At the Queen_s command

"Insulting them? I am paying them high praise by even speaking with them. That they dare to come out here and play at soldiering is a grand gesture. I welcome it. It reminds me why I and my men are here. So feeble a muster could never hope to defeat the Tharyngians. It is our charge, our sacred duty, to protect you all, and I mean to do that."

Makepeace muttered into his beard. "Is he crazy or drunk?"

Nathaniel glanced back. "I hope drunk. He might make sense sober."

Rivendell took his musket back from Langford and returned to his horse. Mounting it and sliding the musket home, he took up the reins and looked down at the Mystrians. "Fear not. The Queen has not forgotten you, nor abandoned you. She will save you. For this she has sent me. In the coming weeks, you will see how real troops act and fight. You will be amazed and you will be thankful. It will be a lesson for you to remember for as long as you live. Come along, Langford."

Langford mounted up and the two of them cantered back to town.

Prince Vlad looked around. "I hope, gentlemen, you understand that Lord Rivendell, first, is not the author of the history which vilifies us. That was his father."

"Apple din't fall far from the tree," someone quipped.

The Prince somehow kept himself from laughing aloud. "That not withstanding, he is here to deal with the Tharyngian threat. He's brought Norillian troops-veteran troops. It would please me, and ease things, if you would treat them with the utmost courtesy."

Rufus Branch spat. "I reckon they'll get what they give is all."

Nathaniel smiled. "I reckon that ain't very neighborly. They coming from so far away. Bound to feel odd here. Kind of like Captain Strake. He took some getting used to our ways, but look what he gone and done for us. I'm thinking we can be a mite more tolerant than otherwise."

"Thank you, Mr. Woods." The Prince nodded. "And, please, no matter what Lord Rivendell says, no matter any comments by his troops, I pray you continue your practice here. Four shots in a minute if you can, and see how long until you tire. We will need to know."

The Prince stared after Rivendell's retreating figure. "He says he won't fight you. Circumstances will say differently. I want you ready for that day. Hell will be to pay, and I rather it be accounted in shot and brimstone than our blood."

Chapter Forty-Eight

May 19, 1764

Government House, Temperance

Temperance Bay, Mystria

P rince Vlad smiled cordially as Princess Gisella's servants brought sherry for the men at the table. The meal had been wonderful-pheasant, new potatoes, peas, and cornbread. It had begun with sliced tomatoes, which was a daring choice, since most Continentals took it as true that tomatoes were bright red as a warning against poison. The meal concluded with a wonderful pudding laced with sugar and brandy. Vlad had asked for a second helping, and was pleased when Major Forest joined him.

The Prince stood, lifting his glass to the Princess. "To you, my dear, a wonderful hostess. You, from so far away, make one feel welcome in Mystria."

The men lifted their glasses and sipped.

Gisella bowed her head. "I only reflect the hospitality my friends have showed me since coming to these shores."

The Prince smiled. "We shall abandon you ladies, if that is acceptable. I know Major Forest is fatigued, but I wish to give him a look at du Malphias' fortress."

The Major slid back his chair. While not a tall man, his solid build gave the impression of his being quite powerful. A full shock of white hair topped his head. It had been blond before Villerupt. A handsome man, he shared his sister's noble features, save that his nose clearly had been broken on at least one occasion, and Hettie Frost's had not. Aside from that, and his missing right hand, no other mark of misfortune made itself apparent.

"Splendid. I've heard so much about the model." He set his sherry glass down and grasped the knife blade protruding from his wooden prosthesis. He twisted it, then pulled, and the knife came free. He slipped it into a boot sheath, then produced a small hook and locked it into the hole. He nestled the sherry glass into the metal curl replacing his right hand.

Dr. Frost, his son Caleb, Count von Metternin, and Owen Strake all made their apologies to the women and headed for the Prince's office. Owen became noticeably formal, but he had been that way all night. He had been seated next to Bethany Frost, a pairing which had previously brought him some pleasure,

but this evening it appeared to be a source of discomfort.

Discomfort the Prince had not seen reflected on Miss Frost's face.

Vlad led them straight to the model. The militia officer circled it. Fairlee had adopted a light green coat with buff facings and cuffs. Forest wore it well. Buff breeches and waistcoat matched, and he wore tall cavalry boots.

He took a good look, then sipped sherry. "And we have no idea how many troops will be opposing us?"

Vlad shook his head. "I am afraid not."