“The chowderhead is gone,” George said. “No doubt about that at all. I don’t know who the traitors will appoint in his place. I don’t know how much it matters, either, not with these orders I’ve got.”
John the Lister frowned. “What are your orders, sir?” Whatever they were, they seemed to have sucked all the vitality out of the commanding general. John couldn’t remember ever having seen him so low, not even after the disaster by the River of Death. George had been a tower of strength then; without him, General Guildenstern’s whole army, and the southron war effort east of the mountains, might well have gone to pieces in the aftermath of the defeat.
Now he said, “Your wing, Brigadier, is to be detached from my army and sent to General Hesmucet in the west, to go to Croatoan and join him after he moves south through Palmetto Province toward Marshal Bart at Pierreville.”
“My… entire wing? With me in charge of it?” John the Lister had trouble believing his ears.
But Doubting George’s heavy, pain-filled nod assured him he’d heard correctly. “That is what the order says. I suppose I should congratulate you.” He held out his hand. “You’ll get to be in at the very end, to see everything false King Geoffrey has left fall to bits.”
Automatically, John took the proffered hand. He said, “But why are they leaving you behind, sir? If anybody’s earned the right to be there, you’re the man.”
“Not according to what the orders say. They’re not happy with me over in Georgetown. No, they’re not happy at all.”
“Why the hells not?” John asked in honest amazement. He knew his own career was rising while George’s stumbled, and he rejoiced that he was moving up in the world and in the army, but this left him baffled. “What could they ask you to do that you haven’t done?”
“Well, for one thing, they’re still grumbling because they think I took too long to hit the Army of Franklin in front of Ramblerton. They don’t seem to care that I shattered it when I did hit it, and they’re annoyed with me for not pursuing harder and not destroying it altogether.”
That last touched John the Lister’s honor, too. “By the Thunderer’s prick, sir, don’t they know you’re up here on the Franklin?” he asked angrily. “Don’t they know how many traitors we’ve killed, how many we’ve captured?”
“If they don’t, it’s not because I haven’t told them,” Doubting George replied. “But whether they want to listen is another question, gods damn it. You know how easy it is to be a genius when you’re running a campaign from a few hundred miles away from where the real fighting is, and how simple it is to blame the poor stupid sod who’s actually there for not being perfect.”
“Yes, sir.” Like any officer in the field, John knew that all too well.
“All I can say is, it’s a good thing Geoffrey has the same disease, or worse, or we’d be in a lot more trouble than we are.” George spat in disgust. “But… so it goes. And so you go. And may good fortune go with you. Considering the dribs and drabs that are left of the traitors’ armies, I expect it will.”
John expected that, too, and for the same reason. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Thank you very much. And what will you be doing?”
“Well, I’m ordered to stay here with the rest of my army for now,” the commanding general replied. “You notice I’m not ordered to pursue Bell, even though they say they’re unhappy that I haven’t. What I figure will happen is, they’ll keep on detaching pieces from my army till I haven’t got much left. Then, maybe they’ll order me after what’s left of the Army of Franklin. And if I have trouble, they’ll blame me for it.” He shrugged. “Like I say, so it goes.”
“Army politics is a nasty business,” John said sympathetically. Doubting George’s glum prediction sounded all too likely to him.
With another shrug, George said, “It won’t change who wins the war, not now it won’t. I console myself with that. Of course, once we have won, they’ll probably ship me out to the steppe to fight the blond savages instead of letting me help hold down the traitors.”
“Urgh!” was all John the Lister said to that. Garrison duty at some dusty castle in the middle of nowhere? Command of a regiment at most, after leading an army tens of thousands strong? He looked down at his wrists. If he got orders like that with the rank among the regulars he now held, he’d think about slashing them. And George was a lieutenant general of regulars, not just a brigadier.
But the other officer surprised him, saying, “If that’s where they send me, I’ll go. Why the hells not? The blonds are honest enemies, not like some of the ones I’ve got in Georgetown.”
“Er-yes.” John thought George was being indiscreet. No, he didn’t just think so. He knew George was being indiscreet. If he let word get back to Georgetown about what the general commanding had said… well, what difference would it make? If George didn’t care whether they sent him to the trackless east, it would make no difference at all.
The power of indifference, John the Lister thought. Indifference was a power he’d never contemplated before, which made it no less real. Trust Doubting George to come up with a weapon like that.
“I have my orders,” George said, “and now you have yours. Go get your wing ready to travel, Brigadier. I know you’ll show Hesmucet he didn’t take all the good soldiers with him when he set out to march across Peachtree.”
“I’ll do that, sir,” John promised. “And I’m sorry things didn’t turn out better for you.”
“I doubt it,” Doubting George said. “What you wish is that Marshal Bart would’ve named you commanding general here instead of trying to ship Baron Logan the Black here from the west. Then you would’ve smashed Bell in front of Ramblerton, and you would’ve been the hero. Eh? Am I right or am I wrong?”
“You’re right,” John mumbled, embarrassed he had to admit it. “Why didn’t you do more to call me on it back then?” George had warned him, but hadn’t made it so plain he knew what was going on in his mind.
With one more massive shrug, the general commanding said, “We had to beat Bell first. Now we’ve done that, so whether we squabble among ourselves doesn’t matter so much.” His smile was strangely wistful. “To the victors go the spoils-and the squabbles over them.”
“Yes, sir.” John the Lister gave Doubting George a salute that had a lot of hail-and-farewell in it. “Believe me, sir, I’ll have the men in tiptop shape when we go west to join up with General Hesmucet.”
Now Doubting George looked and sounded as sharp and cynical as he usually did: “Oh, I do believe you, Brigadier. After all, if the soldiers perform well, you look good because of it.”
Nodding, John saluted again and beat a hasty retreat. He’d served alongside George before serving under him. He wouldn’t be sorry to get away, to serve under General Hesmucet again. Yes, Hesmucet could be difficult. But, from everything John the Lister had seen, any general worth his pantaloons was difficult. Hesmucet, though, had a simple driving energy John liked. Doubting George brooded and fretted before he struck. When he finally hit, he hit hard. That his army stood by the southern bank of the Franklin proved as much. Still, his long wait till all the pieces he wanted were in place had driven everyone around him to distraction.
Hesmucet, now, Hesmucet had blithely set out across Peachtree Province toward Veldt without even worrying about his supply line, let alone anything else. He’d taken a chance-taken it and got away with taking it. John tried to imagine Doubting George doing the like.
And then, just when he was about to dismiss his present but not future general commanding as an old foof, he remembered George had had the idea for tramping across Peachtree weeks before Hesmucet latched on to it and made it real. John scratched his head. What did that say? “To the hells with me if I know,” he muttered. The more you looked at people, the more complicated they got.
John had hardly returned to his own command before a major came running up to him and asked, “Sir, is it really true we’re going to Croatoan?”
“How the h
ells did you know that?” John stared. “Lieutenant General George just this minute gave me my orders.”
The major didn’t look the least bit abashed. “Oh, it’s all over camp by now, sir,” he said airily. “So it is true, eh?”
“Yes, it’s true.” John’s voice, by contrast, was heavy as granite. “Gods damn me if I know why we bother giving orders at all. Rumor could do the job twice as well in half the time.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised, sir.” Trying to be agreeable, the major accidentally turned insulting instead. He didn’t even notice. Saluting, he went on, “Well, the men will be ready. I promise you that.” He hurried away, intent on turning his promise into reality.
John the Lister gaped, then started to laugh. “Gods help the traitors,” he said to nobody in particular. Then, laughing still, he shook his head. “No, nothing can help them now.”
* * *
Officers set above Doubting George had given him plenty of reason to be disgusted all through the War Between the Provinces. There were times, and more than a few of them, when he’d worried more about his own superiors than about the fierce blue-clad warriors who followed false King Geoffrey. But this… this was about the hardest thing George had ever had to deal with.
He’d done everything King Avram and Marshal Bart wanted him to do. He’d kept Bell and the Army of Franklin from reaching the Highlow River. He’d kept them from getting into Cloviston at all. They’d hardly even touched the Cumbersome River, and they’d never come close to breaking into Ramblerton.
Once he’d beaten them in front of the capital of Franklin, he’d chased them north all through the province. He’d broken the Army of Franklin, broken it to bits. Much the biggest part of the force Bell had brought into Franklin was either dead or taken captive. Bell had resigned his command in disgrace. What was left of that command wasn’t even styled the Army of Franklin any more; it wasn’t big enough to be reckoned an army.
And for a reward, Doubting George had got… “A good kick in the ballocks, and that’s it,” the commanding general muttered in disgust, staring across the Franklin at Ned of the Forest’s unicorn-riders. They knew what he’d done to the Army of Franklin. Why the hells didn’t the fancy-pantaloons idiots back in Georgetown?
Beside George, Colonel Andy stirred. “It isn’t right, sir,” he said, looking and sounding for all the world like an indignant chipmunk.
“Tell me about it,” George said. “And while you’re at it, tell me what I can do about it.” Andy was silent. George had known his adjutant would be. He’d known why, too: “There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Not fair. Not right.” Andy looked and sounded more indignant than ever. “By the Lion God’s mane, sir, if it weren’t for you, King Avram wouldn’t have been able to carry on the fight here in the east.”
That did exaggerate things, as Doubting George knew. Voice dry, he answered, “Oh, Marshal Bart and General Hesmucet might’ve had a little something-just a little something, mind you-to do with it, too. And a good many thousand soldiers, too.”
“I know what the trouble is,” Andy said hotly. “It’s because you’re from Parthenia, sir. That isn’t right, either, not when we’re fighting to hold Detina together.”
“Even if you’re right, I can’t do anything about it now,” George said. “Only thing I ever could have done about it was fight for Grand Duke Geoffrey instead of King Avram, and I do believe I’d’ve sooner coughed up a lung.”
He feared Andy had a point, though. A lot of southrons distrusted him because almost everyone in his province (with the exception of the southeast, which was now East Parthenia, a province of its own) had gone over to Geoffrey. And the Parthenians who followed Geoffrey called him a traitor to their cause. As far as he was concerned, they were traitors to the Detinan cause, but they cared not a fig for his opinion.
He tried not to care about theirs, either. It wasn’t easy; they’d been his neighbors, his friends-his relatives-before the war began. Now, even though some of them still were his relatives, they despised him to a man.
No, not quite. He shook his head. He knew that wasn’t quite true. Duke Edward of Arlington had chosen to fight for his province rather than for a united Detina, but he still respected those who’d gone the other way. Duke Edward, of course, was no man of the ordinary sort.
People said King Avram had offered command of his armies to Duke Edward when the war began. Duke Edward, though, had counted Parthenia above the kingdom as a whole. Doubting George wondered how things would have gone had Edward gone with Detina, as he had himself. He suspected Geoffrey’s forces wouldn’t have lasted long without their great general-and with him leading the other side. But that was all moonshine. George had enough trouble dealing with what really was.
Across the river, the unicorn-riders went back and forth, back and forth, on their endless patrols. Bell hadn’t had the faintest notion what he was doing, or so it often seemed to George. And yet Bell had gone to the military collegium at Annasville. Ned of the Forest, by contrast, had never been anywhere near the military collegium or any other place that had anything to do with soldiering. He’d first joined Geoffrey’s side as a common soldier. Yet he was as dangerous a professional as anybody on either side. George doubted anyone could have run the rear-guard skirmishes during Bell’s retreat any better than Ned had.
If Ned hadn’t done quite so well, the Army of Franklin might have been completely destroyed. That might have sufficed to make Marshal Bart happy. Then again, it might not have. Bart seemed most determined not to be happy with Doubting George. George knew why, too. He’d committed the unforgivable sin for a subordinate: he’d bucked his superior’s orders, and he’d proved himself right in doing it. No wonder Bart was breaking up his army and taking it away from him a piece at a time.
Doubting George was so intent on his gloomy reflections, he didn’t notice someone had come up beside him till a polite cough forced him to. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Major Alva said apologetically. “I know how important a reverie can be when you’re trying to work things through.”
“A reverie?” George snorted. “I don’t believe I could come up with a good chain of thought right now. By the Thunderer’s beard, I don’t believe I could even come up with a good link. And you accuse me of reverie? Ha!”
The mage blinked. “Oh. Well, can you answer a question for me?”
“I can always answer questions, Major. Of course, whether the answers make any sense depends on what questions you ask.”
“Uh, of course.” Alva took half a step away from Doubting George, as if realizing he was dealing with a lunatic who might be dangerous. But he did ask his question: “Is it true that I’m ordered to Palmetto Province with John the Lister, the way I went to Summer Mountain and Poor Richard with him?”
Although the general commanding wished he could give an answer that made no sense, he had to nod. “Yes, Major, that is true. You’re specifically mentioned in the orders sending John west. I wish I could tell you otherwise, because I’d like to keep you here. You’ve done splendid work for me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alva said. “If you want to know what I think, I think it’s a shame you don’t get to do more here.”
“So do I, now that you mention it,” Doubting George said. “But that’s not how things have worked out. All I can do about it is make sure the traitors don’t get loose in spite of everything.”
“I don’t believe you have much to worry about there,” Alva said.
“I don’t believe I do, either, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be careful. It doesn’t mean I won’t be twice as careful, as a matter of fact,” George replied. “The worst things happen when you’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about. And if you don’t believe me, ask General Guildenstern.” He waved, as if inviting the wizard to do just that. “Go ahead, Major. Ask him.”
“Uh, I can’t ask him, sir,” Alva said nervously. “He isn’t here.” He might have feare
d the general commanding had forgotten Guildenstern was off in the east fighting blond savages on the steppe.
But Doubting George hadn’t forgotten. He remembered all too well. “No, he isn’t here,” he agreed. “And the reason he isn’t here is, he was sure he had Thraxton the Braggart whipped. He was sure the traitors were trundling up to Marthasville as fast as they could run. He was sure he didn’t have a single, solitary thing to worry about. He was sure-and he was wrong. I don’t intend to make that mistake. With the three men King Avram leaves me, I’ll keep an eye on whatever the traitors still have up in Honey. They may lick me, but they won’t catch me napping.”
Alva pondered that. “You make good sense, sir. I wish they’d given lessons like that when I was studying sorcery. I’d be better off for them.”
“But that isn’t a lesson in sorcery,” George said. “It’s a lesson in life, a lesson in common sense. Are you telling me they don’t teach mages common sense? That shocks me, that does.”
“Well, that’s not just what I meant. I-” Alva broke off and gave Doubting George a dirty look. “You’re making fun again,” he said accusingly.
With one of his broad-shouldered shrugs, George said, “I can either make fun or I can start yelling and cursing and pitching a fit. Which would you rather?”
“Me? I think it would be entertaining if you pitched a fit.” Alva tried to project an air of childlike innocence. He didn’t have too much luck.
“You would,” Doubting George told him. “Now why don’t you disappear, so I can go back into my-what did you call it? — my reverie, that was it.”
“But you said it wasn’t a reverie, sir,” Alva said.
“It might be, if I give it a chance.”
“But if it wasn’t one in the first place, then you can’t very well go back into it, can you?”
“Did you study wizardry, or at a collegium of law?” George rumbled.
To his surprise, Major Alva laughed out loud. “Can you imagine me a barrister, sir, or even a solicitor?” he asked, and Doubting George laughed, too, for he couldn’t. With a half-mocking salute, Alva did leave.
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