I could not leave them alive to do so much damage to all of us.

A lady, red dress with green finery, waving and pulsing her arms at me as I walked toward her. Again, nothing. With my left hand, I thrust the spear into her belly. She collapsed, hands around the spear. Drawing my sword, she said “No, no, please!” I sliced toward her neck. She put up her hands in front of it, as if to stop the blow, the sword cut into her fingers, into her neck, but only an inch. She screamed, managing to slow the blade, so clumsy was my cut. I tore it from her, slicing against her flesh and, pulling spear from her stomach, she fell.

Sheathing my sword, I took the spear in both hands and charged at the next robed figure. She wasn’t facing me, nor our wizards, but something beyond the bridge. I braced myself, ready for the shock of the spear hitting flesh when a wall of water three times my height slammed into me, smashing my body into the ground, rolling me along, falling, crashing into the river.

It was cold. The current took me before I hit bottom. I struggled to break the surface, take a breath before it slammed me into a boulder, pushed me around it, through quick rapids and banging on more stones.

Somehow, I managed to get to the surface. Desperately dog paddling to stay afloat, the current pulled me along. I was lucky this armor was lighter than regular chain. It protected me from the many scrapes and bashings I took, but when the river finally slowed and dumped me on a sandbar, I was exhausted.

I crawled onto the sand, coughing and coughing. When that passed, I rolled onto my back, closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun and hating the chill of the breeze.

Three. I got three. Lost my spear. Hopefully that was enough that they lost their magical advantage. If not, then my army was defeated.

It looked like their direct magic wouldn’t affect me in this armor. But indirect attacks, wow, I had to watch out for those. I’d been lucky. With more luck, our wizards would take out the mage who figured that out, so she couldn’t tell her friends. Yet that was out of my control.

I was on our side of the river, but the wrong side of the battle. 30 000 enemy troops between me and mine. Unless the battle had changed in our favor, that is. Maybe, maybe there were only 28 000 of the bad guys in the way.

Feeling a little better, I sat up. Adrenaline gone, my right arm throbbed at the shoulder. Damn, wished I’d gotten Morry to give me some cavalry lessons. How do you stab someone without all that force wrecking your arm? Then my chest was sore, stomach, legs, god, everything. I was battered and exhausted.

Well, I said to myself, you should see the other guys.

***

I headed into the forest, along a gully I’d found. I wanted to keep trees between me and the battlefield. With luck, I’d get to it without running into any scouting parties. Sounds of the battle reached even this far into the forest. Screaming, men’s voices cheering and jeering in solidarity, shouting, and a low rumble reminiscent of thunder.

As the thunder grew louder, it separated into the hoof beats of horses. I flattened myself against the little rise I was on, crawled up to the top, took a peek. One horseman came into view between the trees. Then another, another, more, I ducked back down. They’d sent an entire cavalry force at me!

I raced down the hill as quick as I could looking for anywhere to hide. Their cavalry here meant they’d watched me rush across the battlefield to attack their mages. And it meant they were willing to give up a flank to capture a princess. Damn, I was an idiot!

Where to go, where to go, where to go? I was desperate. There! A large spruce tree, low branches fanning out. On my belly, I crawled under those large branches into a depression almost a foot deep in a wide circle around the tree.

It was soft, full of pine needles. So, lying on my stomach, I tossed these on my legs and back and peered through the evergreen needles.

Horses soon rode by. Many, many horses.

“Wait!” A man shouted, out of sight. “Hold up.” Then, no longer shouting, indistinct voices. The horses changed direction, headed back to the rise and stopped. Many more horses passed my hiding place – they were forming up!

A hand grabbed my leg harshly, pulling me out of the bough. “I got you!” Then, over his left shoulder, “I’ve got her! Over here!”

Kicked at his hand with my other leg, the armored grieve crunching his hand off my leg.

“You bitch! Come here!”

More thunder, loud smashing sound of metal on metal, screams, shouts, even laughter. Our cavalry must have caught up, crashed into their line.

It didn’t matter, the nearby enemy crawled into the depression and reached for me. I darted under branches, around the tree. Yet he had friends, I had nowhere to go. But up. I feinted left, he moved that direction, I climbed up the branches as fast as I could.

He caught my ankle, pulling me down. Holding on to two branches as tightly as I could, I kicked and kicked at his hand, metal on flesh. He screamed again and I was free.

Finally, this little body was paying off. I darted quickly up the tree, quicker than a grown man could follow.

He followed anyways. “I’m going to give you the nastiest beating, you little heifer!”

“Heifer?”

“That’s right,” he spat. “When I catch you . . . “

I chanced a glance down. Both his hands were bleeding as, for whatever reason, he wasn’t wearing gauntlets. “Well, your mother was a goat! And you’re an idiot!” A part of me couldn’t believe I was trading insults with an enemy soldier on a tree, but sometimes, that’s just life for you.

“If you’d just come quietly.”

“If I come quietly, you won’t beat me?”

“That’s right. Oh, I won’t beat you, lass. Come quietly and all this nasty business will be over.”

I stopped climbing up and waited for him. “Not a chance, goat-face.”

He grumbled something and pulled himself up further. A memory hit me just then, a father’s advice on what to do if a bear chased you up a tree. Kick it in the nose. Their noses are sensitive. Just aim for that and hope it doesn’t open its mouth.

So that’s exactly what I did when his face came into range. I slammed my armored boot straight into his nose. Crunch! He screamed and fell crashing down into branch after branch until landing on the ground.

The problem was three more troops joined the climb. And they had spears.

Rand’s voice rang out, “To the princess!”

From this vantage, I could now see the full extent of the cavalry battle below. Our horsemen clashed against theirs in a long line just below the ridge where I’d crawled. Fortunately, ours were on the higher ground.

The battle didn’t rage like in the valley. Trees got in the way. The horsemen thrust at each other, blocked thrusts, but didn’t charge. Some had those enormous greatswords out swinging, but most used spears. Horses clashed into each other, stamping on the ground, gnashing their teeth, moving here and there. Every so often, a weapon would break off a low hanging tree branch.

The enemy was slowly getting pushed back, moving this way. Rand himself was fighting a Ketzellian who was trying to keep a tree between them. The Ketzellian used a sword to swat at Rand’s spear thrusts every chance he got.

I looked down at my own problem, climbing up to get me. One of the men was watching the cavalry battle then said, “Fuck this, I’m out of here!” Low in the tree already, he dropped and ran away from the cavalry line. It was pressing closer and closer toward my tree.

I yelled down at the attackers, “You should leave too! You’re going to get killed if you stay any longer.”

“Bah! If I kill you first, the war is over.”

“That’s not . . . that’s not how wars work!” Seeing as how I had the enemy so close, I decided to ask them what had been bothering me since I first escaped, “why does your army want me so badly anyways?”

“Stay still and I’ll tell you.” He thrust his spear at me, but he was still too low.

I climbed up some more. I didn’t have a lot of options. These branches were too thick to break off and drop on him, the acorns too light. I couldn’t throw my sword or dirk effectively and my own spear was long gone.

“There’s nowhere to go, Princess.”

“The same is true for you!”

The other guy was just climbing and more effectively than the talker. He didn’t just look dangerous, but felt dangerous for his silence. I climbed around to the opposite side of the tree.

Looking down, the battle line had moved past our tree. Rand off his horse, holding his spear overheard and looking up, judging distances. He threw it straight into the quiet Ketzillian’s flank. The man dropped onto a thick branch he’d been standing on, pulled the spear out and collapsed into the trunk while holding his side. He probably didn’t have much time left in this life.

The other guy stabbed at me again. I hopped, pulled myself up higher. It missed my feet and I shuddered to think how he intended to kill me with that. Seemed somehow less decent than when were we standing on level ground.

“Hey, you can surrender! I won’t let them kill you!”

“Too late for that now.”

The branches where I was were getting thinner, I was running out of options. My crown for webshooters! Or the fifty yards of rope every adventurer worth their salt carries.

My troops couldn’t throw a spear for fear of hitting me. The angle was too great, we were near the top of the canopy.

It came to me, what I needed to do, and I shimmied down as quickly as I could, hopping from branch to branch, almost like snowboarding. The smaller branches bent, making the jumps soft, the bigger branches stung. If I could get within armlength, he couldn’t stab me with that spear. Of course, that brought other problems, but it was better than getting stabbed from below.

The spear hit my armor, sliding toward my face. I threw my body backward, falling into a bunch of branches, grabbing on, found my footing, twisting right along them to dodge another thrust and felt like an idiot. He simply held the spear in the middle of the shaft instead of the end.

Then rammed it into my chest. The pressure threw me back and I lost my footing on the branch, fell, slammed into a lower branch chest first, cracking from my ribs echoing along my body, pushed me backwards, my head hitting another branch, I tried grabbing onto anything, but falling hard and into branches kept breaking my grip.

***

“To the hospital, as quick as you can!”

I came to, sitting on a horse, held tightly by an arm around my stomach. Each leap and fall of the horse, my ribs cracking. Leaning sideways, staring at ground, bitter taste in my mouth, must have thrown up. Dirt and burnt grass passing by quickly.

Warm light, a pleasure beyond anything as the pain lifted away from my ribs, shoulder, arms, legs where I was battered. I felt like I’d stretched out my arms and legs, ran a hundred laps, hit that burn in the weights, showered and had a lover.

I was in a tent. Reese collapsed onto me, panting, sweat droplets falling off her face. I wove my fingers into her hair, stroking. “Reese.”

“Your Highness. You nearly died. I’ll get you something to drink.” Shakily, she stood up and walked out of my sight, staring as I was at the bed covers.

It was like waking from a good dream into a less worthy life. Little pains come back, the pain of living. You need to stretch your wrists, then your fingers need work. Triceps is itchy. That point in your head behind a clump of hair needs scratching again. Thirsty. Slightly stuffed up. Probably need the toilet in a half hour. Blink, blink, clear your field of vision.

Damn. No one wants such a beating, but Reese was a drug. Or her magic was. A beating might be worth it.

The feeling faded and I felt myself again.

That’s when I noticed Morry standing nearby. I smiled at him. Tread behind him, Brundle on the other side of the bed. Jesus, were they here the whole time? I felt guilty, like someone caught me using when I promised not to.

“Welcome back, Princess,” said Morry, uncharacteristically smiling.

“I take it we didn’t lose?”

“Your cousin showed up. Scared off the bad guys.”

Morry looked smug. I turned to the general. “Brundle, status of our army?”

“Uh, yes. Largely intact. We took heavy losses amongst the peltasts and skirmishers. Our cavalry held its own, even defeating the enemy cavalry.”

“Our mages?”

“It was close, but your attack on the enemy mages helped equal it out.” He coughed, “Turned the tide, I mean.”

“The snipers?”

“Dead, I’m afraid.” His eyes darted sideways, twice.

I took his meaning. “Duke Bechalle arrived?”

“Yes. He caught the enemy cavalry as they neared our baggage train.”

“So, they were going for the baggage train.”

“Well, they were turning around at that point, but some of their soldiers smelled easy pickings, and it looks like they were divided.”

“Oh. Not good discipline.”

“No.”

“Our phalanx?”

“Largely intact. We lost two centuriads. The enemy reserve phalanx attacked when their cavalry did not emerge. That pressed our left flank even harder and was a good tactical decision by the enemy commander. Until Duke Bechalle’s forces arrived on the battlefield, on the left flank. His cavalry charge broke their phalanx, their line collapsed, and we crushed their troops in a squeeze. Few escaped toward the woods, where Rand’s cavalry made short work of them. Both cavalry groups are right now taking their baggage train.”

“Wow. That is good news. What about the bridge? They would still have some 20 to 30 000 troops stationed on the other bank.”

“The duke gave leave for our soldiers to rest, and his infantry are setting up fortifications. It seems, Your Highness, that we succeeded.”

“Ah, I see. All in all, this is excellent news. Double the ale rations and pass out whatever wine the soldiers want.” Might as well get rid of that awful wine. I asked the question I did not want to ask. “And prisoners?”

He looked at the ground. “None.”

“None?”

“Duke Bechalle signaled for our armies to refuse surrender.”

“And why does Duke Bechalle speak for me and lead my army?”

Morry, once again grim faced, stepped in to save Brundle from my anger, “With you unconscious, the duke is the ranking monarch.” He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, trying to drill that statement into my head. Following on that logic, it’d be wise for the duke to take me out of the picture. If he wanted the kingdom. I wondered now if it were wise for me to get rid of the dowager. She wasn’t trying to kill me and take the kingdom, just rule it.

“I see.” There was nothing for it now. Bechalle had effectively removed the moral problem of POWs from me. I felt sick to my stomach. I sat up anyways, “Gentlemen, I’m gladdened to hear that our army survived this day largely intact. You all did good work. I need a few moments. Morry, stay.”

He crouched down to my level, sitting up on the bed, “Yes, Princess?”

“How quickly can we get to the enemy baggage trains?”

He guessed my meaning, “Not quick enough. Just in time for the slaughter.”

“Damn.”

“Why do you care so much about enemy soldiers?”

How could I explain to him the morality I grew up with? Rules to warfare, the treatment of prisoners, the concept of war crimes. Because of the ingenuity of our weapons and technology, and the terrible cruelty they unleashed before our societies really understood that. “Just the, I don’t know, the . . . hopes of a young girl.”

He took me in his arms, in a hug and whispered, “I’m glad you are alive, Princess. Also,” his voice lowered until I could barely hear him, “do not, for a second, trust the duke.”

I whispered back, “It seems he’s better off with me dead?”

“Definitely.”

I broke out of the hug, “We’ve been jumping from one fire into the next.”

“It seems so.”

I whispered, “The snipers?”

He answered in kind, “Alive and well. We recovered four of the arrows.”

“Can we discreetly send people to look for the other two?”

“I’ll see what I can manage. Probably. We’ll be collecting the weapons and armor.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Back to a normal voice, “I have to get out of this bed,” I said, tossing the covers off and swinging my legs over before realizing I was nearly naked, only wearing my light shift. “What the hell?”

Morry stood up and turned around. “Ah, the head nurse she, uh, couldn’t, her magic wouldn’t work on you in that armor. We had to take it off.”

“Who, exactly, took my armor off?”

“Definitely no one who saw anything.”

I pulled the sheets up over my body, “Well, where is it? I’m not going to greet the duke wearing a dress!”

“I’ll send Brin in with your outfit.”

“She’d better bring my armor!” He walked out of the tent. “Goddamn it, Morry!”

***

Brin marched into my tent with three girls her age in tow. “Your Royal Highness, may I present your new ladies in waiting?”

“I’d like to wear my armor.”

“The battle is over, you have no need of your armor now. You must dress like a princess.”

“No, Brin, I need to look like a warrior for our troops. I just fought with them, I want to reinforce that.”

“Princess Cayce, this is Chandra, Drex, and Liliad. My cousins! And now your new ladies in waiting.” Each of them curtsied low and long and were grinning ear to ear.

“Brin,” I said, “I am not happy. Bring me my armor.”

She placed her hands on mine, pulling me out of bed. I don’t know why, but I felt naked in front of these strangers. I had my shift on, and it was damn near sheer. “First, we have to get you cleaned up. I had a bath drawn. Yes, they sponged off some of the blood, but look at your nails and hands! Filthy with dirt. You will feel so much better after a long, warm bath and some of that ale you like so much.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to win with the armor, am I?”

“Nope! You have to match proper etiquette when you meet my uncle.” She turned her head sideways and winked at me, “And you have to look and smell your best!”

Oh god, she was trying to set me up with him. The perfect marriage, she’d nonstop talked about this whole week. I leaned in and angry whispered at her, “I am not going to marry your uncle!”

She smiled sweetly, “We’ll see.” Turning to the girls, she said, almost invoking the dominance of the dowager, “Ladies! Let’s bathe the princess.”

I didn’t kick or scream, or even mildly protest, but those girls dragged me kicking and screaming to the bath, soaped and cleaned me, giggling and happy to my grumpy stoicism, dressed and perfumed me, until I looked, once again, like a cute girl princess ready to trade in everything I owned and more, for a prince to sweep me off my feet, rescuing me from the horror of individuality and self-governance. Or, in Brin’s wish-list to Santa, her uncle, the duke.