Val's first battle turned out to be pretty boring, though the ride up to it was pretty educational. Val rode with the duke, obviously, with the seven battle-mages arrayed out to her right. There were two other wizards in the duke's army, but they'd been with the army for a while and traveled in a different group. Riding where she was, Val got lots of attention from the other riders, most of whom were knights and knight-companions, though two were lesser lords from the duke's own family. They were all nobles, though not all of them came across that way.

"If your filly won't listen, you've got to give her a lesson," one of them said to Niko, a graying, mustachioed man who was probably older than Ette. His armor shone, but it bore the dings and nicks of a dozen battles. Val figured he must not be very good at fighting, because that meant he'd got hit a lot.

Niko gave her lagging filly the spurs, which caught it up, but the horse clearly didn't like. She and Val shared a glance, both of them unhappy about jabbing a horse to correct it. She didn't have much problem with squeezing with her legs - the horse was a lot bigger than her and probably barely felt it. But if the horse didn't know any better, it needed extra help, not a poke, and Val said so.

"Maybe it seems cruel," the knight agreed, "but it's better than having her go wild in battle. Maybe if we could talk to horses, we wouldn't have to, but we can't."

That seemed counter-intuitive to Val because most of the horses knew a few voice commands, so you could talk to them, obviously, and sometimes they would even understand. So she tried it and, to her surprise, it actually seemed to work. If she leaned down and mumbled what she wanted Tulip to do, her horse would usually comply, as if she understood spoken Arleng perfectly well. She experimented a bit and found that even that was unnecessary. She couldn't just think it, but if she mumbled it to herself while seated in upright posture, Tulip would still somehow pick up on the signal.

"You can whisper to the horses and they understand," Val whispered to Niko.

"You're just trying to make me look silly," Niko said.

"I'm serious. Try it!"

It took her a few tries, but eventually Niko got it, and her filly perked right up, perhaps realizing that her human was one of the rare smart ones. She and Val made a game of switching their positions around and weaving back and forth until one of the knights barked at them to knock it off.

At their first stop of the day, they removed the bridles from the horses, since their fillies didn't like them, and got chewed out by the horsemaster, who said they had no business riding if they couldn't do it properly. Niko responded that perhaps he wasn't riding properly, which he took offense at and went to strike her for insubordination (officers could do that in the army).

The horsemaster and Niko were both very fortunate that Petunia (Niko's filly) took exception and knocked the horsemaster on his arse with a headbutt to the chest. Whatever Niko did probably would have done a lot more damage and got her in trouble. You didn't want to get in trouble when you were in the army, because they took disciplinary matters very seriously.

Baron Zollen, who was Tobbin's father, shooed the horsemaster away, castigating him for losing his temper at children and instructing him to see to the Zollen horses personally. The man saluted, wiped the dirt off his armor, and grumbled off to see to the horses.

He gestured to Tulip. "You're a natural," he said.

"I'm not," Val said. "Dad says riding is the most mediocre he's ever seen me at anything."

"You don't have to ride all that well if you can tell your horse what to do. I've seen druids use the trick before, though I didn't know we had any druids in our party."

"We're not druids. It's just natural magic," Val said. She pointed to Violet, who poked her head up from her spot in Tulip's saddlebag.

"Different words for the same thing, I believe," the baron said. He gestured for them to join him at the little circle of stools his men-at-arms had prepared. "We'd best take a meal, but a light one. If our scouts are right, the Bolearic auxiliaries are about an hour away over those hills. Do you like café?"

Both girls nodded. Obviously, they did, though tea was preferable in the afternoon - but you took whatever you could get when on the campaign trail. Val repeated this, because she'd read about it in one of her adventures about a soldier whose wife got taken by an evil baron during the great war, and who had to sneak inside his castle and duel him to the death to win her back. Which, if his wife had been taught to duel for herself, wouldn't have been necessary to begin with. Still, it had been an exciting story and the soldier had many wise things to say about campaigning.

"This? Oh, this isn't campaigning," the baron said. "Twenty miles out to rout some pissants in a field? That's just practice. We'll camp for the night and be back in Verdenlecht by mid-afternoon, I should think."

"I read that campaigning is a brutal grind," Val repeated from her book.

"It can be," the baron agreed. "Though I was a much younger man when I did it much. I started about Tobbin's age and ranged along the west for about six years. Fought in forty-six battles and sowed my wild oats aplenty. The best part of the campaign is when you've been going for a while and your host picks up entertainers." Then the baron seemed to realize whom he was speaking with and clammed up, taking a very long sip of café.

Val wouldn't mind seeing camp entertainers and told the baron as much. She openly wondered whether her friend Jasil - whom she was careful to state was only a good friend, lest she hurt Niko's feelings - would be a camp entertainer, because she was nimble and very good with a flute. To this, the baron flustered for some reason and mumbled that Val's friend was probably a bit young to be a camp entertainer, though he refused to specify why this might be.

The baron wiped the crumbs from his armor. "The quartermaster's given us the ten minute signal, so we'd better pack things up. It was an educational experience talking with you girls. My son's been good to you in his training has he?"

"Tobbin's good for a noble," Val said, gasping when she realized she was speaking with an actual baron. Baron Zollen was avuncular enough that it was easy to forget. "Um. I'm sure he gets it from you!"

"Could be. Remember - stay near the duke and you'll be safe. This battle should be a cupcake. We wouldn't want the heir of Sudria to perish out of silly bravado."

The battle, if you could call it that, happened scarcely an hour after that. They rode over two hills and spotted about two hundred soldiers and a hundred auxiliaries camped hear a brook and forming up in the nearby meadow. The duke's regiment, which was more than twice the size, sent out a messenger. Sometimes, the standard was supposed to go out with the messenger, but apparently this wasn't one of those times, so Val stayed put near the duke, the big ducal pennant whipping around in the breeze atop the hill.

The duke's terms were as follows: You have violated the borders of Aurilicht, but Duke Ansibald, in his mercy, promises no ill will upon you. If you will lay down your weapons and abandon your camp, you may leave with your lives, whatever packs you carry, and whatever transport you have. Otherwise, your freedom is forfeit and he cannot guarantee who will be spared. Baron Zollen whispered that this was a pretty standard demand early in a war, before any real animus had developed.

The messenger rode back a moment later, waving the orange flag that indicated their deal had not been accepted. Even as he rode back, the men out in the field were reorganizing themselves to face the regiment. The messenger, one of Sir Faughran's squires, rode back into formation.

"Their captain declines your grace's offer," he said.

"What, exactly, did he say. Verbatim," Ansibald asked.

"Um… he said… tell that pompous… very-bad-words… that he can take his offer and shove it up his… um… bad-word… but don't worry, because he'll have a poker up his bad-word to snatch it out soon enough."

The duke cleared his throat. "So… tell that pompous son of a whore that that he can take his offer and shove it up his arse. But don't worry, because he'll have a poker up his arse to snatch it out soon enough?"

"Yes, your grace."

"Very well. We have the high ground on the hill. You know what to do, Baron Zollen."

"Aye." Atop his horse, the baron plodded out in front of their formation, using his sword to gesture outlines along the slope of the hill. "Bolt-casters array at the front with infantry one and two right behind to rush forward, should the enemy start to charge or raise shields if they attempt to return fire… doesn't look like they have more than two dozen bolters in their group. Infantry three is behind cavalry one on the right flank, and cavalry two will hold back in reserve to come in from the side and complete the pincer if the jaws don't break them."

"Won't they see what we're doing?" Val asked.

Tobbin, who was nearby finishing the clasps on his own armor after he'd fitted the duke's helmet, shook his head. "They will, but it won't do a bit of good. We've got such a massive advantage that the only reason their captain didn't surrender is because he's too damn stupid to know a rout when he sees one."

Val and the battle-mages were attached to cavalry two, the duke's company, which was designated as reserve cavalry to keep the duke out of harm's way. He'd bristled at it, but Mrs. Eatherfine had pointed out that every duke in Aurilicht's modern history had done the same thing for the same reason - it was fine to pace in front of the troops and scream about national pride, but it was another thing to charge in with the first wave and get yourself captured or worse. A ruler who cared about his country wouldn't let machismo override common sense.

Presently, Ansibald motioned to Val, she whispered to Tulip, and the two of them trotted out in front of the infantry and bolt-casters lining up at the front of the formation. "This is the first great battle in a war that will decide the fate of all Sudria - I know that some of you are followers of the Pale Order, and I have no quarrel with you or your faith. This is not a battle of faiths, but of freedom against tyranny. The Regency Council and the fathers of the church in Boleares are taken with a malignant and fanatical creed that has seen them make attempts on the life of me and my family, has seen them plot in sedition against the independence of Free Aurilicht, and has seen them invade our sovereign borders, like the rabble massed before us. We will make an example of them… we'll show them that Aurilicht is not to be underestimated, and that we are willing to stand against this wickedness and corruption.

"On this day, I must ask you all to make that most serious of sacrifices… and, though I hope none of my subjects dies, you must be prepared to give your life for your motherland, for there are millions behind us… your children, the elderly, and those unable to fight chief among them… who rely upon us as their beacon of freedom. As their protectors against a savage world that would see them in shackles. You have already made your sacred vow to give your life to defend Aurilicht if necessary, and I would not have you make it again. So instead, I ask you: are you ready for glory? Are you ready for victory?"

Val waved the pennant. The soldiers cheered. The duke raised his sword. They cheered again. Then Ansibald and Val both trotted back into formation and the units moved forward with the tromping of feet and the clattering of metal.

They watched from half-way up the hill, down to the meadow where the Borealic forces were forming up. They moved once, twice, three times, as if their captain wasn't quite sure what to do to best defend his position. Really, they should have just retreated into the strip of woods and across the nearby river, destroying the bridge behind them. The duke would have let them escape with their weapons - an even more generous allowance than the surrender terms. But they didn't surrender.

A quarter of the way down the remaining hill, the bolt-casters set their bolt-bags, knelt, and took aim, firing a volley right on top of the enemy. Their aim was a bit short, so they moved ten yards forward and fired again. This time, they hit home, and the enemy bolt-casters were still unable to return fire because they had the low ground. The infantry raised shields - mostly bucklers - but some of their members fell, injured or dead. When it became clear that the fourth and fifth volleys were a taste of many more to come, the infantry charged.

The Aurilic bolt-casters took their things and scampered back behind the infantry and got off another volley before the charging troops were too close to the defensive line to safely shoot. Then the cavalry came in from the right flank with the second infantry charging close behind.

From her vantage, Val could see why Baron Zollen called the tactic 'jaws'. The cavalry swept in like the closing jaws of a great beast, circling around the rear of the enemy formation while the infantry rushed through the near edge of the jaws to reinforce them before spreading out to complete the encirclement. The whole time, Duke Ansibald, Val, and Barron Zollen sat in wait at the front of the reserve cavalry, but their assistance was completely unnecessary.

"Victory!" the duke shouted, and all of the soldiers cheered. "Let us congratulate our fellows and see what our captives have to say about themselves!"

+++++

Val had always had the impression that, in a battle, your job was to kill the other side - she was much relieved to learn that this wasn't the case. No, your side's job was to make the other side realize that they'd all be killed if they didn't surrender. And, if they weren't stupid or crazy, that meant that most of the combatants got out of the fight with their lives. Between the enemy soldiers and their support, there had been about three hundred people, of which about sixty were killed or seriously wounded. The number in the duke's regiment was seventeen - an unlucky number, but that was just superstition.

The number who'd died was twelve, which was a lucky number, and the five who'd been seriously injured was neutral as far as Val's knowledge of numbers and luck went. With healing potions, they'd probably be back on the field and ready to fight in a few days.

And they did have healing potions. There was a whole squad of five alchemists ready to dispense the things and make more if necessary. After the battle, Val volunteered to sit and have enough of her blood drawn for ten potions, which wasn't much blood at all. Since her blood was both fresh and unusually potent, it would go to new potions for wounded on their side - but Val insisted that some of the old potions be given to the enemy injured in their place. As long as they weren't devouts of the church. She was very clear on that.

"As long as they're regular people - the brothers and knights of the Pale Order can pray for their wicked god to heal them if they like," Val said as the alchemist finished swabbing her arm clean.

"Of course, miss. I'll make a note of it."

It was a bit strange having adults defer to her. They acted like she was a noble or an officer just because she rode in the duke's unit and wore ducal colors and carried his pennant, but she wasn't an important person at all. She'd just been caught up in lots of unwanted action and was dealing with it as well as she could, which wasn't the same thing as being important.

The captured soldiers and auxiliaries were rounded up, stripped (of their things, not their clothes), and questioned one-by-one. Most of the regular soldiers only got one or two questions before being sent to the prison train heading back toward Verdenlecht. They had their weapons, armor, and coin requisitioned, but were allowed to keep their cloaks (they even searched the enemy camp for cloaks to provide them for the men who'd left theirs behind) and one heirloom, usually a locket or a wedding ring. One man insisted that he be allowed to keep his boots, which was silly because they weren't taking boots to begin with. But that's what he insisted, so that was his heirloom.

Val and Niko sat near the processing queue as the captured enemy passed. The more robust were led by a sergeant out to the field so they could help dig graves for their slain fellows. The rest were led to a big line three across and thirty-nine long (so far), chained up in three-by-three groups of nine, which made escape just about impossible. They had lots of questions for Tobbin, though he mostly ignored them.

"Why'd you let that one keep his knife?" Val asked.

"We didn't…" Tobbin said. "Oi! Sergeant! That one still has his side-arm!"

"Sorry, m'lord, must have escaped my notice."

"That one's got a blade in his boot," Niko added.

The sergeant's men didn't have very sharp eyes, apparently, but Val doubted that one or two knives snuck in with the bunch of prisoners was going to make a daring escape possible. They weren't living in the story books.

They were wiling the early evening away in a meadow where, once the baron's café finally worked its way through you, you had to run behind a bush and hope there weren't too many bugs around.

While the proper enemy soldiers were all adults and fully grown teenagers, some of the auxiliaries were younger - the ones responsible for taking care of equipment, running the battle lines, and sending messages. Some of them weren't any older than Val. And one of them was immediately familiar.

"Hey! It's Pudge!" Val shouted.

"Who?" Niko said.

"Pudge! Over here!" she scampered over to the queue, only to have a corporal step between them and try to push her away. Val dodged the push, obviously, but he held her back while she tried to get around to her friend. "Pudge, is that you?"

"Val? Wow! Are you an officer?"

Val nodded, even though that wasn't quite true. But the had the same custom-fitted mail and livery that the officers got, so it was a bit true. "I got a horse and everything! I work for the duke! This is my friend, Niko!"

Pudge leaned go get around the corporal. "Pleased to meet you, miss. I'm Frow… Val calls me Pudge, though."

The sergeant wasn't too happy about this fraternization with the enemy - though Val explained to him that Pudge wasn't the enemy. In fact, he came from the borderlands in a village less than a mile across the River Lyanver and Arleng was his first language. When the sergeant let him go with a harrumph, a roll of his eyes, and a wiggle of his mustache, four or five of the remaining Bolearic soldiers protested that they also knew Arleng. But they didn't know Val, which was also an important factor.

"Do you want to fight on our side?"

Pudge shrugged. "I didn't want to fight on anybody's side."

Pudge had been responsible for printing the very edict that had him conscripted into the Bolearic Reserves - which, ironically, were among the first to be ordered across the border. Each guild had been instructed to 'volunteer' five percent of their workforce for the reserves. Since Pudge was the newest employee in the printworks, that made him one of the recruits, even though he was already better than some men who'd been there five years.

"So they carted me off to Garudon, which is an old fort with a big field in the middle. I went with two hundred other boys my age up to fifteen, and they taught us to fight with a short sword and a buckler and how to restock bolts and how to clean armor and make camp and tend horses. Then they attached a third of us to this unit and told us to go cross the river and make a nuisance of ourselves. We didn't get much of a chance, though - we just got here yesterday and got ourselves beat before we had a chance to pillage."

"Pillage?" Val asked. "Like burn and loot and all that?"

Pudge nodded. "Yeah. It sounds pretty dangerous by itself, but quite a few of the soldiers acted like they were looking forward to it. They said that, if the Regency Council couldn't pay them well, they could at least make up for it by letting them keep the spoils. I assume that means keeping other folks' valuables and what have you."

"Probably," Niko said. "I heard the infantry and bolt-casters each got a share of the coin captured from your lot…"

Pudge patted his chest. "Not my lot in particular." As a forphan, which is what Val had decided to call former orphans like herself, Niko, and Pudge, it was just plain common sense to keep most of your money hidden wherever you were. "Say, do you think I'll get fancy mail and a sword like yours?"

"Not unless you're Gifted," Val said - Pudge wasn't. "But maybe we can get you a knife and a vest? Want to meet our horses?"

"Of course!"