“How fast is your turnaround?” he asked.
The idiot Blood Forester spoke. “We’re not actually going to start strategizing until your luxlord father arrives. He should be here any minute, Lord Prism.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gavin said.
“Lord Prism?”
“When you arrive in Ru, I think you’ll find that the army is here.” Gavin pointed to a little town called Voril, two days from Ru. “You’ll find that the corregidor has maybe half the working guns he’s told you, and less than half the powder, because he’s always been more worried about his ego than about defense. So rather than look like a fool to you who are trying to save him, he’ll act like one and lie to you, which you won’t find out until it’s too late. And I’ve marched through this country. If you’re not being harassed and being made to pay for letting your wagons get spread out, this section is easy. I covered it in three weeks, but my brother had saboteurs and raiders who made us paranoid at every step. If they’ve been allowed to just march through here, they’ll be on top of Ru before you know it.
“Your spies have been cataloguing the wrong things. What’s important isn’t the exact number of horsemen or who’s a freed slave versus a volunteer. Those are good to know, but what you needed to know was how many anvils do they have, how many skilled blacksmiths, how much scrap iron? Have veterans from the False Prism’s War been put in positions of leadership, or have those slots gone to the Color Prince’s favorites who don’t know anything? How long are their supply lines, and how much food are they delivering every time? It’s too late for a lot of those questions to be answered now. Too late for you to have raiders intercept the supply wagons, or to destroy the anvils or murder the blacksmiths and sabotage the wagons’ wheels before they hit the Little Sisters’ Pass. You could have bought yourself weeks, and only put a dozen men in danger to do it. The Color Prince hasn’t led an army before either, and it’s not your fault that none of you have-but it is your fault that you haven’t asked the men who marched with me or my brother to advise you. You’re going to ask those men to die, and not for good reason. The fact is, no matter what you do, you won’t save Ru. It’s already over. If you were wise, you’d send messages to tell them to evacuate the city and regroup at the neck of Ruic Head, and to take out of the city whatever supplies the Color Prince’s army needs most. But you won’t do that, because you’re looking to win a battle instead of win a war. I’ve got my own fights, gentlemen. Fights that I can still win, and that will help you in ways you don’t know. So good day, and I’ll see you on the field.”
Chapter 96
Gavin headed down to his own room. He spied his father coming up the lift just as he stepped into his room. Good thing the old bastard was blind. Grinwoody was with him, but the old slave had his back turned, helping the old man out of the lift.
Karris lay on his bed, asleep. In a chair beside the bed, Commander Ironfist sat. He rubbed his temples, and then his bald head as Gavin came in.
“Commander,” Gavin said.
“Lord Prism.” There was something oddly distant in the big man’s voice.
“Is something the matter?” Gavin asked.
Ironfist looked at him levelly. “I almost lost one of my watch captains, one of my friends, in what appears to be a targeted attack. And someone murdered one of my students yesterday. A couple of the scrubs swear that the man was aiming at Kip and the girl stepped into the line of fire on accident. Do you have any comment, Lord Prism?”
“Can I trust you enough to bare my throat to you, Ironfist?”
Ironfist hesitated, as well he should.
“Well then,” Gavin said.
Ironfist heaved a sigh and looked down at his hands. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?”
Gavin didn’t follow. They were doomed because they didn’t trust each other?
“The Chromeria is a lightning-struck tree. Still standing, but dead on the inside. That’s why we’re going to lose, I think,” Ironfist said. “We have all the power in the world, but our faith is dead. If we don’t believe in what we’re doing for its own sake, we’re just doing it to maintain power. And I think some of us are too good to continue throwing lives into the trough simply to feed the beast.”
“Are we?” Gavin asked very quietly.
“When Ru falls, this will become a real war. And once it’s a real war, and not simply an uprising of a few disgruntled madmen, then the questions begin. At some point, every one of us will have to ask if we’re on the right side. If we’ve already decided our own side is wrong-that there’s no Orholam, that the Chromeria is simply making the best of a bad situation-then where do men looking for certainty turn?”
“Maybe men shouldn’t look for certainty,” Gavin said.
“Should. Shouldn’t. Doesn’t matter. They do.”
He was right. Of course he was.
Gavin quirked an eyebrow. “Why Ironfist, are you asking me to come back to religion?”
Ironfist met his levity with a flat stare. “My own faith is dead, Lord Prism. Not least because of you. I’d not ask you to embrace a lie, but I want my people to have a reason to die. I won’t lie either. I can’t tell them what we do matters. If that’s beside the point, if you want us to die because it’s our duty to die, I can accept that. That can be enough for me. That will be enough for the Blackguard. It won’t be enough for everyone else.”
“Does the Blackguard love me so much?” Gavin asked grimly.
Ironfist looked startled Gavin should ask. “We don’t die for you. We die for each other, for our brothers and sisters. We die for the Blackguard.” Then he grinned. “Looks the same from your side though, I suppose.” Ironfist stood, looked at Karris, swallowed, then turned back to Gavin. “You should give her a ring, you know. Especially if you’re going off to your death.”
Of course. And he should make sure she was provided for, should he die. Damn.
Ironfist left, and Gavin followed him. Gavin got off at the level of his father’s and mother’s apartments, nodding amiably to the discipulae who passed him in the lift, on their way to do chores. He went into his mother’s apartments.
He’d thought he’d accepted his mother’s death, but going into her room and smelling the familiar, comforting smells of the place made him pause, barely inside the door. There was the wood polish, the waft of lavender, the stargazer lilies he’d always hated, a bit of orange, and spices he could never place. All that was missing was the smell of her perfume. A lump grew in his throat, threatening to choke him, making it hard to breathe.
“Oh, mother, I finally did it. I finally did the right thing with Karris. I wish you could see it.”
“My lord?” a timorous voice intruded. “I’m so sorry, my lord. Should I withdraw?”
It was his mother’s room slave. Gavin didn’t even know the young girl’s name. Different girl than last time. No wonder the room was immaculately clean, without even dust on the mantelpiece.
“ Caleen,” Gavin said. “You’ve done well. It’s beautiful. It reminds me powerfully of her.”
“I’m so sorry, my lord.” She buried her face.
Gavin shook his head. The girl was young. His mother had always trained her help exquisitely, and had chosen only intelligent slaves, preferring that over physical beauty, unlike other leading families. But there are some situations you don’t get around to training a fourteen-year-old girl for.
“Did my mother leave no instructions for you?” Gavin asked. Usually, like himself, his mother had kept at least half a dozen slaves in her household. She’d trimmed back in recent years, mostly manumitting those who’d provided long years of good service. Now Gavin knew why.