"Sneaky? My dear lady, it's merely a prudent precaution. There will be casualties, it is quite inevitable, and just as inevitable that some, if they're desperate enough, will want their loved ones to be, how do we say, restored to wellness." He tutted. "Better we remove temptation before it becomes an issue."
"I thought ..." She looked at him. "I thought you meant something else."
Thaler coughed. "Else? What else could there be?"
"An army of the dead, doing the will of the spell-caster, howling their pain and desolation and not stopping until each one has been all but dismembered. That's not the temptation of a parent who's lost their child, but the temptation of a king who's about to lose his kingdom."
"Felix would never consent to that."
"I wasn't thinking it would be others begging him to do it. It would be him demanding it was done."
Thaler gave her a sideways glance. "Would you do it?"
She bent down and picked a white meadow flower, all without breaking step. "I've sworn my oath of obedience," she said.
"That wasn't what I asked."
Tuomanen tucked the flower behind her ear. She usually wore her hair so it covered the slightly pointed tips of them, far more self-conscious of that difference than she was of the tattoos that covered her. But there it was, the white flower caught between her elvish ear and her tucked-in dark hair. She considered her words.
"If Felix demanded I practise necromancy and raise a horde of unthinking, unfeeling dead to fight for him, I'd spit in his face and tell him he was no prince of mine."
"And your former colleagues?"
"Oh, they'd do it, and not even reluctantly." She snorted a sarcastic laugh. "You're wiser than you know."
"As long as no one asks Master Wess where the books are. I'm not certain of his firmness under interrogation." The first cart with Aaron Morgenstern on board was climbing the rise of the bridge. "Are there any guards left?"
Tuomanen squinted into the distance. "A couple. I'm certain Mr Morgenstern can handle them. You could always destroy the books."
"I have never done such a thing, and I will never do so."
His indignation was fake, and she saw through his act.
"What did you tell Master Wess?"
"Just to make certain, if the circumstances warrant it." Thaler puckered his lips. "How very distasteful."
Up ahead, the carts breezed through any administrative objection that might have been raised. The oxen turned right and headed along the quay towards the West Gate. Some of the more heavily laden wagons needed help up the bridge, and extra braking on the way back down; everyone did their part without asking. By the time Thaler and Tuomanen strode past the guard post, the way was clear and all Thaler had to do was doff his cap to the spearmen and wish them good day.
The head of the caravan was already out of the gate on the Munchen road. Their way was set, their destination fixed.
Thaler looked up at the stone arch of the gatehouse as they passed under it. She had called him wise, but what about this expedition? Aaron thought it was nothing but a folly hat worn with a hubris coat, yet he was still coming with them, along with the entirety of his crew. Not one had backed out: that had to count for something, surely.
"Is that," Tuomanen asked, pointing at Thaler's walking-stick, "is that handle carved from unicorn horn?"
"Yes," said Thaler. "Yes it is. I happened to have one lying around and thought I'd put it to good use. Since, well, you don't need it any more."
He stepped out from under the shadow of the gate, and felt strangely calm.
87.
A rider galloped towards her across the Rosenheim bridge, and Sophia instantly thought that she was too late, that the dwarves were already on them, Kufstein overrun and Felix killed.
She'd no idea what she'd do if that was the message. It was already dusk, and the road was barely visible in the dark. They had nowhere left to go: if the enemy was indeed on them, then they'd have to fight where they were, no matter how exhausted they might be.
"My lady," called the rider, and pulled up next to her.
Her heart stopped while she waited for the next few words.
"My lord Felix sends his best wishes and, if my lady can manage another ten miles, wonders if she cares to join him for dinner."
Her relief was like ducking down into the freezing waters of the mikveh, then surfacing with a shout.
"Are we fighting yet?"
"Skirmishing only. The dwarves are some ten miles from the crag at Kufstein, and have halted for the night. We've had the better of it today, for certain." The rider looked past Sophia at her strung-out, rag-tag army. "There's tents probably enough for everyone, as long as they don't mind lying on their sides and cook pots and firewood, in the field south of the town."
"I'll leave Master Ullmann in charge," she said at once, and knew it to be the right decision. She needed to talk to Felix, and she needed Ullmann not to be there when she did.
"As soon as you're ready, my lady. The way up the valley's not easy in the dark, and I'd rather not have to explain to my lord why we broke both our own necks and those of the horses."
"Thank you, sir," she said, and rode back the short distance to Ullmann. "I'm riding on to Kufstein. You're in charge, both tonight and in the morning. Make sure that everyone's ready to move off at dawn. The dwarves will attack tomorrow, and I want us to be ready and to know our parts."
Ullmann seemed strangely subdued. He looked up at her, and agreed with a simple "My lady."
Sophia frowned, but there wasn't time to worry about what the problem was; it would have to wait. She wheeled around again to meet her escort, and they trotted on across the bridge, along the road crossing the marshy wetlands, and then south towards the mouth of the valley.
"Tell me about the fighting," she said.
"Not much to say, my lady. The dwarves have these covered wagons that they're pushing down the valley. We've been felling trees in their path; when they come out to clear these, we shoot a few of them. They chase us off, and we get to shoot a few more; then we do it all again a few hundred feet down the path. Gods only know what they're doing, but their tactics are costing them dearly so far."
"We should be grateful. How long is it since the dwarves have fought a battle?"
"Not since Roman times, if the stories are anything to go by."
"Well then," said Sophia, "perhaps they're even worse at this than we are. What's happening on the east side of the river?"
"There's barely a cart track on that bank, but they're still pressing down with their wagons all the same. More dwarves in the open, cutting their way through. We've popped a few bolts at them, but their progress is slow already, and they can't match the progress of those on the west side of the Enn. They may even reach Kufstein too late to join the fighting."
"Unless it's their plan to come at us when we're all but spent. Who's in charge of the east bank?"
"Master Buber. Master Reinhardt has taken the west, and the prince is leading the cavalry."
"And is there any way the dwarvish west side can reinforce their east?"
"The river's wide and deep not as deep as it is in spring, but the banks are cliffs. They could swim across, but they've shown no sign of wanting to do so. Unless they have a spare bridge about them, no."
"So why wait? We could concentrate all our forces on the west bank, then bring them back against the east."
"I ... I'm not in charge, my lady." Sophia's escort turned away from her. "I don't have the knowledge about how these things are done or the authority to order anyone to carry them out. All I can do is trust that those who do, make the right decisions. Otherwise they'll end up throwing my life away for nothing."
Now she was ashamed. "Apologies, sir."
"Groer, my lady. Oktav Groer. From Hallein," said the man. "Whether I ever go back home is in the hands of the Norns. Whether I'm remembered as part of a victorious army is in yours and the princes."
"If we don't win, no one will remember any of our names, except in a story to frighten their children."
It was almost properly dark. Light from the half-moon made the brown road appear only slightly different to the green verges. At some point, they must have passed the Flintsbachs' old farm, but she'd not seen the boarded-up windows or the cold byre. Fortunately, the horses seemed to know where to go better than they did.
The forest was darker still, pitch black with only a slit of indigo for sky. The southern summer stars turned in that gap, shining weakly and cold.
They kept going, silent as the night demanded, and, at the point where the peaks retreated from the valley sides, a voice leapt out at them.
"Who goes there?"
"Groer, and the Princess Sophia."
A shuttered lantern opened and, feeble as it was, the difference between the light and the dark was more than enough to show the group of four spearmen emerging from one side of the path, and another group of four stepping out from the other.
One of them held the lantern high so that it showed their faces, though none of them had ever heard of dwarves on horseback before.
"Evening, my lady. That sword of yours sharp?"
She pulled it half out of its scabbard so that it caught the yellow light. "As sharp as your wits, soldier. I suppose we'll need both in the morning."
Another of the guards laughed. "Pray the gods your sword's sharper; Heinrich's wits are as dull as brick."
"You can't make a home out of steel, good sirs. For that you need..."
"Brick," crowed the first man. "You see?"
Groer's horse stamped its hooves. "Are you letting us pass, or are you showing off to the princess all night?"
"We'll let you pass, horseman." The lantern and the shadows surrounding it moved aside. "Give us a blessing, my lady. For tomorrow."
She stiffened. "But your gods are not my God," she eventually managed.
"So I've heard. But if there are Jews in the line with us, perhaps he might want to protect us as well as them, seeing how we're all on the same side."
Sophia took a deep breath and blinked away her tears. "Yes, yes of course." But what to say? A psalm, a fragment of a psalm. "HaShem is my light and my salvation; who then should I fear? HaShem is the fortress of my life; of whom should I be afraid? When the wicked, my enemies and my foes, came at me to devour my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an army should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war should break out against me, in this I will be confident."
The words, familiar to her, foreign to them, seemed to pass muster even though she had to take both the cantor's part and the responses. The guards murmured, and the lantern faded from sight as the shutter closed.
They rode on a little way further. The forest ended, the fields around Kufstein twinkled into view, bright with a constellation of camp fires.
"Where's the prince?"
"On the Kufstein crag, my lady, with Masters Buber and Reinhardt."
There was a gap in the pattern of fires, where the black river ran, and another where the walls of the fort blocked out the light. The bridge across the Enn was marked out with lanterns and guards on both sides, and Groer guided them down to it and across.
It seemed so happy. Laughter and music drifted up with the wood smoke and the cooking smells. Lyres provided the melodies while the rhythm was maintained on marching drums or pot helmets. The lyrics were raucous and bawdy, and the atmosphere was that of a festival night in Juvavum.
"Everyone's in good heart," she said to Groer.
"We've won some small victories today, for no loss. They take it for an omen."
"And you, Mr Groer? What do you think?"
"I've seen the dwarves, in their thousands and tens of thousands. I'd rather not fool myself into thinking this'll be easy."
Their horses wound their way around the crag and through a rough but functional gate set into an earthwork faced with a palisade. The ground inside had one large fire, and a tree-trunk bench next to it, just like the one she'd sat on with Aelinn.
Except it wasn't Aelinn's face reflecting the firelight, but Peter Buber's freshly shaved head, Reinhardt's whiskered cheeks, and, between them, Felix, with the Sword of Carinthia resting across his knees.
When it came to it, she found she couldn't dismount. Everything, the effort of riding, the effort of appearing to be able to ride competently, the effort of not showing any sign of pain, had overwhelmed her. Her legs had locked into position, and even though she was able to kick free of her stirrups, she was quite incapable of even falling off.
"I seem to be stuck," she said, and only Buber was tall enough to lend any sort of practical assistance. His strong hands gripped her waist and bodily lifted her clear of the saddle, then tilted her almost horizontally to slide her free.
Neither could she stand when she was on the ground, and had to be helped onto the tree-trunk. Sitting was all but impossible too; instead, she lay face-down on the ground, the Carinthian flag draped across her like a blanket.
"Hello, Sophia."
"Hello, Felix," she grunted into the grass. "Everything hurts." It did, too. Quite exquisitely.
"It'll pass," he said. "You'll have to do it all again tomorrow."
Was now the right time to have that particular argument, or would it wait? She decided it would be better if she just presented it as fact in the cold light of morning, when he couldn't afford to spare any riders to make sure she left.
"Wine or beer or water?" Felix asked. "We have some of everything."
"Is the wine kosher? No? Then beer."
Reinhardt went to the barrel to pour a mug for her, and she'd started to roll onto her back, as a preliminary to at least sitting upright, when she realised she'd make the banner dirty. She undid the knots that tied it around her neck, and passed it up to Felix.
"A present for you. You should fly it from the walls."
"My lady," said Buber, "if we don't know who we're fighting for by now..."
"Hush, Master Buber. It's a fine idea. Thank you." Felix folded the banner carefully and put it on his lap beside his sword.