At the Queen_s command

There was no denying the validity of her claim. Forty Norillian women- wives of officers and enlisted men-had sailed with their husbands. Another twenty Mystrian had fallen in with them, all intent on following their men to war. Almost twice as many women, a few with children in tow, had joined the Mystrian militia units. In addition to them would come tinkers and other tradesmen, tailors, seamstresses, and laundresses to tend to the soldiers needs. Teamsters and skinners along with a ragged gaggle of other people would follow all of them.

"Princess Gisella, I cannot promise I will remain constantly out of harm's way. I do not know the enemy's mind. I do not know God's mind. I could as easily be struck by lightning as I could a ball fired from ambush. Such a fate would be a matter of chance. But I also cannot tell you that if a man is wounded, I will not run to help him. Those decisions are made not with the mind, but the heart. While I promise you I shall always think, I do not believe you wish me to close my heart."

She brushed a lock of brown hair out of his eyes. "No, I would not have that."

He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. "I need you to promise me that you shall remain here. I need you, though you are not yet my wife, to act bravely and give others courage. You and Mrs. Frost, Mrs. Bumble, Owen's wife: you will be the heart of Temperance. Others will look to you for hope. They will need you as much as I do."

Gisella nodded, then pulled her hands back over her head. "I shall be quite the sight with my hair so short."

"No. You will tell them you cut a lock for me. You wished it to be the most beautiful lock, and found none suitable until the last."

She glanced up at him. "You have the soul of a poet, my love."

"No." He turned from her and pulled a small pair of thread snips from his desk. He handed them to her. "Take a lock of my hair, please."

She slipped behind him and snipped one. Then she ran her arms around his middle and hugged him fiercely. "You will come back to me, Vladimir, a hero, I am certain."

He turned within her arms and kissed her. "I will count the days, the hours, the seconds. I love you, Gisella. Nothing will stop me coming back."

Vlad finished sealing the second of two letters as Chandler showed Duke Deathridge into the office. He rose and smiled. "Good to see you this morning, Duke Deathridge."

"And you, Highness. And when it is just us, please, call me Dick. So much easier, don't you think?"

"Quite." He handed the man the two letters. "One to my father and one for my aunt. The letter to my father is just our normal correspondence. The letter to my aunt is requesting immediate permission to marry Princess Gisella."

Deathridge raised an eyebrow. "She's not…?"

"No." Vlad shook his head. "Despite our affection and attraction, neither of us wished to spark an international incident by proceeding without sanction."

"Very wise, Highness." Deathridge tucked the letters inside his frock coat. "I shall see these are delivered immediately upon my landing."

The prince's eyes tightened. "You're determined to go, then?"

"I really have no choice. I would much prefer to go with you. Since Rivendell will most likely not fight your troops, you should use them to build the fort at the Tillie outflow. He can retreat to it and winter there. I will argue in Parliament that we need more troops to smash the Tharyngians. And you can gather proof of these pasmortes which even the most obstinate minister will have to recognize."

"You'll have that proof, I guarantee it."

"Excellent." The smaller man nodded. "I will remain in Temperance to see to the shipping of supplies up to Hattersburg. I may even travel up to Margaretstown before catching a packet ship to Norisle."

"I expect us to be in Hattersburg a month from now." Vlad ran a hand over his chin. "We'll be carrying forty days of rations, so we shall need our supplies."

"More than enough time to get them there. Two weeks at most." Deathridge smiled. "Supplies in first, then the cavalry. Everyone should be there and waiting for you."

Vlad glanced at the model. "We need twice the number of regulars, and more than a company of artillery to destroy that place."

"And next year we will have it." Deathridge folded his arms over his chest. "Rivendell's retreat will destroy his coalition in Parliament. He'll be relieved. I would hope I am appointed in his place."

"What if Rivendell takes the Fortress of Death?"

"I do not believe he can. For him to succeed would require our enemy to be a fool. Guy du Malphias may be any number of things, but fool is not numbered among them. I expect Rivendell to mass troops to the north, get his cavalry destroyed and, in a sulking fit, retreat to your fortress. Have you decided on a name?"

"I was thinking 'Hope.'"

"Auspicious. Excellent choice. From Fort Hope we will sweep the Tharyngians from Mystria."

Vlad nodded. "I just wish we did not have to wait a year."