At the Queen_s command

Beecher blinked several times. "But, gentlemen, this will put your immortal souls in jeopardy."

Rufus Branch spat into the fire. "Ain't like it ain't there already. I'll kill those opposing me. If they're gonna surrender, best do it right quick, or I'll kill them, too."

Nathaniel stood and ran a hand across his jaw. "I reckon you all 'spect me to be agreeing with Makepeace. I ain't saying I don't. I also ain't saying Reverend Beecher don't have a point. Seems to me that iffen we all agree on shooting all the Ryngians we can, we still got us a problem. As the Major said, ain't no reason the Ryngians cain't all just stay hunkered down. And, see, here's where Caleb and Reverend Beecher has their points."

He got a stick and redrew the fort. "Now iffen they keep their heads down, they cain't see what we is doing. That works to our advantage. And if they's angry with us, they ain't gonna be thinking straight if they do see something. And they is Ryngians, so they is going to be worried about their honor. Iffen we did form up, they might come out after us, accepting that battle when they see how pitiful we is."

Major Forest watched him, a smile fighting its way onto his face. "You have something in mind, Captain Woods?"

"I do, sir. Glimmerings, anyway. I reckon that in three days we can have them Ryngians so confused they ain't got no idea what's happening. I reckon that's when surrendering will sound good. One quick trick, and that fort will be ours."

"I await your plan, Captain Woods." Forest chuckled. "Let's hope your trick saves a lot of blood."

Beecher shook his head. "Duplicity is not honorable! I forbid this."

Forest's expression tightened. "You need to understand two things, Mr. Beecher. The first is that you are here as a courtesy to Bishop Bumble. Your duties consist of providing spiritual comfort. Second, war itself is not honorable. There is no honor in slaughtering men. Moral right, perhaps, especially when your family and your freedom are under attack, but never honor. Dying with honor is a myth promulgated to ease the grief of survivors, nothing more."

Beecher stiffened. "I shall write the Bishop about this."

"Please do. Do it now, in fact." Forest nodded to the cleric. "My men and I have a war to plan."

Chapter Sixty

July 25, 1764

On the Shores of Anvil Lake, Mystria

T hough it remained high summer and Prince Vlad had pulled a blanket around himself, he could not shake the chill. The Mystrian contingent arrived at Anvil Lake by mid-morning. The whole of the space in which he had considered putting Fort Hope had already been cleared. Stumps had been pulled, holes filled, and ground leveled. The lumber had been trimmed and stacked neatly, waiting for construction.

The Tharyngians had even supplied a sign proclaiming the site to be Fort Hope. Prince Vlad had not confided that name to but a handful and the enemy already knew it. The Ryngian's skill at ferreting out information impressed the Prince.

And it explains why we faced so little harassment on the way here.

Clearing the site of Fort Hope was not the lone improvement the Ryngians had supplied. They cut a fifteen-foot-wide road to the southwest, presumably running all the way past the Roaring River outlet and right up to the Fortress of Death. Count von Metternin and Owen had already traveled a ways upon it and returned to report that excess wood had been split into firewood and stacked for their use.

Vlad had immediately sent runners back to fetch Lord Rivendell. He dispatched work parties to clear campsites well away from the foundation of Fort Hope. While it would have been easier to let the men set up camp there, it was also possible that du Malphias had positioned mortar emplacements in the woods and had them angled to drop explosives on the cleared ground. Vlad organized hunting parties to scour the hills looking for those sites and set pickets out along the road.

He wished he had Nathaniel or Kamiskwa on site. Either of them could have told him how long ago the work had been done. He was guessing, given that bare shoots were the only undergrowth at Fort Hope, that the ground had been prepared two weeks previously. He also suspected the road had been cut at fifteen feet to mock their meager eight-foot effort.

The Prince left Mugwump to Baker's care and found Owen. "Why would he do this?"

Owen frowned. "Winter slowed the pasmortes down. All this work means they are revitalized. I would bet that the winter's dead from Kebeton City never made it into the ground. He will have the Platine Regiment, and whatever dead he could ship west."

Count von Metternin joined them. "This is a foul business. The road extends fifty miles and is twice as wide as ours. In two weeks he has cut what it would have taken us a month and cleared this space. When we come to the Roaring River, I am certain there will be a bridge."