Quord’s eyes went to Fitz, then to the empty chairs around the table. “Are we expecting the others, sir? I—”
The tent flap rustled, and four soldiers filed in, muskets at the ready. At the same time the two men behind the curtain stepped out and took their places flanking Marcus. Marcus kept his eyes on Quord, and the expressions on his face were unmistakable—?a brief, animal panic, followed by a mixture of rage and resignation. No misunderstanding, then.
“I see,” Quord said, looking over his shoulder and then back at Marcus. He slumped. “If it’s all the same, sir, I prefer to stand.”
“As you wish,” Marcus said. “You’ve given orders to the Sixth to prepare to march, have you not?”
“Yes,” Quord said, a slight hitch in his voice.
“And is there a specific time those instructions become operative?”
“No, sir,” Quord said. “They’re waiting on my word.”
“I would like you to write an order for them to stand down, please. Fitz?”
Fitz offered Quord a pen and paper. The general bent, stiffly, and scribbled a few lines. Fitz examined the note, then nodded.
“It doesn’t seem to be any sort of code, sir,” Fitz said.
“Take precautions in any case.”
Fitz gave a slight smile, as if to say, You hardly need to tell me that. That made Marcus smile himself—?he and Fitz had spent so long together that at one point they’d scarcely needed words to understand each other. It was good to know they hadn’t lost the knack entirely. Then his eyes went back to Quord, and his expression soured.
“Go.”
As Fitz left, Quord said, “Everything that was done was done on my direct orders, sir. None of my officers or men should be blamed.”
“I’m sure.” Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “I assume your intention was to take your men to the aid of the former First Consul.”
“Yes.” Quord stood a little straighter.
“Would you care to offer an explanation for your treason?”
“With all due respect, sir, you’re the traitor here.”
“Oh?” Marcus said. “I believe I swore to defend the Queen of Vordan and obey orders.”
“We have to defend the people of Vordan,” Quord said. “No one has ever had the chance you have right now. This country cannot afford another civil war.”
“I agree. I’m in the process of trying to prevent one.”
“Don’t act stupid,” Quord said. “The people will follow Janus over some little girl. He’s proven himself again and again, while she sat in the palace and let him win her battles.”
“I suggest,” Marcus grated, “you don’t speak of matters you don’t understand. I was there for some of those battles.”
“Then you know that Janus will win in the end. He always wins. The only question is how many have to die before that happens.” Quord leaned forward, military decorum forgotten in his excitement. “It doesn’t have to come to that, General d’Ivoire. The army respects you, the people think you’re a hero, and there’s no one else with comparable authority. If you were to declare for Janus, the war would be over tonight. Raesinia would have no choice but to surrender!”
“And I’d be a traitor.”
“To the queen, not to the Deputies. How can it be treason to save lives?” Quord waved a hand. “How many of these men will die if you lead them against Janus? How many civilians, if the war goes on? If you act now history will call you a peacemaker. Do nothing and you’re just another general on the losing side.”
There was a moment of silence. Quord had become quite heated, and the soldiers behind him had drawn close, ready to grab him if he made a lunge across the table. Now he regained his hold on himself and straightened up. Marcus, stomach churning, kept his expression flat.
“I was hoping,” he said eventually, “that you might know something I didn’t. That you were part of some conspiracy.”
Quord shook his head. “There’s no conspiracy. There’s just—”
“One general who wanted to be on the winning side. Not even a matter of high principle.” Marcus sighed. “Fair enough, I suppose.”
“You really think you can beat him?” Quord’s face twisted. “You think you can take the field against Janus?”
“With any luck I won’t have to,” Marcus said. “But if it comes to it, I’m going to damned well try.” He nodded at the soldiers. “Take him to the palace. The Minister of War will decide what to do with him.” Assuming they eventually pick one.
*
“We appear to have passed the crisis,” Fitz said, when the real council convened an hour later. “The Sixth Division has ceased its preparations, and guards have been posted.”
“Quord couldn’t have acted alone,” de Manzet said. He was a polite, balding man in his forties, an old-?line royal officer who’d maintained his position by quiet competence and keeping his head down. “At the very least, his colonels should have informed the column-?general what was going on.”
“Let’s say that I’m choosing to believe it was just Quord. His men might have thought his plans were authorized,” Marcus said. “Regardless, I’m not going to convict anyone for following reasonable orders from their superior. In the end there was no harm done.”
“Except to morale,” grumbled Give-Em-Hell. As always, the cavalry commander looked out of place when not on horseback. More properly Division-?General Henry Stokes, he had a slight frame and wispy hair that belied a fiery temper and a boundless appetite for action that had made his nickname nearly universal. “This kind of finger-?pointing always brings everyone down. They’re looking over their shoulders when they should be facing toward the enemy.”
“We haven’t got an enemy yet.” This was from Colonel Vahkerson, the Preacher, who’d gotten his nickname from his conspicuous faith. In Khandar, he’d inscribed every one of his cannon with verses from the Wisdoms, insisting that it improved their accuracy. “And I pray to God that we still won’t. Bad enough that good Karisai fight one another, but Vordanai fighting among themselves is an even greater tragedy.”
“Agreed,” Marcus said.
“Then you don’t plan to march?” Val said, a touch too eagerly.
“I plan,” Marcus said, “to do whatever the queen and the Deputies-?General ask me to do. As should all of you. That’s what being loyal means. We don’t decide for ourselves what’s best for the country.”
“How many of these men will die if you lead them against Janus?” Quord’s question rattled through his mind, no matter how he tried to ignore it. So many of his friends were gone already. Adrecht and Jen Alhundt, twin betrayals that had shaken him to the core. Andy and Hayver, his eager young assistants. Stalwart, dependable Ihernglass. Mor, buried in some military prison.
And further back. His parents, burned in their home on the orders of the arch-?traitor Duke Orlanko. And his sister, Ellie, who Sothe had told him could be still alive, somewhere—