At the Queen_s command

"You'd be asking us to cover near three hundred miles as the crow flies, most all of it through Seven Nations land. The Tharyngians will know we are coming. We will have no artillery and will be outnumbered by the fort's garrison."

Deathridge nodded. "Now you see why I won't ask Johnny's playmates on horseback to attempt it."

Forest smiled slowly. "We can do it. I'll get to drawing up requisitions and all."

"Good. You will be going out in advance of the main army, a scouting party in force. You will divert later. I shall write out full orders."

"Thank you, my lord."

Deathridge nodded. "As for you, Highness, I will want you to take charge of the Colonial Militia. I understand you have a regiment available. You will be our reserve, but I shall also need you to prepare roads through the wilderness. You have men who know their way around an ax?"

The Prince laughed. "Every man in Mystria owns one and keeps it sharp. I have a militia company specifically…"

"Militia! Never!" Rivendell protested. "I will not be fighting them. I will never deploy them."

"Then you are a fool, but I suspect this is apparent. Your influence at court and in Parliament has put you in charge of this expedition. I am able, however, to advise the militias, which I am doing. If you choose to ignore my advice, you do so at your peril."

"My peril? We shall see about this, my lord."

"Get off your high horse, Johnny. This is not a game." Deathridge waved Rivendell to the side. "I shall get this buffoon out of your way so you may do your planning. Captain Strake, I would dine with you this evening at my lodgings. I shall send a man with the details. I expect you will be here as a liaison until then."

"Yes, sir." Owen hesitated. "If I might ask after my wife?"

"Hardly the time, not the place." Deathridge's expression eased ever so slightly. "She was well last I saw her, and is anxious for your reunion."

"Thank you, my lord."

Deathridge nodded, then glanced again at the model. "Plan well, gentlemen. The fate of Mystria depends upon what you do. Now, Johnny, get you and your shadow out of here, and let real men work."

Rivendell looked nothing so much like a sulking child as he walked out stiff-legged, head down, trailing Deathridge. Langford hurriedly gathered maps and the journals, leaving the Mystrian map on the desk, and scuttled after the other two.

Vlad sighed when Chandler closed the door behind the visitors. "That, gentlemen, was fascinating. It may yet be early, but could I offer you a restorative drink? Chandler, whisky and water, please, all around."

The Prince looked at Owen. "Your uncle makes quite an impression."

"He's had years of practice." Owen shook his head. "He almost made me pity Rivendell."

The Count accepted a drink from the servant. "Not looking forward to dining?"

"I would sooner dine with the Laureate."

"We all may get that chance." Vlad studied the map. "How fast can we realistically expect to travel? Ten miles a day?"

Forest shook his head. "I'll get that out of my men, maybe twelve. Decent rivers for part of the way. Heading to Anvil, you should get six."

"Do you concur, Owen? You've been there."

Owen cupped his drink in both hands, but did not sample it. "Depends on how many wagons we need for supplies. I would send as much as I could ahead to Hattersburg up the Tillie. Definitely ship the cannon. The horses, too. Not that they will do any good at the fortress."

"If we leave on the thirty-first, we will arrive at Anvil around the second of July. This gives us two months, perhaps three, for a siege." The Prince shook his head. "Getting the necessary food and fodder out there alone will be incredibly difficult. It is a logistical nightmare."

The Count chuckled. "An idiot for a leader, an unrealistic timetable, insufficient forces to do the job: If one were not acquainted with the ways of royalty, one might think there was no intention for this effort to succeed."

Rivendell closed the coach door before Langford could climb in. "Walk, Langford, and hurry. I shall join you presently after the Duke and I have our chat."

Langford made to salute automatically, started to drop things, failed to catch them, and blushed.

Deathridge pounded the coach roof with a fist. "Go!"

The driver snapped a whip, and the black coach lurched into motion. Rivendell smiled. "Oh, Dick, I think we fooled them. They haven't a clue. That's right, ain't it? Ain't it?"

"Yes, of course, as planned." Deathridge smiled every so slightly. "You played your part well."

"And you, sir, and you." Rivendell smiled broadly. "Your arriving early was brilliant. Packet boat, you say."

"Yes, and I shall want my twenty pounds, too."