The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22), Christopher Nuttall [books to read romance TXT] 📗

“Ask Silent to fill a bath for me,” Emily said. “I’m going to need it.”

Aiden met her as she dismounted. “Any word for our readers?”

Emily had to smile. She liked Aiden. There was something about the other girl that appealed to her. Perhaps, if things had been different, they could have been friends. Perhaps...

“I think I have to give the letter to the council as a whole,” she said, instead. “Are they ready?”

“We’ve been discussing weighty matters for the past few hours,” Aiden said. “I’m sure your letter will break up the monotony.”

Emily snorted as they made their way up the stairs. Her arms and legs ached so badly she was sure she wouldn’t be able to get up again when she sat down. There were guards everywhere, looking more uniform now the rebels had managed to start sorting their infantrymen out. Emily silently calculated the odds, fighting the civil war over and over in her mind. The rebels would have some advantages, but they might be countered by the aristocracy. It would be a long time before the rebels could produce a cavalry arm of their own.

She stepped into the room and looked around. The councilors sat at a round table, with two seats left at the near end. She noted Althorn sitting next to Jair, with Sergeant Oskar speaking quietly to Scribe Bajingan. A large sheaf of papers lay on the table in front of them. Emily wasn’t sure, but they looked like orders of battle. Organizing a large army required a certain amount of bureaucracy as well as military school. She’d heard Jade complaining about it often enough. She supposed it was a good use for the unemployed scribes and accountants.

“Emily.” Althorn motioned for her to take one of the empty chairs. “What did the royalists have to say for themselves?”

Emily removed the letter from her pouch and held it out. “They rejected your demands.”

“I’m surprised they so much as bothered to reply,” Althorn muttered, as he opened the letter and read it quickly. “They’ll offer us a handful of worthless concessions, in exchange for surrendering without a fight.”

He snorted, rudely. “And he crowns himself without so much as asking permission?”

“Technically, he was crowned the moment we killed his father,” Scribe Bajingan pointed out, dryly. “The formal ceremony is little more than a statement he’s assumed the crown.”

Althorn passed the letter to Jair, who read it before passing it on. “Do you believe he’s serious?”

“I haven’t read the letter myself,” Emily said. “But I don’t believe he’s interested in opening discussions with you.”

She frowned as the letter was passed from person to person until it reached her. Crown Prince Dater - King Dater now, she reminded herself - had been surprisingly blunt. He hadn’t so much as tried to hide his true feelings. He’d made clunky noises about setting up a consultative council, and hinting that the rebels would be forgiven if they stood down and allowed him to reoccupy Jorlem City - he certainly didn’t call it Freedom City - but there was nothing she’d consider much of a concession. He seemed to believe the rebels should throw themselves at his feet and beg for forgiveness. Somehow, Emily doubted they’d receive it. Too much blood had been shed in the last few weeks.

“It was a waste of time,” Jair said. His dark eyes swept the room. “I argued as much.”

“We had to try,” Althorn pointed out. “The aristos should have seen reason.”

Jair laughed. “What are they, without their lands and titles?”

“Commoners.” Storm seemed to find the riddle hilarious. “What else would they be?”

Scribe Bajingan cleared his throat. “We seem to have a choice between baring our throats to him or fighting to the death,” he said. “Is there anyone here who wants to surrender?”

Sergeant Oskar snorted. “More like pulling down our pants, bending over and opening our...”

“Thank you.” Althorn cut him off. “Does anyone feel we can make a second offer to the royalists?”

Aiden leaned forward. “We can hint at recognizing their titles, can we not?”

“Titles are nothing without land and power,” Storm pointed out. “Just ask Triune.”

“We should at least stall for a few more weeks,” Aiden said. She waved a hand at the wall and the city beyond. “How long will it be before our armies are ready to take the field?”

“We can go now,” Jair insisted. “Our men are fired with the flame of freedom. We will burn the toffs and their cowardly armies until they flee our lands.”

Storm laughed. “You’re not giving a speech now, newspaper man.”

Jair snorted. “Do you believe, magician, that you can escape their wrath if they win?”

“No,” Storm said. “But we cannot afford to lose track of the practicalities.”

“And the practicalities are that our new weapons and tactics are more than enough to stop their horsemen in their tracks,” Jair insisted. “Is that not true?”

Emily kept her face impassive. It was true, if the cavalry commander was stupid enough to impale his men on the infantry’s guns. A cavalry regiment that tried a charge against a body of musketmen would be slaughtered several times over before it reached its target. They might have archers on their side, but probably not enough to make a difference. And yet, Dater wasn’t a fool. He’d seen an orcish charge torn to ribbons by massed muskets and cannons. He wouldn’t make that mistake. He didn’t have the cavalry to spare.

Unless he wants to get rid of his mentally-challenged officers, she thought. Getting them all killed in a dumb charge would probably make it easier for him to win the war.

“Wars are chancy,” Sergeant Oskar said, bluntly. “We do have some advantages. They have some advantages too. In particular, they are faster and more mobile than us. They can run rings around us all day if they wish, rather than closing for the kill. We can counter the threat by raising more troops and pushing our defenses out, forcing them to engage us or be