The Invasion of the Tearling (The Queen of the Tearling #2)(10)
Bermond’s cheeks reddened. “There’s more than one right here.”
“I don’t think there is. Here we have men, women, and children who have never done anything but farm. Their weapons are wood, if they have weapons at all. Invasion will be a bloodbath.”
“Precisely, and the best way to protect them is to make sure that the Mort never invade this kingdom.”
“Do you really believe that the Tear army can hold the border?”
“Of course I do, Majesty. To believe otherwise is treasonous.”
Kelsea clamped her teeth down on the inside of her cheek, unable to believe the cognitive dissonance implied in such a statement. Hall’s reports came from the border, regular as clockwork and grim as doom, but Kelsea didn’t need Hall to tell her the true state of affairs. The Tear army would never hold against what was coming. In the past week, a vision had begun to grow on Kelsea: the western Almont, covered over with a sea of black tents and soldiers. The girl who had been raised by Carlin Glynn would never have trusted in visions, but Kelsea’s world had broadened well beyond the width of Carlin’s library. The Mort would come, and the Tear army wouldn’t be able to stop them. All they could hope to do was slow them down.
Arliss spoke up again. “The Tear infantry are out of training, Majesty. We already have reports of tin weapons breaking under impact due to improper storage. And there is a serious morale problem.”
Bermond turned to him, furious. “You have spies in my army?”
“I have no need of spies,” Arliss replied coolly. “These problems are common knowledge.”
Bermond swallowed his anger with poor grace. “Then all the more reason, Majesty, for us to spend the limited time we have in training and supply.”
“No, General.” Kelsea came to a decision suddenly, as she so often did: because it seemed the only thing that would allow her to sleep at night. “We’re going to use resources where they’ll do the most good: in evacuation.”
“I refuse, Majesty.”
“Indeed?” Kelsea’s anger crested, breaking like a wave. It was a wonderful feeling, but as always, damnable reason intruded. She could not lose Bermond; too many of the old guard in her army had a misplaced faith in his leadership. She forced a pleasant smile. “Then I will remove you from command.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Of course I can. You have a colonel who’s ready to lead. He’s more than capable, and certainly more of a realist than you.”
“My army will not follow Hall. Not yet.”
“But they will follow me.”
“Nonsense.” But Bermond’s eyes edged away from hers. He had heard the rumors too, then. Less than a month had elapsed since Kelsea and her Guard had returned from the Argive Pass, but prevailing wisdom now held that Kelsea had unleashed a titanic flood on Arlen Thorne’s traitors and washed them all away. It was a favorite tale, demanded constantly from storytellers in New London’s pubs and markets, and it had done wonders for security. No one even tried to sneak into the Keep anymore, Mace had informed Kelsea, in a tone of near-regret. The incident in the Argive had drastically altered the political landscape, and Bermond knew it. Kelsea leaned forward, scenting blood.
“Do you really believe that your army will defy me, Bermond? For your sake?”
“Of course they will. My men are loyal.”
“It would be a pity to test that loyalty and come up short. Wouldn’t it be easier to simply help with my evacuation?”
Bermond’s glare was furious, but Kelsea was pleased to see that it was also weakening, and for the first time since the meeting had begun, she felt her anger beginning to recede a bit.
“The camp’s one thing, Majesty, but what will you do when the Mort come? This city is crowded as it is. There certainly isn’t room for half a million extra people.”
Kelsea wished she had a ready answer, but this problem had no easy solution. New London was already overpopulated, creating issues with plumbing and sanitation. Historically, when disease had broken out in the more crowded sections of the city, it was almost impossible to control. Double the population, and these problems would multiply exponentially. Kelsea planned to open the Keep to families, but even with its great size, the Keep would only absorb perhaps a quarter of the influx. Where would she put the rest?
“New London is not your concern, General. Lazarus and Arliss are in charge of preparing for siege. You worry about the rest of the kingdom.”
“I do worry, Majesty. You’ve opened Pandora’s box.”
Kelsea did not allow her expression to change, but the satisfaction on Bermond’s face told her that he knew he had struck his mark. Kelsea had opened the door to chaos, and while she told herself there had been no alternative, her nights were tormented by the certainty that there had been another option, some path that could have stopped the shipment while avoiding the bloodshed to follow, and if Kelsea had only been a bit more clever, she could have found it. She drew a slow breath. “Regardless of blame, General, done is done. Your job is to help me minimize the damage.”
“Like trying to dam up God’s Ocean, eh, Majesty?”
“Just like that, General.” She grinned at him, a grin so ferocious that Bermond recoiled against his chair. “The first wave of refugees will reach the Almont proper tomorrow. Give them some guards, and then begin moving the rest. I want those villages cleared out.”