Chapter 15

Dryden sat in a chair outside Brigadier-General Belfair’s office. His voice echoed through the hallway, barely muffled by the wooden door to his office. He was screaming at Colonel Gorst. Dryden didn’t envy him in the least.

“Gods damn you, man! You’ve given up the city on the whim! Did you even negotiate?”

There was a pause as Gorst said something in return.

“You’re a god damned coward! I ought to have you whipped in the square! Damn Blackwater’s condition! You see a gaggle of irregular Vuruni horse bandits, and you just hand over the keys to the fucking city, to the supply of fucking aethium, and on nothing more than a coward's bloody whim! Where is your honour, sir? Your sense of duty?”

There was another muffled retort.

“Blood and thunder, man, I don’t care how bloody many of them there are!”

More muffled words from Gorst came through.

Belfair screamed, “If your quartermasters hadn’t been corrupt, we’d have enough food too! I ought to have shot you with the rest of them! Get out of my sight!” He roared.

Gorst walked out of the office, his face ashen. He’d been screamed at for perhaps ten minutes straight by Belfair. He looked down at Dryden as he passed. They shared a brief nod of respect, then Gorst moved off down the hall gripping his officer’s cane with white knuckles.

Belfair’s voice boomed from the dimly lit office, “Major Dryden. My office.”

Dryden entered the office crisply and snapped to attention. Major Belfair looked out of sorts. His face was redder than usual, his eyes slightly bloodshot. He was seated in a large comfortable desk chair upholstered in red padded leather. His desk was wide and sprawling and made of dark wood. A single lantern above the desk lit the room. There were no windows. Dryden saluted smartly.

“Sit.” Belfair gestured to a wooden chair across the desk from him.

Dryden sat.

The older general took a few moments before speaking, taking the measure of his officer, “I understand that you had nothing to do with the decision to abandon Vurun. For that reason, and out of respect for your family, I will not give you the same dressing down that Colonel Gorst received. We did not send you for your diplomatic acumen. You were chosen to go in place of Lieutenant-Colonel Havor because we needed a real fighting man in that room. You have the eyes of a wolf, Dryden. Tell me what you saw.”

“There were perhaps a dozen warlords in the tent with us. Each of them a fighter. Each one a chief of his own clan. This man, Kurush, has found a way to unite them, at least for now. I worry about his sister.”

“His sister?” Belfair almost laughed.

“Yes, his sister. She has a rage that the others lack. They all hate us, to be sure, but they are cold and calculating about it. She revels in it.”

“Women always let their passions spill over. That is why the men lead. Perhaps she caught your eye. Was she very pretty?” Belfair laughed.

Dryden frowned, “In any case, I trust Kurush to let us retreat unhindered. He seems a man of his word. I’m afraid that his sister will stir up trouble for us. Whatever her appearance or temperament, if she has any clout with the other warlords, it could put us in a bad spot. She made it clear publically that she would not let us go freely.”

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“Are they spirited and eager for battle?”

“Spirited? Yes. Eager? They did not seem so. I think they truly want to avoid a fight if they can take the city without one. They are shrewd.”

“Or cowards.” Belfair added, “I was for fighting. I’m still for it. I disagree utterly with the decision to retire from the city, as I think I have made clear. Blackwater has made clear that we are to honour the decision made by Gorst. He insists it was his choice. I can count on you, though, if it does come to a fight?”

“Of course sir, if it comes to a fight, the 13th is more than ready,” Dryden answered.

“Lord Havor, how is he?”

“Recovering. He needs another day, perhaps two, before he is fit for the saddle again.”

“Good. We’ll need him, and all of the bloody 13th, before this is through. Well, what’s done is done, I suppose. There’s nothing for it but to prepare to withdraw. One bloody week is all we get. Better get to it, then. Dismissed.”

Dryden turned and left the room, breathing a sigh of relief that he had not been screamed at for ten minutes straight. Somehow Dryden knew that Belfair’s misogyny would result in difficulty for them. Underestimating that woman, and her hatred for them, was a mistake.

He left the offices of Belfair in the fort and walked outside from the keep and into the main courtyard. Soldiers and servants were piling supplies and equipment into carts all across the fort. The same thing was happening in the cantonment as the army prepared for an extended march. Everyone from Vastrum soldiers to sepoys, to Vuruni servants, to colonists, was engaged in the business of mobilization. They had one week before they were to leave. Only one week. Then they had to cross bare rocky scrub lands with bad roads, wind down narrow valleys on treacherous paths, and then climb the high road to Golconda and the Settru pass, then finally could they make their way through the desert all the way down the long dry road to the safety of Andaban. The journey would take them three weeks at the best of times. It could easily turn into months if the Settru pass was difficult. Only the tiny garrison at Golconda could offer any relief, and it was little more than a fortified way station, even smaller than Zundak. This was the journey that awaited them. He considered all this as he walked across the grounds to Havor’s office to report on his meeting with Belfair.

As he took to the stairs to climb up, he nearly bumped into a woman. He was surprised to see a woman in the fort. It was highly unusual. Women were not outright banned, but discouraged, as they might “rile up the men”. He did not know the woman, but she seemed vaguely familiar to him.

“Apologies, ma’am.” He said, tipping his cavalryman’s shako cap to her.

“You. You were there,” The woman said.

“Pardon?”

He looked at her again with fresh eyes. The woman was clad all in black, her dress and shawl were fine black silk. She had olive skin, almond eyes, black hair, high cheekbones, pouty red lips, and a slightly hooked nose. She seemed more familiar to him, but he still couldn’t place her.

“You are cavalry, yes? Where is your commander, your Havol?” She asked in an almost petulant tone.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Havor?” He asked.

“Yes, him. Take me to him.” Her tone bordered on imperious.

Dryden hesitated for a moment, this was highly unusual, but he acquiesced. What harm could it do? “Very well, right this way, madam.”

He led the woman up the stairs and over to Havor’s office. He knocked and entered. Colonel Havor was seated at his desk going over a report. Mar was seated on the couch off to the side. Dryden saluted.

“As you were,” Havor said without looking up. Then he took note of the woman that came in behind his Major. “What’s this, then?”

“This woman has asked to see you, sir. I thought it improper to refuse a lady.”

The woman stepped past Dryden and looked Havor over, her dark eyes searching for something in the colonel. “You will take me with you.” She said. It was not a question.

Havor smirked, “Madame, we are going on a very long journey. We are undersupplied, and we have more than enough people to…”

She cut him off and declared, “You are a man, yes or no?” Her tone held contempt. It implied the answer was no.

“Excuse me?” Havor was taken aback. He stood up and leaned on his desk to support himself, “Just who do you think you are?”

The woman’s eyes flashed. Suddenly Dryden knew her. She was the one who had danced at the ball. The one who had screamed and wailed at the sight of the Shah dead on the ground.

“I am Princess Roxana of the An-Dakal. My father was Shah Guranji. When you go, you will take me with you.”