She watched to make sure they were all in forget trances. When they woke in the morning, none would remember the events of today. She took the time to bandage the bleeding upper arm of one, then mounted and rode to catch up with Brice.
Later, the general asked as they walked their horses to give them a break, “You’re not going to tell me?”
“No.”
“Are they alive?”
“They are.”
“Good enough. Just ahead of us is a small river called the Dunn. We have a permanent camp there, nearly two hundred men. How many do you think we should take with us?”
“All of them.”
His head spun so fast it might have been humorous in other circumstances. “All?”
“And are there more we can recruit along the way?” Prin asked.
“You’re serious?”
“I am. My life depends on what we do.”
“The King may not be too happy with me stripping his men from the defense of Peermont, but you are royalty, and I serve the crown, which is you. If he is upset, so be it.”
Prin said, “Remember, you have choices. I will be in need of good generals in Wren.”
They reached the camp, which was not a camp, but a wooden fort constructed high on the side of a tall hill where it had a view of the valley and river. Nothing would travel up the river without being seen, and Prin suspected that a stable of fast horses and a faster route to Calverton could be had if one looked around. The general sat taller on his horse and saluted the men on watch as they rode past.
He pulled to a stop and ordered a corporal, “Get the major here on the double.”
They were still dismounting when a man rushed to the general while still tucking in his shirt. His shoulders wore the gold insignia of a tiny leaf, his hat was worn crooked, and his face flushed red. He snapped a salute.
The general said, “Order assembly and be ready to depart for Calverton by the time our horses are watered. Supplies for five days.”
“H-How many men?” the stuttering major asked.
“Everyone. This camp will be empty until we complete our mission. Why are you still standing there with your mouth hanging open? Is there part of my orders you didn’t understand?”
“Uh,” the major began, then suddenly snapped his mouth shut and shouted, “Orderly.”
Prin was impressed with the general again, as she listened to a series of shouted orders being passed from officers to sergeants, and finally, to privates. Men ran in every direction. More shouts. Orders were issued, but the camp was like someone had kicked an anthill. Even the camp cooks raced from the mess hall, one of them holding a wooden spoon.
The horses drank from the stream and rested while the army organized. The major stalked from one end of the camp to the other, issuing more orders and directions, his arms waving and fingers pointing. His senior enlisted men rounded up their charges and men began to fall into formation near the gate. Sergeants shifted those out of position, and in less time than Prin believed, over two hundred men lined up, four across, wearing backpacks, and with weapons in hand.
The major returned and saluted. “Ready to depart, sir.”
“Well done, Major. Will you send scouts to the front and rear, half the men ahead of us and half behind? We are ready when you are.”
Prin admired the response from the general. He complimented the major as he issued new orders. She also noticed that after the initial confusion, the major took charge, did as the general ordered, and never questioned or asked why. She was not certain she could have done the same.
The column moved out, heading north on the road. Soon after they passed a wagon loaded high with dry hay. The scouts had moved it to a small clearing at the side of the road so it wouldn’t slow the march. The farmer watched with interested eyes as they marched past and she imagined the wild stories he would invent to account for the movement of the troops.
Probably, most of the tales would be that the Peermont Army was in retreat—and people would wonder how that would affect them. But there was no time to explain. The troops would return within ten days, five to reach Calverton and five more back to their fort.
A scout raced back from the front with a message for the major, who relayed it to the general. “Sir, we saw a scouting party of five Ansel soldiers. They headed for the river. Do you want my men to pursue?”
“No, let them go. For now.” His eyes flicked to Prin for approval.
Brice said, “We’re moving slower.”
“But safer,” Prin said. She noticed the general speaking to the officer again and heard part of his words. They were to gather any of their troops they encountered along the way. The general moved his horse until it rode directly beside Prin. “You might want your knight to take up a position on your other side where an arrow can’t reach you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Prin was used to walking, not riding, and by nightfall, her bottom and thighs protested with every step the horse took. She thought about dismounting and walking the rest of the way.
The general called a halt, and the men set up a makeshift camp. Everyone was tired. The march had not been forced but had remained steady and fast the entire afternoon. Prin strolled around the campfires and listened. Not too much complaining and the soldiers welcomed the break in routine. She heard speculation about who Brice may be, but none of the speculation centered on her, which seemed typical.
She watched a dice game from afar, measuring the faces and responses to each throw as if they waged war. For the men, that was their world. They centered themselves on today, a little on tomorrow, but all else failed to exist. They walked their watch posts, obeyed orders, understood they would never own land or animals, and didn’t care to.
A new hat or shirt was cause for joy, and not dying in battle this day was cause for a celebration. The fires began dying down, some of the men already asleep. Despite her soreness and tiredness, her mind was alert, and sleep was far off.
Brice joined her. After walking for a while, he asked, “What’s bothering you?”
“I’m not surprised the mages are circulating pictures of me in Ansel if that’s what you’re asking. I guess it’s a series of small things I’m putting together in my head.”
“Such as?”
“King Edward. From what I gather, he’s young and ignoring the war while he and his close friends drink expensive wines and sport with the prettiest girls.”
Brice said, “Isn’t that the way of most kings?”
She spun to face him. “It is not. If you read history, especially that written by kings, you’d find that ruling is more of a chore than farming or carpentry. Most kings and queens, those who are worthy to rule, hate what they do, but enjoy the advances their people make.”
“Where did all that anger come from?” Brice asked.
“It’s not directed at you. I’m scared.”
“At what?”
“My whole life has been spent running away from things. Now I’m running into it. Whatever the rest of my life becomes, the next few days will decide. Dying, or becoming queen or anything between will happen because of what I do, and what others do. Sometimes I wish I was still working in the morning kitchen.”
Brice sat beside the fire where the general spread his bedroll. He was asleep, and they kept their voices low as they talked about nothing and much. He reminded her of their pleasant life in Gallium with Sara, and Maude, and repeated some a few humorous family stories which she appreciated. Her mind slipped away from the darkness and focused on the positive future.