Chapter 17
"The pieces on a Kahess board are meant to give both players an equal chance of winning the battle. The more I study our world's history, the more I am confused how anyone can possibly believe that battles are ever fought with such evenly matched parity."
- Troy Franklin, Vebweri 12, 1788 AC
"I guess that would be all right. I know which end of the plow goes in the dirt, if you catch my meaning." Woodsen winked at Ygretta, who rolled her eyes and shifted in her camp stool. Aidan resisted the urge to giggle, but it was a hard-fought battle given what he had seen Ygretta do the night of their victory over the Deputy's posse. Has it really been two weeks?
"Ferguson's a good man," Rodrig said, leaning forward on the long oak table where he and the rest of the War Council sat. "I've known him since before Aidan was born. He'll steer you right; just do what he tells you."
"You understand the consequences, right?" Marke asked, leaning forward onto the table with his elbows and seeming very concerned. "If you're lucky, you'll just be hanged."
"Always knew my neck would be fit for a noose someday. The outlaw's path, and all that."
Aidan nodded, pleased with himself after winning the argument he'd had with the rest of the War Council, especially Marke, over Woodsen's placement. He meant well, but he had been overly fond of the boy ever since Woodsen saved his life during the fight with the posse. Can't blame him for wanting to pay the lad back, but we're at war. Every advantage counts. Ygretta had openly expressed her delight at seeing him go, as he had been nothing but a source of irritation for her, and Marke had gotten so upset that he still wasn't speaking to her.
"Take this with you," Rodrig pushed a small scrap of paper across the table, and Woodsen snatched it up. It bore a mark, made in charcoal, intricate and likely impossible to replicate exactly. "And see it's not smudged, lad. Ferguson will not hesitate to kill you if he thinks you're an imposter."
"Well he should, I reckon. Anything else?" Aidan shook his head, seeing Ygretta and Marke look away from each other after accidentally glancing into one another's eyes. Woodsen knuckled his forehead and left the tent, revealing a brief glimpse of the white snow falling heavily and sugary on that particular day before the flap fell shut once again.
"I still don't like it," Marke said, preparing for yet another protest. "We can't protect him, and even-"
"It is done, Sir Marke. Let it go." Aidan spoke gently but firmly, determined to move forward with more important business.
Marke glared, but then opened his ledger for his supply report. It was bad news, as they all expected. They were down to a few days of food, a week if they skimped to two small meals a day. Aidan's old fear that spring would find them sickly and starving rather than vigorous and ready for combat crept up again, and he couldn't help but wonder if the Shrikes or other bandit allies were doing any better.
"I had an idea a few weeks ago, after our fight with the Deputy's lackeys." Charlene unrolled a stiff paper with a charcoal diagram drawn on its surface. She pointed to little cross shapes drawn clustered in a large open area surrounded by what appeared to be trees. "These are deer."
Aidan examined it, getting the idea pretty quickly. Horses were drawn encircling the deer near the tree line, and arrows indicated that the deer would funnel themselves into the woods, where bow-and-arrow shapes indicated hunters were waiting. She's applying an envelopment strategy to hunting. Brilliant.
"Won't work," Ygretta said. "You'd need at least three riders, more likely six. And a lot of them would flee between us anyway. Deer don't act like people."
"Profound statement if ever I heard one," Marke grumbled, piercing Ygretta with a glare.
"If you've got something to say-"
"Enough!" Aidan had reached a breaking point with Ygretta and Marke. It was time they were brought back under control. "Arguing doesn't fill our bellies. Does anyone have a better plan?"
Connel spoke up. "We have enough horses, we could send out Archers to simply slay them where they graze, if we can find it."
"Can't stress enough," Rodrig held his hands palm up, "how bad of an idea that would be. Begging your pardon, Connel, but putting an Archer on a horse don't make him light Cavalry. They'd feather each other with them arrows before they hit a single deer, or worse, they'd kill the horses, and we'll really be in a bind come spring."
Connel shrugged, clearly not invested in the idea.
"Rodrig's right," Ygretta said, "we can't risk the Cavalry."
"Or the Archers," Marke added, his voice ragged and filled with venom.
"That's right," Aidan said before Ygretta had a chance to respond. "The risk is too great all around."
They sat in silence, looking to one another for answers that simply didn't come. Eventually, they agreed to try Charlene's gauntlet idea, on the condition that the hunters were placed in a way that they couldn't possibly collide with one another. Rodrig added laying out traps for the deer - tripwire, foot clamps, rope snares. The next day, the snow stopped, and the hunt began.
Scouts found two small herds to the east and south in large meadows. Charlene knew the southern meadow well, and they all agreed it would suffice. They took thirty hunters - too many would spook the animals and convince them to run in the other direction, away from their deadly bows and arrows. Aidan and Marke led around ten on horseback, Charlene and Ygretta joined the hunters, and Rodrig helped set the traps and space them properly among trees the deer would likely run through.
"Marke and I will take position on the outer wings," Aidan instructed the ten other Horsemen, mostly brown-skinned Mardoni with one white Saukasi and an Iridonian with a lighter skin than his own. "Follow our lead, don't be over-eager. Anyone who breaks rank misses a meal."
He hoped the threat would be enough to at least keep them relatively in formation. The deer would run toward the hunters only if they believed they had to. The idea was to approach them as an encircling arc and push them to escape their wide grasp.
"And I better not see any weapons drawn," Marke added, pointing a gloved finger for emphasis. None of them wore the Redtail livery over their bundles of warm clothes, but Aidan didn't mind as much as Marke. There will be time enough for uniformity come spring.
The hunters were already in position when Aidan and the Horsemen rode around behind the herd and prepared for their pursuit. The scouts had told it true, the herd itself was perhaps twenty strong, most skinny and still shaggy with winter coats. They stood around the meadow, nuzzling through the fallen snow to munch the grass and moss that lay beneath. Aidan approached the meadow's edge, looked to Marke who was eager and ready.
He nodded, and he and Marke walked their horses onto the grass. They urged them into a slow trot, careful not to get too close to the deer until they were sure every last rider had cleared the tree line. When the last man emerged from between two cedars, Aidan and Marke simultaneously whipped their reins and dug in their heels.
Aidan let loose a whoop as he approached his first deer on the outskirts of the herd, and Marke gave a loud yell of his own. Aidan had aimed himself carefully, and the deer on both flanks ran toward the herd's middle, exactly as planned. A quick glance told him that Marke had done similarly well, and the deer were now bleating and running for the woods.
The herd disappeared into the woods quickly, and the horsmen halted their mounts at the tree line. The forest became a symphony of thrumming bows and snapping traps, cries from the wounded deer within. After the slaughter ended, Rodrig counted eighteen deer. Aidan nodded with satisfaction and, since everything seemed to be proceeding as planned with the hunters skinning and dressing their quarry, he returned to their camp atop the flat mound.
Windhill the heretic was fiddling with a spent Plaz cartridge, peering at the mechanism of brass gears and valves within the smoky glass as though he was reading a book. The blanket on which he sat was covered with various parts of muskets and mechanical works like gears and pistons. He was muttering something to himself when Aidan ca
me close.
"Any luck?" Aidan reached for his weapon out of instinct when Windhill jumped at the question.
"Sorry, My Lord, I didn't see you there." He picked up the glass capsule by its brass frame and checked the surface, Aidan assumed for cracks. "I can't make the kind of weapon you described. I'm ... I'm sorry."
"I see." Aidan sighed, but he couldn't pretend to be surprised. The automatic Plaz rifles he'd used on New Mongolia were no doubt the result of generation upon generation of development and evolution. He didn't really expect the heretic to solve the problem, but it seemed worth a shot.
"But I do have an idea that I'm fairly certain will work."
Aidan was intrigued. "Go on."
"I've long believed Plaz cartridges are far too large. When you fire a musket, the energy released is enough to melt the flesh off three men at once."
"They are very powerful, yes."
"But I got to thinking, why are they so powerful?" Aidan blinked and desperately hoped he wasn't wasting his time. "That is, obviously it's nice to have that kind of power, but it's often wasted when the enemy has shields, like in the forest attack a few weeks ago."
Aidan nodded, seeing that Windhill did indeed have some kind of point. The enemy phalanx absorb a volley of ten or twelve Plaz musket blasts, and it barely slowed them down. He himself had been shot in his faceplate with a Plaz pistol the day he arrived on Caledonia, but it held true. It would have buckled under a second report.
"Plaz is mostly psychological. Even behind shields, Soldiers can feel the force it generates. Commons and Nobles alike respect its raw power."
"My own armor can absorb two blasts before it becomes dangerous, but I still avoid getting shot in battle."
"But don't you see? It's enough for them to flash and bang! If they could fire twice, that would make even the most impetuous enemy think twice about charging your lines."
"Wait, fire ... twice?"
"Yes. Sorry, that's what I think I can do. Modify the cartridges to fire two successive shots."
Aidan's mind raced with the possibilities. It was demoralizing to be on the receiving end of a blast, but once it was done, Soldiers just kept moving forward. He remembered how the enemy phalanx became undisciplined as the Soldiers grew eager to engage in melee after they'd absorbed the blast, the only blast they expected from the muskets. If we can fire twice, we can win. Even against three thousand.
"Put aside your other projects," Aidan said. "This is the priority."
"Yes, Sir!" Right away, Windhill started piecing together some of the gears and pistons, forming some kind of twisting device whose insides spun and flared when he turned a small crank. Aidan left him to his engineering and set about the other task he practiced, without fail, every Thursday since the attack.
Midnight seemed eager to continue the run they had begun when chasing deer that morning. Aidan granted his wish, and they flew through the forest, sticking to the compacted trail that was worn nearly flat by the feet of the other Redtails who were regular pilgrims. He didn't know who, but someone had been shoveling the snow from it every day. It snaked through the forest, curving to avoid every root cluster and rough patches of rock that were hazards to riders. Midnight huffed and frothed as they rounded every curve until they came at last to a circle of yearling trees surrounding a single straw-wrapped maple.
Aidan first lifted a corner of the insulation and felt the bark, which was warmer than the ice-chilled air. He lifted other corners, looked over the branches and found three tiny buds, not yet leafing but ready for the spring rains to warm the air and melt the snow. Satisfied that her tree was in good shape, he knelt and laid his weapon at its base.
It had been some time since he read anything in the journals that surprised him. He had come to accept that his family members were rebels, and in a way it was almost made the current course of his life seem as though he were following in their footsteps.
He told her about sending Woodsen to Barrowdown in disguise, and wouldn't Troy be proud? In war, information can be more important than weapons. He had read that little gem on Sunday, and it had stuck with him ever since. Aidan wept as he recounted once again the names of the dead who now surrounded her in the Redtails' own Sacred Grove. He asked his House gods to help her find peace in the afterlife, then prepared to return when he heard a twig snap. He whirled toward the sound, mace at the ready, only to see that it was Ygretta who interrupted his prayers.
"I didn't mean to interrupt. I haven't visited since our scuffle with the posse ... it's different than the Grove of Wishon."
"Most of the people planted in your House Grove are from before. We never knew them," Aidan said, knowing how she felt. "Here, though ... we fought alongside these Soldiers, and they died for us. For me."
"That had better not be regret I'm hearing." Her voice had an edge sharper than any sword. "These men and women of the forest deserve your solemn respect, but not your uncertainty. Don't let them believe they died for nothing."
"We all die for nothing."
She looked shocked at his fatalist comment, and he was quick to explain.
"It's from one of Katisha's poems. I read it months ago, but somehow it seemed fitting." He cleared his throat and recited the lines. "Three generations, and we are forgotten, our spoil enjoyed by strangers who share our blood. They tell us we die for glory and honor, but they merely want us to die. We all die for nothing."
"Not her usual sentiments," Ygretta said, drawing her cloak tighter about her shoulders.
"I'm almost finished with her journal; I confess I've read it more often than the others. It usually cheers me up, but it seems her thoughts grew ... negative toward the end."
"Almost as if she knew what awaited them."
Aidan didn't reply but simply nodded.
"I came to say thank you," she continued, "for not telling Marke what you ... what I ..."
"You were drunk. We all were."
"Right. We were drunk." She nodded for a moment, looking relieved. Then she furrowed her brow and pouted. "Except, no. It wasn't just because we were drunk."
Aidan's breath stuck in his chest, and he felt the sudden need to find a hiding place, though Ygretta looked very much like she would prefer to find one first. Nobles didn't discuss such things, even if they all knew it was more common than most let on.
"You've done this before?" It was the only thing he could think to say, remembering the sight of Ygretta and Three-Eyed Laney clutching at one another.
"Yes. With Marlena Selaya of Sahara."
"The Southern Lady?"
"Yes."
The two stood looking at one another, embarrassed and uncomfortable. Aidan thought of all the times he had taken his father's advice and tried to press suit, to charm Ygretta with his strength, cleverness, and chivalry. What a waste of time.
"I ..." she said, stuttering as she spat out the words she had clearly been dreading, "I will leave the camp if you'd like. I can make my own way, if my presence disturbs you. I know Marke won't understand."
Aidan marched to where she was standing by a tree, dropping his mace in the snow along the way and embraced her. He squeezed her tight, but she didn't complain. She squeezed him back, and he laughed at her overdeveloped sense of competition. He wondered if that was due to her nature, but realized he didn't really care.
"I could no more cast you out," he told her, speaking directly into her ear as they were still hugging, "than I could cast out my own sister. I love you, Ygretta Deumar."
She began to shake, and he realized she was crying. No wonder, keeping a secret so long. His heart warmed as they embraced, and for a long while they just held one another, two friends who finally embraced each other fully for the first time.
Aidan started laughing as though she had told him a terrific joke, and she pulled away, giving him an angry look. "I'm sorry, I swear, it's not what you think."
"Why do you have the giggles all of the sudden?" she asked, crossing her arms and freezing him with a glare.<
br />
"I was just thinking of all the times I tried to impress you," he said, talking quickly between bouts of laughter. "Galavanting around with your brother, dedicating tournament victories, and even paying that idiot minstrel to write a song for you. Can you imagine a bigger waste of time?"
She burst into laughter as well, and the two of them shared a flood of memories, reliving every time he had tried (sometimes way to hard) to make her think of him as a suitor. "That time you hid in the acting troop and I didn't recognize you until you came and kissed my hand - remember? That was always my favorite."
Their laughter subsided, and Aidan hesitated before saying, "You should tell Marke."
She shook her head. "He would disown me. Remember when Father cast out those two peasant men who were caught sharing a bed during my twelfth summer? Marke laughed and joked for days about what they must do to one another."
"I laughed with him," Aidan said, shame covering his heart. It seemed like terrific comedy at the time; now it filled him with regret.
"And that's another thing: Why do you accept this? Why doesn't this offend you?"
"Serving on New Mongolia taught me more than I ever cared to know about warfare." She looked at him quizzically. He realized what she may have inferred and quickly added, "Not that I ... it was just ... the other Soldiers, some of them would ... you know ..."
"I'm convinced, Aidan, you're not that kind of tulip." He couldn't fathom why, but it was clear his protest was wearing on her nerves. "Kindly move on."
"We all did things and said things when we were children that we now find repugnant and hateful. You need to give Marke a chance to accept you, to see you for who you truly are."
She studied the ground, swinging one of her feet as she shook her head. "What if he doesn't accept me for who I truly am?"
"Then you send him to me," Aidan said, smiling but keeping his tone very serious, "and I'll kick his ass."
She laughed, and they embraced but this time much less forcefully. "I love you, Aidan. And I always will."
"And I love you too, Lady Deumar. And I'll stand by you no matter what you decide."
She nodded, wiped a few stray tears from her red cheeks. They rode back together, and she clung to him tightly while sitting on the rear of the saddle. Aidan had to laugh at himself when he felt a few sharp twinges of involuntary arousal.
She told Marke, and he didn't speak to her for three days. He didn't speak to anyone for three days, and Charlene volunteered to take him trays of food while he kept his own counsel in his tent. When he did emerge, he sought out Ygretta and hugged her much the same way Aidan had done when she confessed herself to him. Then they carried on with their duties as though nothing had transpired at all.