Part 45 (1/2)

The colonel's tone was so pleasant Marcus wasn't certain he'd heard properly. ”Sir?”

”Not that you deserve much blame,” Ja.n.u.s went on. ”Whoever commands the Desoltai clearly has a firm grasp of tactical principles, and obviously knows how to employ the advantages of his mobility and the terrain. It's not surprising that you were overmatched. No, the lion's share of the fault must of course go to Captain Roston, for taking so obvious a bait.”

Marcus had thought the same thing at the time, but now he bristled. ”I'm sure that Captain Roston made the best decision he could under the circ.u.mstances.”

”Captain Roston is a cowardly fool,” Ja.n.u.s said. There was no rancor in it, just a statement of fact. ”I believed I could tolerate him, for your sake, but that was clearly an error, and one that reflects on my own judgment. You see, Captain, none of us escapes censure.” Ignoring Marcus' stunned expression, Ja.n.u.s stepped away from him, looking down at the still-smoking camp. ”That's something to consider in the future, however. For the present, we must work our way out of this predicament. Fortunately, we have options available to us. Have you completed your survey of the remaining supplies?”

”Ah . . . not yet, sir.” Marcus was still trying to digest what he'd heard-Ja.n.u.s apparently blamed him, and Adrecht, for the whole disaster, and yet he didn't plan to do anything about it. Not ”for the present,” anyway. He forcibly redirected his thoughts onto a more practical path. ”Captain Solwen's men are still searching the wreckage. At a guess, we'll have quite a bit of food left, but as to water . . .”

”Certainly the more problematic of the two. A man can go a week without food, but a few days without water will kill as certainly as a musket ball. I want you to organize a detail of trustworthy men immediately and collect the canteens and waterskins from the men.”

”Sir?”

”We're going to need every drop, Captain, and it's going to have to be rationed. Leaving it in the hands of the rankers only a.s.sures that it will be wasted.”

”Most of those men have been fighting all day,” Marcus said. ”They're not going to be happy about this.”

”I a.s.sume they would prefer to be unhappy and alive to the alternative. Do it. Another detail needs to gather the carca.s.ses from the horse lines and the pack train. Drain the blood and carve as much meat as can be had.”

”Drain the blood?”

”Horse blood will keep a man alive, Captain. Among the Murnskai, a man on an urgent journey can subsist on nothing but blood and horseflesh for more than a week.”

”The men really aren't going to like-”

Ja.n.u.s gave a little sigh, as though he were a schoolmaster losing his patience with a particularly slow pupil. ”Captain d'Ivoire. I wonder if you fully understand the predicament that you and your friend Captain Roston have created.”

”I know-”

”We are in the Great Desol,” Ja.n.u.s continued, cutting him off. ”We are at least a week's march from the nearest known source of fresh water, even allowing for forced marches, and I estimate we'll have less than two days of half water rations remaining. We are surrounded by hostile forces under an extremely capable commander, who has deliberately created this situation and will certainly be standing ready to exploit our increasing weakness. If we do not act decisively, all that will remain of this army will be a pile of bleaching bones.”

Marcus gritted his teeth. ”What should I have done?”

”Excuse me?”

”When Adr-when Captain Roston took the Fourth after the Desoltai. What should I have done, if going after him was such a mistake?”

Ja.n.u.s blinked, as though the answer was so obvious he was astonished Marcus had to ask the question. ”You should have let him go. Kept your men close to the camp, defended the supply train, and carried on with the march.”

”Sacrificed the entire Fourth Battalion, in other words,” Marcus said.

”Yes,” Ja.n.u.s said. ”Sacrifices are sometimes necessary to ensure the success of a campaign.” His gray eyes glittered. ”Besides, if you cared about the welfare of those troops, you would have allowed me to replace Captain Roston with someone more competent.”

Marcus had never wanted to hit someone so badly in all his life. Instead, slowly, he saluted.

”Yes, sir!”

a a a The gory work of carving and jointing the dead animals went on all through the rest of the day and into the night, with crews of soldier-butchers working by the light of improvised torches cut from the remains of wagons. Barrels that had survived the attack with only minor damage were patched and filled with steaming blood, while other teams carefully extracted the dregs from smashed containers and combined them with the water from the canteens and waterskins collected from the unwilling rankers. They still didn't have a precise accounting, but Marcus could already see it would be a pitifully small collection.

And then this. Marcus stared at the stark white paper, neatly creased, that Fitz had delivered to him under the colonel's seal. One edge was torn where he'd opened it in haste.

”He can't be serious,” Marcus said dully.

”In my experience, the colonel is always serious,” Fitz said.

”I know.” Marcus glared, as though he could force the neat writing to change shape by force of will. Tomorrow morning, the Colonials will continue the march northeast by north . . .

He looked up at Fitz. ”This is going to be trouble.”

”The water situation?”

”Not just that. When the news of this gets out-”

The lieutenant nodded. ”I've already received messages from captains Solwen and Kaanos. They want to see you.”

”I'll bet they do. Go and tell them to come over, and Adrecht, too. Then . . .” Marcus hesitated, embarra.s.sed.

”Sir?”

”See if you can find Jen,” he said. It felt wrong employing Fitz on personal business, but he couldn't help it. She'd been gone from his tent when he'd returned from the ill-fated expedition, and he'd been too busy since then to find her, despite his worry. ”I just need to know if she's okay.”

”Of course, sir,” Fitz said. He saluted and slipped out.

It wasn't long before Val and Mor arrived. The former had changed into a clean uniform and applied fresh wax to his mustache, while the latter was still in the grimy coat he'd worn in the battle. Both clutched their own copies of Ja.n.u.s' orders. Mor waved his in Marcus' face, the creased paper flapping like a broken-winged bird.

”What the h.e.l.l is this?” he exclaimed.

”Orders,” Marcus managed to say. He gestured for the pair to sit. Val took a cus.h.i.+on beside the low table, but Mor remained standing, and so Marcus had to stand awkwardly between them.

”Orders, my a.s.s,” Mor said. ”*Continue the march'? We're just going on as though nothing has happened?”

”Not exactly,” Marcus said. ”We're changing direction-”

”We're still going deeper into the Desol! We've got maybe two days of water left, and then we'll be down to drinking blood and horse p.i.s.s. And when that runs out we're all going to end up dead!”

”He's right,” Val said. He didn't look up, as though ashamed to be agreeing with Mor. ”I know the colonel is determined, but this is madness. He must give up the campaign.”

”Even if we turned around now, there's no guarantee we'd make it,” Marcus said.

”We can strike toward the coast,” Mor said. ”There's streams there, and it's only four days' march. We'll be thirsty, but we'll live if we stretch the supplies.”

”Some of us,” Marcus said.

”Better than none,” Mor shot back.

Val smoothed his mustache with one finger. ”More important, if we move deeper into the Desol another confrontation with the Desoltai is inevitable. After a few days without water, the men are going to be in no condition to fight. If we retreat, we may be able to regroup and resupply.”

”a.s.suming the Desoltai leave us alone,” Marcus said. ”Do you really think the Steel Ghost is going to pa.s.s up an opportunity to annihilate this army if he has the chance?”

”So the best you can offer is that it's certain death either way, so we might as well march off the cliff?” Mor said. ”Is that what the colonel told you?”