Black Sea Horan: Bender
It took Thorsten several days to recover enough to travel, but when they left the old farmstead, it was in the cart. Alim tried to give it to them, saying he had no use for it without any animals to pull it, but Thorsten insisted on leaving them a few coins to pay for the cart and the food they'd eaten. Alsu, all rough country graciousness and practicality, shushed her husband's protests and whisked the coins away to a pocket.
Rose was surprised at how fast they started moving then. Once he got going, Caesar willingly trotted along for hours, steadily eating the miles up. His humans lavished praise and apples on the little donkey, and that was all he asked for.
They stopped for two nights in Odessa on the coast, relishing the luxury of sleeping indoors on real beds, and each taking a luxurious hot bath. Thorsten prowled the market through the day in between, gathering the news. The two armies were headed for a clash to their west, somewhere along the River Pruth in Moldavia. Tsar Peter had joined his army from a different route, even bringing along his beloved Tsarina, and was pushing them south, apparently planning to cross the Danube. The mighty Turkish army, however, might beat him across that landmark on their way north. The market was abuzz over the size and magnificence of the Grand Vizier's forces, combining the legendary red-booted Janissaries, hereditary soldiers and utterly-loyal guardians of the Sultan, with the feared Tatar horsemen, twenty thousand strong, led by Khan Giray himself. Indeed, it was said that the commander of the Turks, Mehemet Baltadji, the Grand Vizier and the most powerful man in the Ottoman Empire (even over the pampered, ineffectual Sultan – as long as he stayed in the good graces of the Janissaries), was traveling in such glittering state as to make it more of a royal procession than an army off to war. But make no mistake, the war was coming, and the size of the forces arrayed against Peter was said to outnumber his own by four to one. No one believed it could be anything less than annihilation for the Russian army and its Tsar, and even Thorsten looked askance at Rose for her prediction of how it would actually turn out: a mere peace treaty on very light terms for the Russians.
"Nevertheless," he told her that evening after relaying all he'd learned, "I still see the sense in getting Charles out to the action, if only to strengthen Sweden's hand in the future. He'll need to move swiftly after it's done, and head back north to home. He's been away far too long. Sweden needs her king where she can see him, and there's many more enemies snapping at her borders than just Russia. The Council has had to deal with all that for too long alone."
(Rose thought that perhaps it was time for Sweden to do away with the kingship altogether, and move to a more democratic government with that Council in official charge, but kept that idea to herself. She wasn't at all sure how royalist her companion really was.)
At any rate, they set out the following morning on the last leg of their journey, and pulled into Bender three days later, on a beautiful summer afternoon in early July. They'd missed their target of the end of June, but not by much. Thorsten directed Caesar across the arched stone bridge spanning the Dneister, then turned his head north again, trotting through the streets and around the impressive Turkish fortress, then down to the riverside again. There, under the spreading fruit trees of an old orchard, was the current temporary resting place of King Charles XII of Sweden, self-styled Carolus Rex.
It had begun as a line of tents donated by their Turkish hosts, but in the two years since Charles's arrival, a new little town had begun to take shape. The tents were still there, but small houses and shops had been set up around them, and a large, two-story, balconied residence was being built at one end of the open center for the King.
It was still a military camp, however, complete with armed guards around the perimeter and an entry gate. Thorsten pulled the cart to a halt before the gate, and was recognized by the guard on duty, who gave him a friendly smile, and the two began conversing in Swedish. The guard gestured towards Rose at one point, and Thorsten told him her name – just her first name, though – and didn't actually introduce them to each other, so she stayed quiet.
Finally another, older soldier in a fancier uniform came out to greet Thorsten, ignoring Rose. He turned after a moment and gestured to the far ends of the camp, and Thorsten nodded. Then the wooden gate was raised, and Thorsten clicked to Caesar again, and they entered what was becoming known as New Bender.
"We've been given permission to use one of the old tents," he told her. "The soldiers are moving into barracks now." Indeed, somewhat ramshackle long buildings were being built around the edges of the camp on all sides, the garrison's new quarters.
"What were you saying about me?" she wanted to know.
He cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed. "I told him that you are British, and that I'd found you in Caffa. I didn't go into any more detail than that. Rose... I'm letting them have the impression that you... belong to me. It's an explanation that soldiers will comprehend, and it will give you some protection. Do you understand?"
She nodded. "Yes. I understand. And thank you."
They pulled up in front of one of the Turkish tents, and Thorsten (slightly obviously) gave Rose a hand down from the little cart, which she didn't need, and took her arm possessively as they walked inside, giving the curious eyes and wagging tongues around them something to work with. It was sparsely furnished, with a few cots on one side, and a table and chairs on the other. A stack of dishes, a cooking pot, and a water jug stood on the table, scrubbed and ready for use. They brought the few things they'd collected on the journey inside, and then Thorsten took Caesar and the cart off in search of the stables, while Rose took the water jug from the table and found the community well. The people in the camp – mostly soldiers – seemed friendly enough, greeting her in Swedish with broad, interested smiles; she merely smiled shyly back and nodded, continuing on her way.
Back inside the tent, she gave herself a quick rag wash, saving most of the water for Thorsten. He came back just as two young soldiers arrived, carrying a medium-sized trunk between them, which Thorsten gladly took possession of. It proved to be his own, left behind when he'd headed towards Azov months before, and contained mostly clothes, several cuts above the rough homespun he'd been wearing. He quickly washed up and changed clothes, surprising Rose by putting on a uniform, just as spiffy as the ones she'd seen outside.
"I didn't think you were in the Army," she said, confused.
"It's complicated," he grinned back. "I'm not in the ranks any more, but because of my previous record, and as an attache, I'm both entitled to wear a uniform, and it makes dealing with certain others easier. Including Carolus." She noticed he'd slipped back into referring to the king by that name, rather than Charles. "And speaking of which... I must go and present myself and my information to the King. I may be gone for some time. Will you be all right here for a few hours?"
"I'm not coming, too?"
"No. Not at this time. I think it best if we... try to convince him on 'normal' grounds at first. We'll keep your story in reserve. All right?"
She didn't answer that right away, not sure how she felt about it. "And how will you explain me to him?"
"The same way as the others, to start with. Rose... Please trust me. Trust my knowledge of Carolus, and of the situation. He won't be convinced by you, but by military expediency. That is how we must present it."
She slowly nodded. "All right. Just... we don't have a whole lot of time."
"I'm aware of that," he replied grimly, then repeated, "Will you be all right here?"
She was more certain of that. "I'll be fine. I won't wander off."
Actually, she was tired, and glad of the chance to sit on a solid chair that wasn't jolting over ruts and rocks at every instant. She pulled said chair to a spot just inside the open tent flaps, so she could peer out and watch the busy camp without attracting attention, and simply sat and enjoyed the sweet July afternoon.
The sun had nearly set before Thorsten returned, tight-lipped and tired. He merely shook his head at Rose, wordlessly. It hadn't worked.
He'd also brought back two plates of hot food from the kitchens. "We were invited to dine with Carolus – both of us, but I declined, claiming exhaustion. I told him we'd be happy to join him tomorrow, instead."
They sat across the table from each other and ate in silence in the candlelight, Rose letting him be. She could see he was frustrated at his failure to convince the King to join the fight. Finally, she asked softly, "What did he say?"
He shook his head. "Same thing as before. He was invited to go along earlier, by the Grand Vizier himself, but refused, on the grounds that he cannot join an army as a guest that he does not command – especially one commanded by someone he considers of lower rank than himself."
Rose considered that for a moment, then asked, "Is he always that... self-confident?" Obviously not the words she really wanted to use, but perhaps more diplomatic for a king.
Thorsten caught the undercurrent, anyway, and grinned at her for the first time since his return. "You have no idea. I've heard his willpower described as 'nearly supernatural'. He never admits to any pain or weakness. Stoic, brave, brilliant, and nearly suicidally fatalistic."
Rose had been listening underneath, too. "You admire him."
"Who doesn't? Who wouldn't? One cannot help themself. Even his enemies admire him. Even soldiers of the opposing army would switch sides and follow him through hell, if they could." He shrugged it off, mopping the last of the gravy off his plate with the last bite of bread and pushing the plate aside.
He studied her for a moment as she finished, too. "Rose..." he began tentatively. "I think we should consider just going to the west ourselves. We need to find the time jumper and get it back. Then we can see what we can do – "
Rose had started shaking her head. "We can't. Thorsten... it has to be Charles. If he's not there, to change history, then... it's all for nothing. If the moment passes, and things go the way they did – will – in the Alpha universe, then my entire timeline will never come about. And I... I'll disappear, Thorsten. I have a deadline."
"Disappear? What do you mean? You'll leave?"
"No, not leave. Disappear. Vanish from the spot, like a ghost, like I'd never been born. I never WILL have been born."
His eyes were huge, unwilling to accept this new revelation. "How can you be sure of that?"
"We saw it happen, with one of the other Roses. She failed, and her timeline disappeared, and she did, too. Even her backpack, that she'd left behind, just... faded to nothing."
He stared at her, shocked. She pushed aside her own plate, now, and reached across the table for his hands. "Thorsten... we have to get Charles to the Pruth. We don't have any other choice. The time jumper can wait."
"What is this thing, this... time jumper? Why must you get me to the Pruth?" A new voice, smooth but commanding, with a heavy Swedish accent, sounded from the tent flaps. Startled, they swiveled around and stared at the intruder, Thorsten leaping to his feet an instant later, knocking over his own chair in his haste.
"My lord," he choked out, and bowed.
It was King Charles.