The Royal Frontier Corps joins battle with the native rebels and Rescat Carregan's militia. Jon is forced to make some difficult decisions when the dust settles.

Well, well, well. Well. Well. Okay, we're back! Last chapter ended with a threat from Dr. Carregan. This time, things are getting Serious, and the novel pivots to its final third section. I know it's been a bit of a wait, but hopefully we can take the novel out in style!

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

The Road to Mandalay, by Rob Baird — Chapter 7, "Fit for to Serve as a Soldier"

(Also, check out the infodump here if you want a map, a review of the plot, and a catchup on the characters and setting!)

---

Previously, on the Road to Mandalay:

Dhamishaya, a far-flung and massive imperial province plagued by corruption and stagnation, catches the attention of the militant capitalists of the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad. Provincial governor Jonham, Lord Gyldrane, is forced from the capital by a coup and escapes to Fort Shandur.

There, with the help of the Royal Frontier Corps, he consolidates his power. His enemies are strong and his allies are few: Kajrazi, his servant, a red panda captured from the bandit tribes of the Vigharka Mountains. Major Atta-Farash Irzim, loyal native commander. Etan, Lord Coltharden, his old friend in charge of the RFC and its seven hundred dragoons.

Dr. Rescat Carregan, local director of the Railroad, meets with them to demand their surrender. They refuse, knowing full well that she commands the Iron Corps, a well-equipped mercenary force armed with advanced weapons and fanatic loyalty. As the last chapter ends, the stage is set for impending conflict.

And now...

My mother was fond of saying that the most difficult part of a battle was enduring the waiting beforehand. I had never been able to judge that before, but now I felt it keenly. 

Lord Coltharden and I agreed on a simple strategy: avoid where Dr. Carregan's men were concentrated and strike the railroad somewhere behind the construction-works — there were a number of little valleys and bends where I thought a well-placed set of explosives could do rather disproportionate damage. 

This strategy lasted until late in the evening, when the sentries announced that a lone rider was approaching. It was not the man that we had dispatched and, indeed, was not a man of the Corps at all — but he was Aernian, and Coltha and I bade him enter immediately.

“Word from the Landsmoot, Coltha?" I suggested to the lion. 

Etan shook his head. “I don't rightly know. Let's hope."

The messenger was a canine who introduced himself as Temis and looked rather the worse for wear. He landed unsteadily when he dismounted from his horse, and I gathered he had been riding for quite some time. “All the way from Surowa?" I asked.

Temis nodded. “Yes, m'lord. I was given orders to avoid all contact on the way northward..."

That piqued my attention, but Temis said that the message he was to deliver had been intended only for Lord Coltharden, and handed him an envelope stamped with the seal of Rudkirkshire. We exchanged glances, and the lion slit the wax with a sharp claw. 

As I watched, Etan read the letter twice. His jaw was set. “Temis — when did you get this?"

“Six days ago, my lord. I've ridden non-stop since. Gone through three horses — borrowed this one from a loyal farmer west of Jaikot."

“You've seen the railroad, then?"

“Yes, my lord," Temis told him. “From Jaichur City to Jaikot it's all finished rail. Beyond the provincial capital, they've cleared a path all the way to Gur, but I didn't ride that way — that's only what I've heard."

“Of course," Coltha nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention — I'm sure we can give you a bed for the night." The dog nodded, and bowed. “Speak to Major Atta-Farash — his office is over there."

Temis obligingly disappeared, and I scanned the lines in my old friend's face, trying to guess at what the letter had held. “Not from the Moot?"

“No," the lion sighed. “Not from the Moot, indeed. It's a message from my father. In advance of an expected decision from the Landsmoot. I'm to attack the railhead at once, and to take Rescat Carregan and her Aernian lieutenants under guard."

Carregan may have questioned my literacy, but I could read between the lines as eloquently as anyone. I knew what the Duke of Rudkirk was asking: there had been no decision from the Landsmoot, and none was forthcoming. By provoking a battle with Carregan, he hoped to force the old lords' hands. 

“Does he mention anything about my family?"

“He says that he'll speak to Lord Dalchauser, as well as Lord Chenwyck and Lord Mallysbrook and the other March lords. But this letter does not announce an alliance... yet."

“My clan won't abandon me," I declared, without adding in the rest of it — not on purpose or not if they have a choice in the matter. Dalchauser was a very long way from Dhamishaya, though, and I suffered under no illusions about how much power they truly had. “So you'll attack?"

“I don't see that I have a choice in the matter, Jon," he said. “Besides which, my father is right — it's best to attack them now, before they have a chance to extend the line all the way down the coast and begin to bring in reinforcements. Right? He instructed me to obtain your assent, as governor of the province."

“I assent, then," I nodded my agreement. “And I'll be going with you, of course."

He frowned, looked at the letter one final time, and then folded it back up and slipped it into his pocket. “I'm not sure that's a good idea, Jon. We need somebody of royal authority back at the fort."

“I can deputize someone. Remember how it was in that damned bar, Coltha? We were waiting for the Landsmoot to act then, too. And we knew what was right, didn't we?"

He smiled wistfully. “So we were, and so we did. But those were different times, all the same."

“All the same, friend, you knew it then and you know it now — my place is on that field. At your side."

“To what end?" the lion asked, and started walking towards Major Atta-Farash's office; the rider had just exited. “I'll admit I'd prefer to have your company, but the important thing now is what's best for the province. It's not for the captain of a warship to join all the boarding parties..."

In the past few weeks, I'd come to feel nearly naked without my saber; my paw rested thoughtfully on the hilt, imagining what it would be like to be riding with Coltharden, and I shook my head in frustration. “The province will get along without me."

“I've made my decision." The lion turned, and forced a smile. “Don't be insubordinate."

“I can't both be your boss and be insubordinate," I pointed out, and then followed him through the open door to the major's office. “You're just making things difficult..."

With a chuckle, Etan pulled the door shut. “Or life is. Major Atta-Farash, I've received orders from my father, and Lord Gyldrane has agreed to them. We're to attack the railhead, which seems at the moment to lie somewhere south of Gur. Two days' ride, I make it, with time to rest the men."

The panther nodded slowly, and turned to his tapestry, wordlessly working the spell that shifted it into a map of the province. Together, the three of us studied the course of the river Ajirandigarh, curving south from Fort Shandur to Jin-Giri's ferry, and Gur, and Jaikot a day's journey beyond. It did not seem so far away, for all that.

“I'll take the entirety of my two regiments. You're to detach four troops from the garrison here and appoint a suitable commander. I figure that gives us a little over five hundred fighting men, and the element of knowing the terrain."

“Yes, sir," Atta-Farash nodded. “What of the rest?"

“Remain here at Fort Shandur — we can't leave it completely undefended. Keep Captain Jonham here with you, too — he's a bit of a wild pup, this one. He'd like to come with me, but I won't risk the civilian government on a raid like this."

“Is it a risk, sir?"

Lord Coltharden felt for the order folded up in his pocket. “There's always a risk, major. In this case, I don't believe it's terribly serious."

Major Atta-Farash considered this for a few seconds, and nodded slowly. “Might I make a suggestion, sir?" Coltharden inclined his head. “I suspect that you've been ordered to attack immediately, but perhaps it would be prudent to wait until our scouts return? We've sent a few parties south, and they should know..."

“Jon?"

“No harm in that, I suppose." I looked at the map, and considered what we knew of Carregan and her forces. “She says that she has four companies of the Iron Corps with her. I'd guess that's five hundred men, same as us. Nor can they all be at the railhead..."

“No?"

I stepped forward to the tapestry, and for once in my time in Dhamishaya felt that I knew what I was talking about. “Carregan's made allies of the merchant castes. Aloro, Barasit-Rai, Namchar Abbam — they'll all support her. They'll benefit from the trade the railroad brings. But all of this?" I waved my paw over the farmlands west of Jaikot, the cotton fields and ranches and little towns that kept the merchant castes fed. “They'll need to be kept pacified."

“She can use her native allies for that, surely," Etan said. “That's what we did."

“I'm not certain, Coltha. Dr. Carregan isn't stupid. If a platoon of Reth militia marches in to Jaletka, that's going to inflame the sentiments of everyone in the town — none of whom have ever gotten along with the highborn and none of whom are going to accord them any legitimacy. Maybe they'll put up with it. Maybe the Reth won't take advantage of their position to start looting everything that isn't nailed down. But would you take that risk?"

“He's right, sir," Atta-Farash intoned gravely. “The whole valley seems to be in disarray. A squad here, a squad there — I'm not certain I'd feel comfortable trying to keep the peace in the valley with four regiments, let alone four companies. No matter how highly trained they are."

Lord Coltharden looked between us for a long time. “Then we'll wait, I suppose. You should have scouts back tomorrow?"

“Yes, sir. Gods willing."

The gods did not will me to sleep; that took a glass of whiskey, and an unproductive few hours spent staring up into the darkness. I had clarified to my servant that I expected to be woken in a more ordinary fashion, and distracted myself in the rise and fall of her chest from where she lay huddled up at the foot of my bed.

That was an unusual one. I had grown rather fond of Kajrazi, whose vague flaws had become endearing and whose dedicated enthusiasm kept me from substantial irritation. It helped that this enthusiasm focused on my sexual gratification, but I liked to think that I would've been as supportive of, say, gardening. 

Or the rifle, which in her care seemed to have taken on a new life. Once or twice I had seen her at work in inspecting new cartridges, and more often than that she was cleaning the thing with the same affection that she showed to me. Atta-Farash said that she spent a great deal of her time when I was away at the range.

It was a little curious that one so adorable could be also so deadly. But then... well. Wasn't that what I would've been looking for in a mate, myself? It was good to have sharp teeth. The story went, at least, that my mother had killed another woman in a duel over my father.

Of course this was all irrelevant, because Kajrazi was not a prospective mate, and nobody was out to woo me. But it was something to think about. Just the same way as I'd been thinking about Mia K'nArvy. Something to consider. Something to...

“Kajja?" I blinked. It was light outside, and Kajrazi was holding a mug of water.

I sat up and took it, draining half the mug at once. “Morning already?"

“Shishi, kajja."

“Do you know if anyone has come back from the scouting parties?"

The firefox nodded. “Yes. They were discussing it when I went to fetch the water."

Fortunately Lord Coltharden looked as bleary-eyed as I did; only Major Atta-Farash seemed to be awake and alert when Coltha and I joined him in his office. Two men in RFC uniforms were waiting — I recognized one of them as Corporal Nagurtha, who had first announced word of restlessness in the mountains, ages and ages ago.

“Sergeant Vanao, Corporal Nagurtha," the panther introduced them in turn for Coltharden's benefit. “We sent them downriver a few days ago."

“The railroad," Lord Coltharden said flatly. “You've word of it?"

“They're working quickly," Nagurtha said. “Their camp is ten miles to the south of Gur. It's heavily fortified — so near as I can tell, they set up defensive positions just beyond the work camp, and let the workers come to them..."

“So there are soldiers there?"

“Shishi, kajja," Nagurtha told me. “Sergeant?"

“Some of them are from our country, and some from yours, kajja; sirs. By our estimate, there are around two hundred of your people, and three hundred Dhamishi."

Etan reached behind his neck, and his paw toyed with his thick mane of fur. “Five hundred men to guard the railhead?"

“They're looking for a battle, then," I pointed out. “They wouldn't need that many if they were only concerned about raiders."

“Agreed..."

“May I speak freely, sir?" Sergeant Vanao asked. He looked younger than Vanao Barut; more lively. I wondered briefly if they were related, and realized I had no idea how even to ask this question. I had not done well by him.

But Etan knew nothing of my regrets. “Go ahead."

“We saw more of them in the towns we observed, and a few on the road. They might be able to pull another hundred men in on very short notice, if a battle dragged on for long enough..."

'If' was the key word. Lord Coltharden had heard enough. “Give the major and I your notes, and go get some rest. You two look like you've ridden hard, and... we might need you soon."

Sergeant Vanao reached for his pocket, and handed over a few slips of paper. Then the pair saluted, and were gone. I watched Lord Coltharden's face for any sign of his mood. “Was that what you were looking for, Coltha?"

“I suppose it's what we knew, isn't it? Evenly matched, by the numbers, but I don't think she can trust the shishis. Not untrained, anyway. But we'll have to strike soon."

“How soon?"

The lion adjusted his cap, and grinned a dangerous grin. “There is, they say, no time like the present..."

I'd never seen the Royal Frontier Corps in force — only a few companies at a time, on parade or in one of Atta-Farash Irzim's displays he put on when I attended. But now...

Now, I stood with the panther at the palisade of Fort Shandur, observing five hundred men on horseback. The sound of hooves was a muffled drumbeat as they shuffled into position. The morning sun caught, and clung to the sharp edge of bayonets. It set the khaki uniforms aglow. It stretched the shadows of horse and rider into something strange and alien.

I sighed. “I should be there with them."

Atta-Farash did not turn his body, but his head tilted, and he peered at me sideways. “You really believe that, don't you, kajja?"

“Yes. Not that one man could make a difference, but..."

“Two." The panther's voice was flat, and low. “Two men. You're not the only one who feels as though he is abandoning his duty."

As I watched, Lord Coltharden turned his horse about one final time. I saw my old friend in full splendor — uniform as crisp as the salute he raised to the fort. Then he dipped his hat to us, and they were on their way.

But in that moment, I felt as though nothing could possibly hurt him. Indeed, it would all be simple enough — though I didn't know Coltha's plans to the tactical level, he meant to attack the railhead from behind, swiftly, before they could call up any of their reinforcements.

And that would be easy enough. I hoped.

Kajrazi had learned when I was receptive to conversation, and when I was not. She waited patiently as I sat in my quarters, a sheaf of papers before me, working out a rough map of where I thought the RFC would be meeting their foe in battle.

Without me.

But what was there to be done? The day passed with agonizing slowness, and for the second night in a row I looked up into the unfeeling darkness, focusing on the warm body curled up on my feet.

The only gratifying discovery, and a meager one at that, was that for once Atta-Farash looked as worn as I when we met the following morning. He confessed that he had not been able to sleep, and I smiled sympathetically. 

“Although," I said. “Perhaps we could occupy ourselves."

“Kajja?"

“We should be ready to ride, don't you suppose?"

The panther arched an eyebrow at me, and then grinned. “So we should. Captain Jonham, assemble your men. I'll have Captain Babali muster Troop Green as well. Until we know for certain..."

“Until we know for certain," I echoed, facing the full strength of Troop Black — thirty-six men, myself included, standing at sharp attention before me. “We must be ready to support our comrades to the south. Colonel Lord Coltharden should be meeting our enemy just beyond Gur, sometime after mid-day. We could be there in a day at most, if we rode hard — so that's what we'll be ready to do. Everyone carries a weapon. The supply train stays behind — Sergeant Akal," I addressed the quartermaster. “Ready the troop for a week's deployment."

“Yes, sir."

I watched the preparations until I was satisfied, and then circled back to meet up with Major Atta-Farash. The panther nodded approvingly when I informed him that we were ready to ride. “It may come to that."

“It might."

“But you've fought before."

I had, and as a good man of the Marches I was damned proud of that. Corys Sutheray wouldn't have permitted anything else from her eldest son. The smile she allowed herself, seeing me in uniform for the first time, remained one of my fondest memories.

I'd been just barely twenty-three years old — barely back from school — in the summer of 892, when the first rumors began to spread that King Chatherral was going to increase his demands for grain from the Marches. We'd all known the west was suffering under a drought; we'd expected consequences.

Nobody had expected he'd ask for four-fifths of the crop. That was pure madness: if nothing else, a sure sign of how completely detached he was from his own kingdom. I waited with my friends, Coltha among them, while the Landsmoot convened.

We'd been in a tavern in Rudkirk when we learned that the vote for war had failed. We shared our surprise, and we nodded approvingly at the news that Reald K'nArvey, the Earl of Chenwyck, had declared his intent to disobey the king's order. It was his right, as a free lord — we'd even discussed volunteering, ourselves.

In the end it hadn't mattered, because two weeks later Lord Rudkirk joined K'nArvey, and my father threw in his support, too. Rudkirkshire and Dalchauser were old allies; our lands' friendship was as strong as mine was with Lord Coltharden. That was how I'd found myself in Esmon K'nCarryn's army, riding to relieve the siege of Thadebre.

K'nCarryn's militia was mostly old hands, veterans of long years on the frontier beyond the pale. But I'd known that my place was to be among them, and for their part, they'd known that too. I'd told Coltha that I belonged with him, and though he argued for the supremacy of a higher calling I was certain he agreed with me.

The Battle of Thadebre put a thousand of us, in K'nCarryn's Militia, against three hundred regulars in the King's Own Army and a battalion of hastily mustered midlanders. It was so easy to recall that moment, waiting for my commander's order to attack —

And if I recalled that, my memory summoned up the sound of our charge, hundreds of cavalry in the rightmost column smashing into the exposed flank of the royal infantry, just after they'd gotten off one salvo and long before they had the chance for a second.

They folded at once, melting before our sabers, running in panic a full half-hour before the rest of the royalist line collapsed. Good work, lad, Esmon had told me — me, personally! — and I'd known what it meant to be a living god. 

By the Battle of Sarkath, Sargorydd as the fleeing midlanders called it, I had my field commission. There, beside the River Tin, Lord Chenwyck and six thousand March cavalrymen had shown the bloody king what his gods-damned army amounted to.

“Six thousand?" Major Atta-Farash asked.

“To five thousand of the king's army. A regiment of the Asheth Foot, and four hundred Temaren lancers — closest they ever got to having horsemen, and there aren't many horses worth riding in Temar."

“A proper engagement," the panther agreed. “Rather like this one."

“Yes. Which, I guess you're about point out, sir, the RFC hasn't really seen before."

“They haven't. I haven't, either. What is the worst, do you suppose, that could happen?"

I ran my fingers in distracted circles over the map. “An ambush, I suppose. Or the men forced to fight from horseback. None of them are really trained as proper cavalry, are they?"

“Not as such," Atta-Farash agreed. That was expensive; it took time and effort to teach men to fight from horseback. My predecessors had organized the RFC as dragoons, instead — always ready to ride to battle, there to dismount and carry on as infantry. 

As the best damned infantry on the southern continent, at that. “Even in the very worst case, they'll be fine. Those men could find cover in a barren room. And they'll be up against..." I trailed off. 

“Against?" 

“I don't really know how the Iron Corps fights, come to think of it," I admitted. Lord Coltharden had, of course, been briefed — but as with so many things, I'd been occupied with civilian affairs.

The Railroad's soldiers had acquired a deadly reputation, and it had been my habit of assuming that this was entirely due to the caliber of the men they faced — almost always disorganized natives. They'd suppressed the tribes in the forest to my homeland's south, and taken on the desert raiders of the Menapset wastes — but what were those? A few scattered warriors with more bravery than brains.

On the other hand... on the other hand I recalled hearing of their campaigns against the Shah of Kamir, and he would've had professional troops at his disposal. “Do you know anything of them, major?"

The panther shook his head ruefully. “The colonel knows best, of course. As for me, it was never part of our training. We counted them as allies, you will recall."

“Well, perhaps you're to be forgiven for that mistake." I racked my brain for what I knew. Rescat Carregan was one of their most noteworthy commanders. She was calculating, and swift — but also impulsive. Certainly she could not have been acting on direct orders from her superiors. “They're independent, I believe. They must put a lot of faith in individual initiative..."

“Aye," Theolockener Bealde confirmed when summoned — Major Atta-Farash and I remembered his background at approximately the same time, and ordered him to report. “From the top on down. They reckon some general in a tent can't make a busted shilling's sense worth of what things look like to a platoon in battle."

An Iron Corps commander, Locke said, tended to give extremely broad orders, and to trust in his men to find the best way to carry them out. They were always to be on the attack, probing their enemy for any weak points and applying overwhelming force wherever they found them. It kept their foes off-balance, and reactive. They defended positions, Locke said, by finding a vulnerability in their attackers and hitting right back.

“Then a well-drilled army ought to be their undoing," I suggested. “The RFC won't crack under pressure."

“That's the 'ope, aye," the bear offered rather more muted optimism than I. “All the same, sir, they have their ways."

“Ways?"

“Rockets. Grenades. Mines. They're engineers at heart, sir; they like explosions. All their ranged weapons're like that. More bark than bite — but enough bark an' even good men can get to panicking."

I remembered his description of the battles on the Shrouded Rocks. It was easy to imagine the terror a well-placed burst of incendiary shot could sow — or the deafening shriek of their rockets, or the strange repeating cannon they used that could fire more than a hundred rounds a minute...

I still believed that the RFC would not be likely to succumb to such a show of force, but all the same discretion was the better part of strategic planning. “Do you know if they have any artillery? I thought they moved it by rail, ordinarily?"

“That's true. The Corps don't like strayin' if they can 'elp it." Sergeant Locke pursed his lips, grumbling in thought. “But I don't know what they might've brought with them. Wismere rockets, like as not; maybe nothin' else. Maybe Darv'leighs; it depends."

I wondered, offhandedly, if the two riders who'd reported the army's advance might've seen anything further. They'd be a source of new information, at least; I went to see what I could learn, hoping it might soothe my nerves. Major Atta-Farash came with me to the barracks room where they were resting.

“Corporal Nagurtha?" The feline was fast asleep, and did not stir at my approach. “Corporal?"

At least, I thought at first that he was asleep. His eyes were open, though, and when I waved my paw before them he blinked. And remained silent. Increasingly disconcerted, I gave the man a light shake. 

Nothing.

Sergeant Vanao, in the adjacent cot, appeared to be much the same. Their breathing was steady, and untroubled; their pulses were regular and they showed no signs of stress. Nor could the fort's doctor make anything of the pair.

“A sickness?" Major Atta-Farash suggested.

“I haven't seen a sickness like this," was the doctor's reply. “They seemed to be in good health when you spoke to them last?"

I nodded. “Tired, yes. But that was all — and they'd ridden quite some distance."

“It might be the heat..." The doctor sounded unconvinced; I was rather unconvinced myself. The heat was not that oppressive, and nobody else had been affected. “Or a stroke, perhaps, though it seems odd that it might have laid both of them low at once. It's like they've just had the life removed from —"

He continued on in his useless diagnostic, but I no longer heard him. Instead of Sergeant Vanao and Corporal Nagurtha, I saw the two silent jackals that accompanied Rescat Carregan everywhere. Refugees of the Setel clan. I took them in.

And — 

I have lifted from them the burden of free will.

“Doctor," I snapped myself back from that black abyss, even as my blood had gone impossibly cold. “Secure these men. Bind them — and their mouths, too. Make sure they can't leave these damned beds."

“What's the meaning of this?"

“At once," I snarled, so that he did not suppose that my orders were to be countermanded. “Major — we need to speak. Doctor, when we return — if these men aren't bound, I'll have to kill them."

The panther was clearly puzzled, but my agitation had put a little healthy fear into him, as well. “Do as he asks," Atta-Farash instructed, and followed me outside quickly. “But I'm as confused as the surgeon is..."

“It's not a sickness, what happened to them," I growled. “Don't you remember when I came to see you for the first time? It was — it was Corporal Nagurtha, actually, who told me — you sent him down to alert the Colonial Governor..."

“Trouble from the mountain people, yes," Atta-Farash Irzim recalled with some difficulty. “Rumors of a monster — their odd little superstitions. We dismissed it."

My paws twitched at the thought of our shared folly. “Yes. I know. The rumor was of something strange — something that destroyed the souls of men. Left them — well — like that," I gestured towards the closed door.

“Superstitions," he repeated. “About the Railroad."

“Dr. Carregan," I clarified. “The rumors are that she has some way of doing that. Making people do her bidding. It's thaumaturgic, in some fashion — I don't know how, but I've seen it myself. Her bodyguards are sujetai — or they were. Now they're just... hers."

“Then you think..."

“Nagurtha and Vanao must've been captured." And even as I walked through that chain of events in my head, I could feel my world beginning to come apart. “Which means..."

Which meant that the Railroad was closer than we had assumed. Which meant that none of the intelligence report was trustworthy. Which meant that we had played into Rescat's hands — because what the pair had told us was calculated to force our deployment.

If they were silent now it was because she no longer had a use for them — or she was distracted by something more pressing. Both options were more or less equally troubling.

Troop Black did not understand my explanation, but they understood my urgency — we were past the gate in a blur and the din of pounding hooves before there was any time for doubt. Or planning: I had the vague sense that we might be able to interdict Colta, but that would take luck, and we'd had precious little of that.

“Then you think —"

“I don't think anything — yet," I shouted, cutting Sergeant-Major Bealde off. “But we'll need to be alert." For a sign — any sign. We found it four hours later — a haze of unnatural smoke, on the far horizon. Locke persuaded me to halt, and take stock of our situation.

The horses could not go much further at speed, in any case; I tried to think rationally, but the map before us defied such reason. On the horizon would be the town of Gur; the river lay to our east, and the going would be easier by the main road, but I was not willing to put a natural obstacle directly on my flank. We could not ford the Ajirandigarh; it cut off all possible escape.

I sent one of the younger men north with a compass, to take such bearings as he could on the source of the smoke. It permitted a fuzzy sort of triangulation, converging on one of the river valleys south of Gur. Nothing remarkable: cotton farms and impoverished homesteads, the same as the rest of the province.

“Would you make a stand there?" I asked Locke.

The question was rhetorical. “No. Terrible spot."

Open fields with little cover; to the south, the slope of the valley meant that any attack would have to proceed uphill. The River Ajirandigarh blocked maneuvering to the east; its tributary, snaking through the valley, would pin anyone moving to the west. The only way to move, or retreat, would be north — towards us.

“Captain," Locke spoke quietly, after I ordered Troop Black into the saddle again. “We shouldn't keep going."

“If they need our help, Sergeant Locke..."

“Then they'd need a damn sight more than three dozen winded dragoons. Think about what yer sayin', Haitch." His voice was still subdued, but the bear's eyes were flint-hard. “If somethin' 'appened up there, it's well over."

The Sutheray in me wanted to point out to him that nothing was over until me and my saber said it was. My paw stayed on its hilt. “Northwest, then?"

“Aye, sir, that'd be my suggestion. Northwest, and careful. Off the main roads — circle 'round Gilevee. Cross the Yanir River by the ford at Alan-Usht, if we have to, an' by the gods I 'ope we don't."

“I wish it to be known," I muttered, “that I like none of the implications in your suggestions, sergeant."

“Noted. I don't like them either." His grimace served to reinforce this point handily. Major Atta-Farash was equally uneasy, but what could we do? Two exhausted cavalry troops were unlikely to turn the tide, and we still didn't know where exactly our enemy was.

Atta-Farash ordered us to make camp, and to post guards. An hour later, one of them called out to us, having caught sight of an approaching rider. “Just one?" I heard the major ask.

Just one. He wore the khaki of the RFC, although I didn't recognize the tiger from his slumping, unsteady frame. With Atta-Farash and Sergeant-Major Bealde, I ran forward to meet the soldier.

“Corporal Krad," Atta-Farash said. “Krad Sari. Gold Troop, in the second regiment. Corporal!"

There was no answer.

The young man swayed precipitously, and then pitched from his horse. Locke caught him — barely — freed him from the saddle, and eased him to the ground. The bear glanced at his paw, and then shook his head. “He's hurt."

Not fatally, but the fur was badly shredded along the tiger's upper arm, and blood had soaked through a poorly improvised bandage. Krad Sari winced and came back to his senses when Locke went to adjust it. “S-Sergeant? You are from… Shandur?"

“Troop Black, Fort Shandur, aye, lad. What happened?"

“They… ambush… and the hill… they…" He paused, licking his lips, and I handed my canteen over. The tiger took a careful, painful drink. “They mined the hill. It exploded. Under us."

“You're the first we've seen," Locke told him. “Where's the rest of the Corps?" 

I had a sinking feeling even before the corporal shook his head. It was all the answer he could give, for nearly a full minute. “My lieutenant told me to ride back… to find Lord Gyldrane…"

“Captain Jonham," I told the man, settling to one knee next to him. “I'm Lord Gyldrane. What can I do?"

His trembling paw brushed over his uniform until he found his breast pocket, and pulled from it a ragged-edged piece of paper. I set my jaw, to avoid showing any of the apprehension I felt. The note was written in Aernian. I recognized the handwriting, more than enough to know that it had been written hastily despite the flowery language.

Our situation is untenable, but I and the RFC shall face it head on until the last. Beyond this my hope only is that this note reaches you, Jon, to whom I am transferring my rank and my command of the Corps. Shandur is the key to the north. It must be held at all costs. Seek reinforcements. My father will help. We shall meet again in colder climes, my friend. — Etan

Curiously my first response was not terror, nor even anger, but the perverse suspicion that it was a deception of some kind — another of the vixen Carregan's tricks. I wanted to tear the note into tiny pieces. “Who gave you this?" I demanded of the tiger.

“The colonel. Before…"

“Before what?"

“Haitch," Locke cautioned, his voice quiet. “What did it say?"

“It said we hold Shandur. If this note is genuine, those are the commander's most recent orders."

Major Atta-Farash held out his paw, and I gave him the paper for his own inspection. “It is Colonel Æmerlas's handwriting, Sergeant Locke. It suggests that the RFC has not fared well. Corporal Krad, were there other survivors?"

“A few," he whispered. “Some of the ones furthest from the front lines — but even the cooks had fetched weapons and… and I… if they were captured, or… or worse…"

“What's their strength, Corporal Krad? Did you have a sense of how many men the Railroad has?"

The young soldier had to take half a minute to gather what remained of his strength. “I didn't see them… not directly. I heard… three hundred… but there seemed to be so many more…"

“That'd be all of them, then, Captain Jonham," Locke said. “Them and the natives. We can't fight that."

And I knew that he was right, much as I would've liked to. It could've been a fitting end for me — one last, grand cavalry charge. That was how we learned to die, out on the frontier. But it would've accomplished nothing.

Atta-Farash Irzim did not even bother to acknowledge what Locke had said, so obvious it was. “We could make use of our retreat, though. Take out the bridge at Rai Savina, and the one at Dharas, and set fire to the fields between here and Shandur…"

“Not the kind of thing that would win us friends, is it?" I asked.

Locke's demeanor was stoic; impassive. “We might be beyond that. Major, what do you say? What are your orders?"

The panther was staring out at the southern horizon, whose smoke now seemed even more ominous. “It's not me you should be looking to, sergeant-major. Lord Gyldrane is head of the RFC, now."

“He is? Haitch?"

“According to the note, yes," Major Atta-Farash said.

I flicked my ears. “Presuming we can trust it. I didn't ask for that. And I won't accept it — I won't give up the Corps. We don't know what happened out there, and until we know better we have to rely on what we know we can trust."

Atta-Farash Irzim passed the order to Locke, who scanned it with the same sort of frown that I had. “This does say that you're in command now, sir."

“One line in a note of dubious provenance. Without hearing more from the Corps, it's ridiculous —"

“Governor," Locke cut me off. “You know as well as I do it's genuine, Haitch. An' that means you know as well as I do the Corps is gone. An' that means that whether you like it or not, men will be lookin' to you. I don't give two dirty fucks in a Barric whorehouse whether you think you earned this before — you bloody well better earn it now."

I stared at the bear, knowing distantly that I should've been far angrier with his impudence. It was not the way one talked to nobility, nor an officer, nor the Royal Governor of Nishran Province, Dhamishaya. But it was the way he'd felt he needed to talk to me — the way my father had, when he'd told me I was being sent to Jaikot in the first place.

My second reaction was to point out, again, that I had not asked to be put in such a position. But then, I'd been saying that too often. It was not for a man of the Marches to plaintively ask what am I supposed to do? — rather to forge one's own destiny, with a saber and a good steed if possible. My whole tenure in Jaikot, it seemed, I had forgotten this.

“I suppose…" Major Atta-Farash was starting to think aloud, since I had not replied. “We could find some… other path south… and…"

“No," I said, grateful that only Atta-Farash and Locke had witnessed my moment of weakness; the wounded corporal had passed out. “The orders say that we hold Shandur. We have supplies laid in for a lengthy siege, and enough men for the walls. You'd agree?"

“Yes, sir."

“Then we'll head back. Get the men ready to move. We can't waste time — if they're smart, they'll be coming for us already."

“Yes, sir," the panther repeated. “What of the bridges? The farms?"

The stone bridge at Rai Saviri dated from my tenure; I remembered approving the funds for its construction and I remember cursing how long it had taken for the native laborers to finish their work.

Locke read the wrong sentiment into my hesitation. “Sir, due respect, we'll be needin' every advantage we can get."

“I agree, Sergeant. The support of the local farmers may well prove to be just such an advantage, though — they won't benefit from the caravaners usurping my authority. They'll be sympathetic, but not if we level their granaries."

“Yes… but…"

“The Rai Saviri bridge is new, and made of stone. I think it's sturdy enough to carry iron rail. The one at Dharas isn't — it's old. They'll tear it down anyway; we'd just be doing them a favor."

The bear looked between me and Major Atta-Farash. “He's right," the panther said, nodding. “They think like engineers. We should, too."

“Destroy the Rai Saviri bridge, but nothing else. And send out messengers to the villages, telling them what's happened. Locals, if you can — anyone from this province, anyone who has an axe to grind with the highborn shekhs."

“What would you have us say has… 'happened,' sir?"

“An insurrection, major. Be honest. Tell them that there's an attempt to usurp the royal authority by the Railroad and the merchant guilds, and tell them that I expect their resistance, the same way that we will be resisting. Hint, if you can, that I cannot protect them all, now — but that I will remember, when all this is said and done."

On the ride back to Fort Shandur, I had more time to reflect — though it mostly amounted to more time to let my anger build. They'll pay, I told myself. The fucking Railroad. The Reth and the Ivasha and the Atta-Farash, gods damn every last one of them.

I caught myself. Not every last one; Atta-Farash Irzim was loyal, and Reth Modin looked as sick as anyone else when he learned what had happened. For the rest of them, though… it was all I could do to keep myself together, and focused on the notion that I had more important things to attend to than mere revenge.

Major Atta-Farash returned late in the evening. “It's done, for now."

“The bridge?" I asked.

He nodded. “Yes, sir. It will be destroyed. I spoke to a few of the town councils, as well — the ones that weren't so far out of the way, for I wished to return here as quickly as I could."

“Of course. What did they say?"

“They understand. I think they've known it was coming, to be honest, sir. Yet that isn't an answer, not really; they can't stand up against Reth Kanda's mercenaries, let alone the Railroad."

For the moment, I thought they would be safe: Carregan and Reth Kanda had too many other things to deal with in pacifying the larger cities for them to bother with small towns close to hostile territory. As long as the councils felt they could resist, we could keep that territory hostile to the rebels.

“The Railroad will come here, too."

“Eventually, major, yes. But without their locomotives, the Iron Corps is limited to light arms and rockets. They have no siege weapons. We can keep them at bay. The real problem is that we need to get a message back to Aernia. Do we have any contacts with the Artem-Jana Guild?"

The secretive band was known for their ability to travel unseen — to deliver or abscond with whatever was needed, completely undetected. Arlen Couthragn was such a man, but I knew of no others. Neither did Atta-Farash. “None that I trust without meeting them face-to-face."

“The south will be dangerous territory, too," Locke pointed out. “And it's a long, lonely boat ride from Surowa, with plenty of opportunities for a man to meet a bad end."

I considered my options, and settled on the best of many poor ones. “Then we'll go north. We get through the mountain passes and cross the Spine of the World from the far side. From there, either Ellagdra or Aldimarek — or one of the lower kingdoms. They'll be able to get word."

“You still think your king will intervene," Atta-Farash marveled.

“No, major. But the eastern clans will. And we're wasting time — so prepare to mount up."

We had no good maps of the Vigarkha mountains — at least, the governor's office did not, and the Royal Frontier Corps had been too busy holding the line to indulge any desire for venturing beyond it. I did, however, have one of their own as a guide.

I ordered Atta-Farash to remain at Shandur, to gather as many men as he could find, and to reinforce the defenses with the aim of holding off any attempt by the Carregans to extend the railhead within sight of the fort or the bridge it guarded. They had food, water and ammunition for many months: supplies had, unfortunately, been laid in for a greater number of dragoons.

I would take Locke with me, as well as Akal Shanwir and Reth Modin — the pair of them were still upholding the role Vanao had appointed them, as my bodyguard, and I trusted them as much as anyone else in the province. With Kajrazi and myself, we would only be five people: I hoped that we could travel swiftly, and escape detection where possible.

“The… mountains, kajja?" Kajrazi tilted her head, and looped her thick tail about her legs. “You're certain that is… wise?"

“You're doubting me?"

The firefox shook her head, but her ears had pinned. “No, kajja. Of course not. I'm only saying that the mountains are... imposing. And unfamiliar."

“To us, yes. You know it well enough, though, don't you?"

“Yes, kajja…" She didn't sound convinced, and she didn't sound as happy as I'd thought she might to be returning home. Her recollection of the passes, it turned out, was imperfect — but it was better than nothing, and when I pointed out that I trusted her safety more with me than at Shandur, she at least conceded that.

We left that evening under cover of darkness, riding for the north and hugging the foothills. By morning, we'd reached Ka Kelda, the largest of the passes into the Vigarhka Mountains. I thought it made for the most logical path, but Kajrazi disagreed.

Huddled around a tiny campfire, she explained her reasoning: the pass was a normal caravan route, and would be closely watched: if the Railroad had used their steamship to put guards anywhere beyond Shandur Bridge, that would be an obvious escape route to cut off.

Our best chance, she said, would be a narrower track twenty miles further along. Locke hadn't even heard of it, and I felt keenly vulnerable as we rode up the rocky trail. Sharp stone walls carried the echoes of our hoofbeats, returning them to us as if to mock our isolation. A narrow river ran to our right, silent despite its swiftness.

“Horrible place," Akal Shanwir muttered to himself.

I agreed. Claustrophobic, desolate, and utterly hostile to life. Life, it seemed, might very well have never even seen the cliffs, and the mean little shrubs that clung to tentative holds in the imposing rocks. With every hour that took us further from Dhamishaya into the mountains, I was happier and happier to remind myself the journey was temporary.

How long, again? The Spine of the World... They wouldn't call it that if it was simple to cross. Must be six or seven in the afternoon — not that I could see the sun to take an accurate reading — and we're but a few miles along. A week more of this? Cargal'th, Jon, wasn't there any easier way to —

“Halt." The command that pierced my distracted thoughts was shouted in Aernian. We froze, and I cast my eyes around, trying to pick out such detail as the evening afforded. They were mountain-dwellers — the sky folk. Bandits. They raided caravans, as I well knew. What would they do if they found out who I was?

I doubted that we could escape. Now that I knew how to recognize their dun-colored robes and their compact bodies perched behind the rocks, I saw at least two dozen of them — and I remembered all too well my own araimuri's skill with a gun. A pair of the bandits were making their way down to investigate closer.

“Speak Iron," one growled. “Not Dhamish. Strange. Must be valuable."

“I am Aernian, yes. I'm willing to negotiate for passage."

“Talk?" The bandit laughed. “Why talk? We take just as easy. Why talk?"

“Doz." The answer came from next to me. “Wij dinibl waya giri doz."

The bandit halted suddenly, wide eyes blinking in the moonlight. Kajrazi had pulled her hood back, and he stared in puzzlement. “Mej esha tavik, tefkih. Nakh esha damishtab?"

“No," she answered in Aernian. “We are together. Kajja Jonham is our leader."

More of the mountaineers filtered down, until we were surrounded. The two who had first approached conferred between themselves, for Kajrazi's presence had thrown an unexpected wrench into their plans. I gathered that it would not be seemly to cut our throats and leave us for the vultures if it meant setting upon one of their own.

“Remain calm," Kajrazi whispered.

I tried to keep that in mind when the bandit turned to me, and said that we were to be taken prisoner. I was no happier about it than Locke was — but even Kajrazi wound up with a rope binding her paws. Keeping us on horseback, our captors led us up a narrow track away from the valley floor, on a trail that had been invisible to my untrained eyes. My best attempts to memorize the path would, I felt, be fruitless.

If we would even have the chance.

I didn't know what the sky folk did with their prisoners; rumors from the caravaners tended to be quite ghastly, but then the caravaners were always trying to wheedle more money out of me and I had to take their dire predictions with some degree of healthy skepticism. And secretly, I hoped that Kajrazi's presence would help in some fashion.

Two hours later we descended into a small valley, occupied by a few tents and a campfire that was still being tended despite the lateness of the evening. The leader of the bandits disappeared into one of the tents while his co-conspirators helped us dismount, and once more Kajrazi took the opportunity to remind me that I should stay calm.

The bandit returned with another firefox, white-muzzled but with a purposeful stride that belied his age. He was not quite as tall as my horse, though the way he crossed his arms indicated a firm belief that he could take the horse and its erstwhile rider both, in a fight. “Interlopers." His Aernian, like the bandit's, was accented but intelligible. “What brings you here? Who are you?"

“Jonham, Lord Gyldrane. An Aernian. We're passing through to return to the Iron Kingdom."

“Your journey ends here, then. I'm Kech Yanash Maro Kasharman, and these are not friendly lands for traders."

“He's not a trader," Kajrazi spoke up. “Jonham is the governor of Nishran province. Adl esha mikh qurta."

The older firefox furrowed his brow the same way the other bandit had. “Qurta." His arms fell to his sides. “Taresh? Taresh Razi?"

She nodded gently. “Yes."

He stared at her, taking several deep, incredulous breaths. “Berhesha nakhtun, ashkih." And then he looked away, to the rest of us, and beckoned one of the bandits to his side.

“Kech Maro?"

“Kill them."